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Winter makes things simpler, to an extent.
Simpler because the nighttime lasts so much longer than the warmer months. Astarion is free to wander the village and hunt out into the forest for nearly fourteen hours a day. Halsin often joins him in wild-shape, the pair searching out prey under the cover of darkness.
But wintertime also makes things more difficult.
Halsin’s joints ache in the morning, sometimes. The bear that always slumbers within his soul sings to stay in bed just a few moments longer.
But he knows better than to listen to the voice – if he were to truly fall into a meditative rest, he knows he would not fully awaken until the springtime. It would mean sacrificing his precious hours with his vampire mate, and he was not about to waste that opportunity.
It does not help that Astarion makes it even more arduous to rise from their bedchamber each day. Though bears are inherently crepuscular, the vampire turned Halsin into more of a nocturnal animal. The deepening hours of dusk with Astarion’s naked form clinging to his chest complicated the decision-making process.
Both men had joined the druidic village about two years after the death of the Netherbrain. Those early months following the fall of the Absolute were understandably tumultuous – they spent as much time as they could helping to clean up the city. Later, they guided the other vampire spawn to the Underdark and showed them how to fend for themselves.
They were wandering through a midnight-dark landscape in the dense forest when Halsin sniffed out some other wild-shaped druids. Though they initially regarded Astarion with suspicion, they eventually permitted them to have their own home on the outskirts.
It was the sort of quiet, gentle life that Halsin had always dreamt of. The villagers tried to convince him to become their new leader, given his previous experience as an archdruid. Halsin had politely but firmly declined. It was made even worse when some of the more adventurous members had asked him time and again to join their bedchambers for a bit of romantic company; again Halsin turned them down. He explained that the only person whose bed he wanted to warm up was the one belonging to the elf with downy white curls and eyes the color of rich red wine.
Astarion, for his part, sort of hates the place.
He hates the chatter of children as they sprint near to their cabin, whole gaggles of them interrupting his mid-afternoon nap. He hates the way the wind sometimes creeps its way under the window ledges and disturbs the curtains, bringing an unpleasant strip of sun with it. Sometimes the wind is especially voracious, and it spooks him into hiding.
One bright autumn day had proven too sun-filled for him, and Halsin had returned home that night to find him missing. He had located the vampire only after espying a pile of torn-up floorboards in the kitchen, Astarion having wedged himself underneath them to cower until evening fell.
Most of all, he hates that he must now hunt endlessly for small animals to satiate his thirst. He loathed to do it as a spawn, and the memories of sucking the blood from rats with Cazador’s threats looming over him make his shoulders tremble every time he fells a deer or boar.
As much as he hates the village and its people and the sunlight and the blood of animals, he does not hate Halsin. For that man, Astarion would follow him into the Hells and back.
Halsin prefers this sniping, complaining Astarion to the shut-down one of years past. It’s seldom that his lover flees from conversation to sequester himself away from the outside world these days; for the most part, he stays an active participant within their tiny, two-person family.
Things have also settled into a pattern, comforting him and reassuring Astarion. They both occasionally hear from his spawn siblings. They have thrived in the Underdark, and will sometimes bring the Gur children to visit their families when they are not too thirsty.
Astarion himself still drinks from Halsin, particularly during their lovemaking. It’s one of the many intimate moments they’ve been afforded the chance to share, and they take advantage of it as much as possible.
He still has nightmares, of course. He still cries out during meditation, fingernails scrabbling for purchase against Halsin’s flesh as he seeks his protection. Halsin is grateful for it – his mate settles down so much faster when he wraps their limbs together and sprawls over his chest. He loves being able to hold the smaller elf as long as he wants, though he realizes the price was steep.
When they do make love, Astarion marvels at the moonlight highlighting every muscle on the druid’s body, painting their world in black and white. Halsin’s fingers plunge in and out of him, or wrap themselves around his cock, bringing him to climax over and over again. They both thank their lucky stars that their cabin is on the edge of the village border, no one is around to hear their passionate cries. Apologies are hissed beneath breaths if one of them gets too overzealous with a bite.
Other times, the sex is slow, affectionate, vulnerable. Soft licks to an overstimulated cockhead are followed by the careful caress of spend-soaked fingers carving trails across each others’ stomachs, the act marking them as belonging one another.
Halsin discovers that he’s becoming increasingly possessive during sex, although he muses that having an audience in his younger years did not disturb him in the slightest. Perhaps it’s because he knows that one wrong move, one careless word or decision, could cause Astarion to collapse in on himself again. Halsin fears the one day he will lose his lover forever, whether it be from a monster hunter or Astarion’s own personal demons.
Halsin doesn’t consider himself truly capable of hate, but when he thinks of Astarion leaving him under any circumstances, something in him shakes and breaks apart for a little while before slowly sewing itself back into place.
He just wishes he knew if Astarion felt the same. He did not believe that the vampire was using him; but his insecurities sometimes whispered lies into his ears, deceiving him into thinking it was true.
Evidence against it is supported by just how easily jealous Astarion becomes. He growls warningly at anyone who gets overly familiar with Halsin, flashing his fangs and explaining in indignant tones that “This man is my husband. So, hands off!”
They are not actually married, certainly, but Halsin acknowledges that it’s Astarion’s way of scaring off any unwanted interlopers. Halsin does not comment on it or protest in any way – he secretly enjoys the idea of them being wedded under the steady gaze of Silvanus.
