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Hemlock was adjusting well to the underdark, finding himself easily in tune with the strange fungal flora around them. He wasn't sure if the feeling of belonging was a truthful one, and he had spent time down here before, or if it was simply the harmony with the spores within him. He couldn't help but find it all so beautiful.
Asterion, however, seemed to be less keen. They had accidentally stumbled through a few strange fungal patches before Hemlock got his bearing, and the elf had quickly taken to loudly complaining about the disgusting state of his boots. The others didn't pay it much heed, especially after their run in with a spectator. After all, he did tend to be a bit... Melodramatic.
At last, they came to a quiet, well defended cave, which Hemlock deemed be suitable for a camp for the night- or at least, Gale claimed that it was nightfall on the surface. As everyone set up for the night, Hemlock noticed Astarion was yet to change out of his armour, sitting dejectedly away from the group. He approached slowly, noting the thick later of slime and ooze coating his boots. A fine enchanted pair, Astarion had purchased them at the druid grove, and seemed very proud of them. Now, he eyed them with distaste.
"Not enjoying the underdark so far?"
Astarion looked up, features shifting instantly into a smirk. "Well, it's certainly no Baldur's Gate, but I suppose that can't be help-"
His words trailed off as Hemlock sunk to his knees before him, eyes going wide.
"Well, darling, if that's what you wanted..."
Hemlock sighed. "Your boots." He ran a finger along the side of one, and Astarion visibly winced at the glob of fungal detritus that came off at the touch.
"Yes, dreadful stuff, it shall take me hours to get it all out of the stitching. Your point?"
Hemlock sank one hand into the dirt, and water welled up through the soil to fill it. "Let me do it." He looked up at Astarion, not a trace of their usual games. "Let me take care of you."
For a moment, Astarion looked defensive, about to insist he was perfectly capable, thank you very much. But then the words sunk in, and the mask fell away. Confusion, almost fear, crossed his face, but also a warmth, a vulnerability that Hemlock had only caught glimpses of before.
"I... Are you sure?"
Hemlock smiled up at him. "It would be my honour."
Calling the water to rinse off the sludge was simple enough, and Hemlock had no qualms using his hands to slough it off. After all, fungal spores lived in his lungs, his blood. A little on his hands was hardly anything new. With the worst of it gone, he summoned a gentle breeze to dry the excess water, and pulled out a brush to meticulously scrub off any remaining dirt and grime.
Astarion watched silently as he worked, transfixed by the sight of the tiefling on his knees, working over the boots with an astounding level of care and gentleness. As the brush was set down, he went to pull his foot back, but Hemlock caught him, a hand resting gently on one ankle.
"Not yet. I want to do this properly."
Reaching back into his pocket, he pulled out a small tin, full of some kind of salve. Scooping a little out in his fingers, he began to carefully massage it into the leather, spreading it evenly across the boot. Astarion shivered as hands caressed his ankle, up his calf, the warmth seeping through thick leather to the cold skin beneath.
Hemlock kept his eyes fixed on his work, taking his time to ensure every inch was carefully tended. When at last, the work was done, he leaned forward to press a gentle kiss to the boot, hearing a hitch in the breath above him. He matched it with another on the other side, before gently resting his head against Astarion's knee.
Slowly, he looked up once more, meeting red eyes. Pupils blown wide, swimming with some untamable emotion. Astarion brought a hand to Hemlock's head, and he melted into it, eyes fluttering closed as a low purr emanated from deep within his chest.
They rested like that for several long minutes, breathing in tandem. Hemlock's tail flicked slowly across the ground, contented, as gentle hands carded through his hair.
At last, Asterion breathed a quiet "Thank you." Slowly, Hemlock shifted back onto his haunches, tucking the brush and salve away, as he looked up once more.
"And thank you, for trusting me. The oils should protect the leather, make them easier to clean in the future. And if you need help, I'm here."
A scoff at that. "I don't need help. I've dealt with worse than a little muck."
Hemlock pulled himself to his feet once more, leaning casually against the rocky wall. "I know. But that doesnt' mean you have to now. I'm a druid, I'm in my element down here." He tilted his head for a moment, considering. "Tell you what, we can call it a trade. I'll take care of all the unpleasantness down here in the underdark, and once we get back to Baldur's Gate, you can be my guide. Save me from getting hopelessly lost in some seedy underbelly." He flung his head back, hand across his forehead in mock horror.
His dramatics earned a chuckle from Astarion. "In that case, I suppose I could be amenable. If you're in such desperate need of my assistance."
"It's settled then." Hemlock replies with a nod, dropping the act. "If there's anything I can help with, just say the word. Just don't let Gale hear, I don't think he's left his tower in a decade before this, and I dread to think what he might ask for."
"You know..." Astarion added, a smirk spreading across his face as they made their way to the camp, "Back at the goblin camp, when I said I wanted every sordid detail, I didn't actually expect a demonstration."
Hemlock glared, but he couldn't fully hide the smile creeping up underneath. "Go gossip to the others if you like. But if you do, you'll have to take care of it yourself next time."
"Gasp! You wouldn't dare!"
"Try me."