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It took approximately half a second for Astarion to decide that the Shadowlands were, in his opinion, the absolute fucking worst.
If only he’d known then what a gross understatement that would be.
It wasn’t until their third night, when he began to feel a familiar hunger, that he first realized he might be heading for trouble. The light of their campfire felt about as safe as you could get in a place like this—a bright, warm spot in an otherwise dark abyss. But one light wasn’t enough to lift the curse, or keep the creeping dread from closing in around them.
Astarion relied on frequent hunts for animal prey to satisfy his bloodlust, and it was becoming increasingly clear to him that the only creatures he’d find out here were infected with the shadow curse. Not a single rabbit or rat or crow was spared from it, it touched everything. Infected everything.
Tav had been generous about letting Astarion feed from them up until this point, but he wasn’t about to risk completely draining their leader, who arguably needed that blood to stay in them as much as possible in a dangerous place like this.
It was no small kindness, and kept the hunger from growing unbearable. But his body craved more of it to truly keep his strength up. And if he couldn’t fight, what use was he? He’d end up another victim of the curse, doomed to wander these lands as a ghoul, and that was really, really not how he wanted to go.
But what other option did he have?
He briefly considered asking one of the others. But the thought of admitting his weakness felt like a vulnerability he wasn’t yet prepared to expose. Everyone was suffering in their own unique way, handling the challenges of the Shadowlands with differing levels of success, this was just…his.
And to his credit, Astarion thought he was handling it— hiding it—exceptionally well.
Until Halsin met his gaze across the campfire one night. And he found something horrible and sympathetic and knowing in the Druid’s hazel eyes.
Astarion felt something like dread settle into the pit of his empty stomach, nervous that Halsin was going to say something stupid in front of the others. He’d been doing so well. He couldn’t afford to break now.
But then he glanced away. And the moment passed. And Halsin didn’t say a word about it the entire rest of the night.
Slowly everyone retired to bed, disappearing one by one. And when three of them remained, Astarion took his chance to leave as well, before running the risk of sitting there alone with anyone else. Perhaps Shadowheart or Lae’zel might have been bearable, they weren’t terribly likely to engage him in any dangerous conversation.
Karlach was almost as bad as Halsin, though—so achingly full of concern, softness begging to be swallowed up whole by this place. And so Astarion bid them goodnight, and turned away from the fire.
But just as he reached for the opening of his tent, he felt a looming presence behind him.
Of course.
“If you’re here to ask me if I’m alright, allow me to save you the trouble.”
Astarion waited a second for a reply, or maybe the sound of retreating footsteps. But when no answer came, he reluctantly turned around to face him.
“Forgive the intrusion. I meant no harm,” Halsin finally said, his presence so annoyingly calm, grounding in a way that made Astarion want to squirm. He wasn’t used to it.
“I’m sure you didn’t,” he sneered, irritated and disarmed in equal measure. He turned back toward his tent, and hoped maybe if he went about his business that Halsin might take the hint and leave.
“I’m no vampire, but I know hunger when I see it.”
No such luck.
“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, darling, but hungry is kind of our default state.”
“ Astarion. ”
He turned around again, unexpectedly flustered to see Halsin had followed after him, so much closer now than before when he spun on his heel. He had nowhere left to run.
“What do you want from me? I’m starving, of course I am. There’s nothing to eat in this gods forsaken place. Nothing but shadows and ghosts. And I don’t think you need to know much about vampires to understand why neither of those can sustain me.”
Halsin looked a bit stunned for a moment, as if somehow this revelation was actually a surprise. Or like he still didn’t fully understand.
Why did he have to have such a soft spot for the big stupid oaf.
“But I’ve seen you—with Tav. Have I not?”
“Unless I drain them dry, one person does not a meal make. I—… supplement. With whatever animal I can get my hands on. Which is approximately none, right now.”
Finally, Halsin had the sense to look bashful about it, a light flush rising in his face, cheeks ruddy as he glanced off to one side. Perhaps the thought of Astarion killing some poor creature was more than he could bear.
“So there you have it,” Astarion went on, unwilling to wait for him to finish gathering his thoughts. “Any other questions about my biological functions or can I go to bed?”
“What about me?”
“What about you?”
“You could—…feed. From me.”