This thing they share between them, this connection, has no proper word that he can use to accurately describe it. Halsin knows he loves him, has said this dozens of times before, and although Astarion has yet to say it back, he knows he feels it regardless.
He feels it in the shape of his mouth when Astarion smiles against his lips, the yearning gazes Halsin pretends not to notice from across the dinner table.
Even now, Astarion is so, so afraid of the world around them.
But he is not afraid of Halsin.
The first time he alludes to it, it’s on a fairly uneventful day.
They are cleaning up the dishes as Halsin mulls over the idea of shifting into wild-shape and going for a quick run through the forest. The evening sun dies beautifully across the snow outside, bathing it in orange light. In a shadowed part of the kitchen, Astarion hunkers, watching the sunset with an impatient expression.
“We should go out tonight,” Halsin offers. “Go find something we can both feast upon. Other than each other, of course.” He laughs lightly at his own joke.
Astarion remains silent and motionless behind him. Halsin worries that he’s having another episode, that something has triggered it and he’ll sink down into the darkness once more.
“Astarion,” Halsin speaks, waiting for a reply.
When he turns to face the other man fully, Astarion’s eyes are locked onto his own. His gaze is alert, but not panicking or glossed over with anguish. Halsin just stares right back, knowing that the best approach was to simply be patient, to wait for his lover to speak on his own terms.
“I-“ Astarion begins, then falters. He shakes his head and looks away.
“I’d love that,” he finishes, and Halsin’s answering grin brightens the room considerably.
The second time it almost happens is when they are enjoying a meal at home.
They had been hunting together for days, bringing back meat not only for themselves but also the rest of the village. Some of their neighbors complained that the meat lacked flavor (Halsin did not deign to explain that it was due to some of it being stripped of blood), but they were otherwise very thankful.
In return, the men were gifted with pickled vegetables and preserved fruits, and not to mention jars upon jars of honeycomb. Halsin bothers not with spoon or bread when he eats the stuff, preferring instead to drag it from the jar with sticky fingers and licking them clean.
Astarion watches him do this once with blown pupils, and Halsin realizes that the smaller elf is gripping their table with desperate fingers.
It only takes them a few minutes to shed their clothing. Halsin accidentally smears honey on Astarion’s hips as he mounts him from behind, bending him over the kitchen table until it groans from their combined weight.
Afterwards, he takes a bit of Astarion’s bread from it where it sits abandoned on the counter and puts some of the honey and jam together on it before handing it back to him.
He always tries to feed Astarion after sex, whether it be with blood or regular “human” food.
This time, he pulls the vampire into his lap and holds the bread to his lips, waiting expectantly. Astarion takes a hesitant bite before relaxing into his hold, sighing deeply.
“This is delicious,” he admits, and Halsin hums agreeably.
“As are you,” he replies, and Astarion chuckles wryly.
“Are you just saying that because I let you fuck me as roughly as you want?” he asks snidely. He spins to look at him, already preparing another quip.
Halsin’s wounded expression freezes him in his tracks.
“Sorry,” he admits quickly. He kisses the larger elf’s brow before taking his thumb to soothe the furrow there. “I didn’t mean that. I lo-“
Another shake of the head. “I’m sorry,” he says again before standing back up. “I’ll do the washing up tonight.”
He removes himself from Halsin’s embrace hurriedly, turning his back as he goes to the sink.
The third time is during the darkest, hardest portion of winter.
Halsin’s ursine soul finally won out for a bit, and he was forced to collapse into bed with his lover and doze off not simply for a few hours, but for several days. He would drag himself into wakefulness before resting again, unable to completely get his body moving.
He’s shifted fully into his bear form, and Astarion gratefully entangles himself into Halsin’s fur as they semi-hibernate together. He runs his fingers through the druid’s pelt, marveling at the scratchiness of the outer layer against the softness of the inner one.
Halsin is half-dozing, slipping in and out of his trance. Astarion thinks the larger elf is more asleep than he truly is when he whispers,
“I love you.”
Into the hushed room.
Despite the faintness of his words, Halsin hears him loud and clear.
The fourth time happens by accident.
They are out for an early dawn walk in the deepest parts of the woods. The sun has only just barely crested over the horizon. Halsin stays on Astarion’s right side to keep him close to the tree line, just in case the vampire was to mistakenly stumble too close to the sunlight.
The druid had wanted to turn him down, to not let him outside until later. Early spring has brought forth longer days and shortening nights. But Astarion learned long ago how to cajole and pout until he got his way. It was a lot of fun for them both when he did it during sex, not so much when it meant potentially putting his own life in danger.
The winter had been long, though, and for once he found himself itching for daylight.
In spite of his complaints the year previous about living in the sticks, he clambered effortlessly over rocks and fallen logs as they traveled. He keeps pace with Halsin’s longer strides easily.
Halsin pauses briefly to look over at the sunlight. It streams across a lake’s edge, making copies of itself and the surrounding trees. It is so similar to the one at alongside their camp when they had first met, a hundred lifetimes ago now.
Reflexively, he presses a hand to the center of Astarion’s chest to stop him in his tracks. He pushes the smaller elf gently into the shelter of the trees, wanting him to see the sunrise without the risk of being burnt. They both silently observe the beauty of the woods around them, the black trees turning to gold where the light hits the top of their branches.
The words tumble from Astarion’s mouth before he can swallow them back down.
“I love you.”
Halsin does not turn around.
“I love you, too, my heart.”
Halsin moves to face him and steps into the shadows willingly. He cradles Astarion’s chin in his hands, and kisses him deeply.