Chapter Text
“’Stari,” you mumble as the room begins to spin and smudge, the outlines of the canopy above the bed fuzzy from the evening light.
Astarion’s lips lift from your skin where he had been weaving a wreath of kisses along the arch of your ribcage, ruby eyes and snow-kissed locks the only features that come into focus. “Yes, my sweet?”
You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to regain some balance as the spot on the side of your neck tingles with a gentle warmth. “I…”
Your lover pushes his palms into the sheets by your hips and presses a final kiss to your breastbone before crawling up your body to take your head into his large, careful hands. “Oh dear, have I overdone it? Are you floating away?” he asks when you blink up at him, amused but you pick up on the underlying concern.
“No, it’s…” The more you try to grasp onto thoughts, the easier they slip through your fingers, so you give up and drop your head back with a sigh. “I don’t know.”
Astarion’s hands smooth up and down your arms, then your waist, and give a squeeze to your hips, surveying everything from the fresh bite mark to the goosebumps dancing across your flesh.
“Are you cold?” he asks, the note of worry now more evident in his tone.
If anything, it’s your fault. Astarion has become rather disciplined in feeding. You’re the one who encouraged him to really indulge from time to time. The day following his feeding was at best inconvenient, but the immediate after-state could get comfortable. The mindless fatigue of bloodlessness was quite a respite for an anxious person.
Not that his day-to-day marks of encouragement—a hand on your hip, a kiss to your wrist, a squeeze to your knee—were unappreciated or ineffective in calming you down in your many downspirals of overthinking and nail-biting, but nothing could truly compare to the forced calm of being drained of just enough blood to seep all the strength and most of the thoughts from you. It was like a sleeping draught or a calming salve, except it was useful to more than one person. The chills, though, you did not particularly enjoy.
“A little cold.”
Astarion frowns lightly and pulls away, causing you to moan in dismay at losing that lovely body contact. Next thing you know, your blanket is being thrown over you from one side, then the other.
It’s too late to complain by the time you manage to string together words to whine, “Don’t swaddle me.”
Your lover exhales through his nose and lies on his side, drinking in the pouty expression on your face. “Last time I listened to you, you sneezed and sniffled for days, pup.”
If you had the strength, you would worm your way to him. It’s as if he can read your mind—and perhaps, after all you’ve been through, he can—because Astarion scoots closer to hold your wrapped-up body like a human-sized pillow, his lithe arms easily drawing you in until your forehead rests against his collarbones.
It took a while to convince him you couldn’t keep food down right after, but these days he accepts it, despite his constant desire to replenish you, and gives you what you actually want—affection.
“’Stari.”
“Mm?”
You tilt your head back and up to meet his eyes. “Thank you.”
He huffs. “Darling, whatever for? Making you feel nauseated and cold and confused?”
“Makin’ me feel calm,” you say. “An’ safe an’ loved an’ useful an’…” you trail off, the end of the sentence spilling out of your ears as you relax into him again, no thoughts necessary to sink back into that fuzzy headspace only he can give you. “You didn’t overdo it. I never…I never feel so normal, except when I’m with you. Like this.”
“I loath to deny you anything, my dear, but this one thing—don’t get used to it,” he says, near apologetic. “It’s…I don’t want to get used to it either. And risk crossing a line. Hurting you.”
Your vision is clear at last, slivers of candlelight laying on his skin as you take a deep, content breath. “I wouldn’t force you into anything, only…I like it when it’s the two of us alone, sated and comfortable.”
“My dearest.” He plants a kiss at your hairline, his grip on your swaddled body a shade stronger. “I do too.”
It takes an hour’s rest and a cup of cold, sweet tea to get you sitting up, though, even when you are, he’s right behind you, allowing you to lean back into his chest if you start feeling weak again. And you do. After sliding the teacup onto the bedside table, you sink into him and take a breath to gather your thoughts as his chin lands gently on top of your head, arms eagerly circling your body, now that there is no drink to spill by accident.
“Remember that book you read me last week?” you ask. It’s perfectly quiet outside.
Astarion chuckles. “You mean the one you forced me to read to you, under pretense of a headache, while you devoured me with your eyes? Journey Through The Jungle? Is that the one, darling?”
You can’t help the smile on your lips. “The very same.”
Your beloved shakes his head and nips at your earlobe. “Yes, I remember. What about it?”
He doesn’t fight you when you push back so you both fall atop the mess of sheets and blankets. You roll off him and to the side to look at his handsome face.
“Would you read to me again? Only for an hour?”
Fingers entwine so naturally—pure instinct, at this point—and your thumbs are free to stroke his cool skin. They always do. Be it feeding or cuddling or sleeping, it’s the clearest physical manifestation of your connection. An intimacy beyond blood or sex or what words can convey.
“How is a man not to fold to such sweet pleas?” He leaves a kiss on your knuckles before pushing himself out of bed to grab the book.
You take the time to sort out the bed—get the pillows all nicely layered in their place and straighten out the covers—and make sure you’re no longer bleeding or dizzy. By the time he’s back, you’re tucked in on your side, giddy with excitement.
“Don’t be coy, sweeting, lest I opt not to allow you any rest tonight,” he says, but there’s no real heat to it just then. You’ve grown to distinguish when he means to rile you up by his little flirtations and when they stand in for more literal expressions of tenderness.
All the response he gets is a pat at his spot, which makes him roll his eyes as if to remind you that he is not a dog. Yet, he obeys.
Astarion is beautiful always, but that neutral, clear expression he dons while reading is your favorite. His voice is a lullaby and it doesn’t waver much when you squeeze into his side and close your eyes, content to listen ‘till the end of your lives.
Calling Astarion Starry and the concept of anxiety relief by blood drinking have got me by the neck, and I’ve barely entered the Shadow-Cursed Lands. No game spoilers pls, I am but a humble noob gamer and an anxious Starry simp, here to share with the public the daydreams that keep beaming into my brain.
I'm also a weeb so my usual offerings are JJK, Genshin, and like one fic for every anime I was obsessed with at any point.
Anyway! Thank you for reading <3 and have a good week.