Oh. Now there was a thought.
Gods, he would be a banquet. Surely a man Halsin’s size would have plenty of blood to spare. Miles of warm taut skin to sink his teeth into. He could heal himself as easy as anything and–
No.
He couldn’t. He
shouldn’t.
He didn’t need anyone’s pity. Didn’t need to be indebted to anyone else like a child who can’t keep themselves alive.
“I appreciate the thought, but trust me, I’ll be fine.”
Halsin didn’t quite look convinced. Hells, Astarion wasn’t even fully convinced. How pathetic he was, when even his persuasion skills were suffering.
“If you’re sure.”
“I am.”
“Should you ever change your mind—“
“ Goodnight, Halsin.”
Astarion shoved his tent open and disappeared inside, leaving the Druid alone by a dying fire.
Every day that passed was slightly more of a dark blur than the last, an endless night that bled from one to the next.
They had the pixie’s blessing to keep them safe from the shadow curse, but Astarion began to wonder if it was faltering. If that thin layer of protection was slipping away, and he was slowly being consumed. It was maddening . He refused to have come so far and endured so much only to waste away like some sick animal.
He fought tooth and nail to keep up with the others. But then they were ambushed—by fucking meazels . And Astarion was forced to realize just how weak he’d become.
He barely made it out of the fight alive. Truthfully, he didn’t remember making it out of the fight at all. He remembered a bright agonizing pain and the feeling of falling, the smell of cold wet earth and then—
He woke up.
In—someone’s tent?
“There you are.”
Halsin’s voice, deep and warm and rumbling. Halsin’s tent.
Astarion closed his eyes again, grimacing against the pain that settled like a chill in his bones. Deep and unshakable.
He heard Halsin’s voice again, more distant this time, like Astarion was already slipping back into unconsciousness. But then there was a flickering light and warmth, the familiar soothing blanket of a healing spell, but something uniquely Druidian about it. For a brief moment there was the sweet scent of grass and the heat of the sun on his skin.
How badly he missed it.
But as the physical pain melted away, the gnawing hunger came rushing back, stronger than ever, and Astarion found himself wishing that maybe Halsin hadn’t healed him at all. Pain was familiar. Easy.
“ Gods,“ he rasped, head tipped back against the cushions beneath him. It felt like he was being turned inside out.
Astarion could feel the presence beside him as Halsin knelt beside his bedroll, even as his eyes stayed firmly shut.
He heard rummaging, the scrape of something sharp and metal. A soft grunt—pain?
A gentle hand cradled his jaw, thumb sweeping across his cheekbone and Astarion wondered how delirious he was to mistake it for a lover’s caress.
But then…Then the sweet scent of blood, warm and fresh and alive.
And when he finally opened his eyes again, there was Halsin, forearm bleeding, inches from his mouth like an offering Astarion was too far gone to refuse.
The scent alone was enough to give him the desperate surge of energy he needed, grabbing the Druid’s arm and bringing it up to his mouth. He lapped at the drips that had begun to race down toward his elbow before finally latching on to his wrist where Halsin had cut himself. He pushed his tongue against it just to hear the sharp little intake of breath, and was rewarded with a fresh welling of blood.
Gods it was almost too much. Halsin’s blood was unlike anything he’d ever tasted, impossibly rich and fever hot and bursting with so much life that it was almost a shock to his system.
Astarion pressed his teeth to his arm and bit down, immediately greedy for more. He could feel Halsin’s muscles twitch beneath his grip like he wanted to pull away. But he was steady as an oak, even now.
He drank with reckless abandon until he could feel the veins in Halsin’s arm begin to weaken and close and the flow of blood slowed. The wrist made for an easy snack, but it wasn’t as sustainable as other larger arteries, like the neck. Or the inside of the thigh ( oh how he’d always wanted to try that one).
Astarion released him at last once his brain finally felt like it was beginning to function again, and Halsin cradled the wounded arm against his chest, fingers flexing as if trying to return the feeling to them.
“I know—it’s not enough,” he said, sounding apologetic. “But it’ll have to do for now.”
Astarion began to try and push himself up, but Halsin put a hand against his shoulder and gently urged him back down.
“Rest.”
“Where are you going?”
Astarion wasn’t sure what compelled him to ask.
“There’s something I have to do. But I’ll be back.”
Halsin didn’t seem like he was about to divulge any more details so he let it go. He watched him disappear out of the tent without another word, and closed his eyes and wondered if he should wait for him. Wait for him…to do what? He was healed. Halsin’s job was done. He’d wait until he felt strong enough to get up, and then return to his own tent as if nothing had happened.
It was as solid a plan as any.
Only Halsin didn’t return that night.
Or the next.
Astarion wasn’t quite sure why he cared, when no one else seemed bothered. He wasn’t sure why he felt Halsin’s absence so acutely, or why he felt such maddening relief when he heard that the Druid finally turned back up another day later.
Astarion had been out with the others to do some scouting, and when they returned to camp he headed straight for Halsin’s tent. He made no attempt at announcing himself first, and instead let himself inside like a bolt of righteous fury.
“Where the hells have you been?”
Halsin looked up at him from where he’d been hunched over on the floor, a weary sort of look in his eye. Physically he seemed—fine. He was fine.
He was fine.
“Nothing to worry yourself with,” he answered, standing up and straightening to full height as much as the drooping ceiling of the tent would allow.
“Oh, don’t give me that.”
Astarion felt an angry heat rise up in his chest, indignant and terrified. Halsin lifted his hands in a placating sort of gesture, but it did little to calm him as he pushed forward and spat out another question.
“What if you’d died out in those gods forsaken shadows? You were out there—alone! And didn’t even tell me where. ”
“I’m sure one of the others would have offered to keep you fed, if I hadn’t returned.”
Oh.
Oh.
An unexpectedly icy jab pierced his unbeating heart. It wouldn’t have been so surprising coming from anyone else. But Halsin? Maybe he deserved it.
“Do you honestly think that’s the only reason I’d care? Am I truly that cold-blooded to you?”
Something in Halsin’s expression cracked, eyes soft and sad and suddenly Astarion realized that his usual aura of warmth was gone. He could feel it flickering, fluttering about like a dying moth searching desperately for the light. Only to be swallowed up by the shadows.
“I—…Forgive me,,” he said, gaze darting off to one side before forcing himself to meet Astarion’s eyes again. “Truly, I meant nothing by it. You’re more than just your hunger, I know that now.”
It was about as genuine of an apology as Astarion had ever received, and somehow almost made him feel even worse. Gods he hated this place and what it was doing to them. All this anger and nowhere to settle the blame, no way to calm the anxious storm brewing in his chest.
“Am I? It renders me fucking useless.”
Halsin took a step toward him and Astarion felt the push-pull of a torn desire. He wanted to leave. Wanted to bolt. He wanted to forget he’d ever made a fool of himself here.
“A few days without feeding and I’m dead weight. Which—let me tell you—is a terrible fucking thing in a place like this!”
He wanted to stay. Wanted to reach out and touch him just to make sure he was real.
“I can’t protect myself, I can’t protect them, I can’t protect you—“
Wanted to punch his handsome face for making him worry, wanted to drag him in and—
Kiss him.
Halsin was kissing him.
Large, warm hands cradled his face and whatever he’d been planning on saying next was gone. There were no more words on the tip of his tongue, no more thoughts in his head aside from doing whatever it took to make sure Halsin didn’t stop.
Desperate hands clutched at his clothing, anchoring himself to the Druid like a ship in a storm.
When Halsin finally broke the kiss and pulled back just a little, it felt suspiciously like he wanted to say something. He opened his mouth but Astarion cut him off.
“Don’t you dare apologize.”
Halsin gave a soft laugh and gently knocked his forehead against Astarion’s.
“You know me too well.”
“Not nearly well enough.”
“Then, perhaps,” he said slowly, pulling himself out of Astarion’s grip to step back and make a show of removing his shirt, “I could show you.”
Astarion never understood the appeal in feeling small, not until he had Halsin’s arms wrapped around him, strong and solid and warm against his back. Halsin moved him around as if he weighed nothing, but he didn’t treat him delicately, didn’t handle him like he might just shatter if he held him too tightly.
It was perfect.
“Easy,” Halsin soothed, guiding his hips as Astarion sank down into his lap. Halsin had been achingly, annoyingly thorough with his prep, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d taken anything as big as the Druid. Maybe he never had. Nothing about the man was small.
He was barely even moving, had no leverage to do much of anything, but with Halsin’s cock nestled so deep inside him, pressing up against all the little spots that had him seeing stars, he found he didn’t really need to.
Astarion tipped his head back with a gasp and Halsin took the offer, mouth hot and wet against the pale column of his throat.
“Speak to me,” he groaned into the soft spot just under his jaw.
Hands raked through Halsin’s hair until it had been tugged loose, the strands silky as they slid between Astarion’s fingers. He clutched at the nape of his neck and swallowed down a whine so he might be able to manage real words instead. But they didn’t come easily.
“ Gods you’re big.”
A gust of warm breath, a soft chuckle against the twin scars on the side of his neck and Astarion thought he might come undone right then and there.
“So I’ve been told…”
The arms around his waist tightened, urging him up a little before dragging him sharply back down, pressing himself impossibly deep and Astarion wailed.
Gentle fingertips became claws raking at the Druid’s back. He clung desperately to him as his body adjusted and immediately demanded more, head tipped forward to bury his face in Halsin’s shoulder and then… oh, the scent of blood. A scratch slightly too deep and a thin welling of red and Astarion felt dizzy with need. Hollow with hunger and aching to be filled.
“ Please, ” he begged, panting open-mouthed and wanting against the crook of Halsin’s neck.
He was asking for so many things. But even deprived of the tadpole’s connection, Halsin could read him better than most.
One arm unwound itself from his waist and slid higher up his back, a broad warm hand curling around the nape of his neck to pull him in close. Halsin tipped his head to the side to offer up his throat and murmured simply:
“Drink from me.”
It was all the encouragement Astarion needed. He breathed him in, nose pressed against the hot thrum of Halsin’s pulse, and rolled his hips against him. His movement wasn’t particularly graceful, and likely didn’t feel as satisfying for Halsin as it did for him with each shallow, needy little thrust. But if Halsin minded, he wasn’t showing it.
Fingertips biting into the muscle of his back, Astarion sank his fangs into soft, yielding flesh. It shouldn’t have been any different than drinking from his wrist and yet everything was amplified, the blood rushing faster and hotter, so close to the source of the Druid’s evergreen heart.
He muffled a moan against Halsin’s skin, each eager little sound smothered as he drank his fill. Warmth flooded him, Halsin’s warmth, and every pulse brought him closer and closer to the edge.
It was the first time since they’d set foot in the Shadowlands that he’d felt so alive, like the rush of his first bite all over again. He pulled back with a gasp, mouth red and wet and dripping. Halsin met his gaze and shuddered beneath him as if Astarion wasn’t the only one so close to losing control. How badly Astarion wanted him to.
“ Oh, Oak Father preserve me,” he prayed softly before surging forward to claim Astarion’s lips and lick his blood from them.
All at once Astarion felt solid ground hit his shoulders as Halsin pinned him on his back, and thrust into him like a beast possessed.
He gasped and panted against Halsin’s mouth, every pathetic noise devoured straight from the source until it was almost too much to bear. Astarion didn’t even need to touch himself. He clung to him, sank his teeth into the thick, satisfying meat of Halsin’s shoulder to strangle the cry that threatened to escape him. And spilled hot and sticky between their bellies.
Halsin fucked him through it, burying himself deep and grinding against the tender parts of him that had Astarion pleading, begging Halsin to come inside him. To fill him up. To leave him dripping.
To reek of nothing but him, to be so thoroughly his.
And Halsin obliged.
The blood rushing in his ears and the Druid’s animal roar merged together into one deafening sound, drowning everything else out until the inside of his head was blissfully empty. Astarion pulled his teeth from his shoulder and let his head fall back against the bedroll with a thud , body pliant in Halsin’s arms.
It should have been humiliating. He should have been quick to correct himself, to gather his wits and his strength and tear himself from the man’s embrace before Halsin recognized it for what it was–a weakness.
But Halsin held him so reverently, even when his neck and shoulder still sluggishly bled, even when Astarion could feel his body growing tired and knew that it was at his own expense.
Perhaps it wasn’t a weakness at all.
Perhaps–Oak Father willing–he would survive the Shadowlands yet.