Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

   Astarion had everything under control.

He was no stranger to thick fingers grasping him by the neck like a doll, or to the nauseating stench of meat and beer rolling off his mark’s tongue. It had been slim pickings that night, and dawn grew near. Every moment wasted being picky only meant Cazador was more than likely to be disappointed, and he hated being disappointed. 

  He stifled a noise of frustration, while he didn’t need to breathe it didn’t mean he was privy to enjoying this common display of dominance. He shoved his head to the side, as much as he could in the man’s hold, and he didn’t bother feigning much interest, since it would be lost on the drunk anyways. 

”I hate waiting as much as you, darling,” he refrained from rolling his eyes,” but my home is a five minute walk. Certainly, you can make it that far.” 

   The man grumbled something incoherent, even for him, and then forced his lips further along Astarion’s neck, at least giving way to a few fingers. The pale elf grumbled under his breath, but in truth he felt fear envelop him like a drow’s poison. His mark was far too gone to make the walk in time, or even be sober enough to Cazador’s liking. He hadn’t even gotten him off, the taste of his blood would be rancid to his master’s standards. He’d already made a mistake this week, one that he’d barely remained unscathed for if not for the pleasant cries he’d offered in response to Cazador’s demanding touch.

He couldn’t make another.

  He still had a little time, if he could just get rid of this meat sack and find someone who could walk, and was just as easy to please with a seductive smirk and few simple words adorning their ego. There were plenty in the tavern. He placed his hand on the man’s chest and pushed him, though with the lack of meals sustaining him and the man’s broad shoulders it didn’t do much, but stir the drunk. He blinked, as if only realizing the predicament they were in, Astarion pinned into the back alley, half the man’s belt unbuckled.

"Listen," he managed a low chuckle, bordering with the looming threat of punishment," I have friends waiting for me inside. I think-"

"You think you're gonna tease me all night, an' jus walk away, like that?" The man lifted his scrunched brows, his beady eyes feasting on the moonlight stretching past the opening of Astarion's dark laced tunic. Typically, he didn't mind a little over zealous grabbing. He could dissociate with ease most nights, let his skilled hands curl the man's body into a blissful submission, until his master decided it was time to put the lucky fool out of his misery.

  His marks weren't always so stout or rough, but sometimes he liked to think the people he handed over at least marginally deserved as much. This man was nothing more than a heated drunk, Baldur's Gate wouldn't miss him, and he certainly wouldn't. He wanted Astarion right there, their only cover the half shadow cast down from the arched roofs of the tavern and the wooden fence parting the alley. What use was it now? Even if he bit down the disgust and the sharp violations of his flesh, giving the man anything wouldn't bring him to Cazador's feet, not when he was practically drooling like a gnoll. 

"It is-," Astarion hissed when fingers curled viciously curious underneath the untucked fabric of his shirt, once again attempting to shove the man from his presence," in your best interest to walk away now."

  He finished light, the unneeded air only shortening his threat into nothing more than a gasp. A million things trespassed within the solace of his empty task, befuddling the little he could think of besides what was taking place. He'd been taken in worse places, by more than a few men, but at least after the initial struggle his master would be pleased. Here, now, this was nothing more than a punishment that he refused to take. 

   "My best interest?" The man howled with amusement, shoving his horrid and hot tongue in direction of the elf's closed mouth, only to be met with the side of his sharp jaw as he turned. This only riled the man further, who raised his bruised knuckles as if to strike him, only to falter in his steps and stagger with a pained yelp towards the crates up against the stone wall.

   Astarion blinked. Even with his dark vision, it took him moments to realize in his quiet distress that it had not been the sudden stir of booze that struck the man, but another, dark eyes glistening with anger and an outstretched rapier intended for the beast. He hadn’t even noticed anyone leaving the side door of the tavern, but a sense of relief flooded through his empty veins as he settled his sights on the surprising display. The corner of his lips twisted into a smirk, and he stilled in the darkness to observe the dark and handsome, young man rushing to preserve his honor.

 How sweet. 

   “You’re lucky I’m bound by law, if not your hand might find itself fed to the sewers,” his voice, thick and warm like honey, carried about it a confidence worthy of a prince.

Astarion leaned back against the building, his head tilted as the new opportunity laid itself out for his taking. He had more than enough time if he played his cards right. Any man that would throw his blade into a fight that had nothing to do with him had pride, and pride was often addicted to the sweet allure of a helpless, needing victim. 

  The drunk man raised both his arms to shield himself from the blade, his pleas far more pleasant to the ears than the taunts and flirts he’d been throwing Astarion the entire evening. “Please! I meant no harm! The lil bastard’s just a tease!”

Astarion scoffed, which caught the noble hero’s attention. He half turned his head and offered a kind smile, one that made every part of Astarion’s soulless body cold. He averted his gaze swiftly, hoping he came off as someone still in the midst of nerves. 

“I hardly believe this man is the perpetrator here,” the man said back at the drunk, his tone stern and well, overall it wasn’t a horrible voice to listen too, especially when it was being used to defend him- which, was a first. “We can ask for a second opinion though, I’m sure a guard will see reason-“

”Actually,” Astarion stepped into the light of the moon, and for a moment was rewarded with the softest of breaths and a gaze that he was all to used too. Admiration. Want. Men were all the same, but tonight he needed just that. “I don’t wish to get any guards involved. I-“ he broke off, curling his arms around his body, allowing his stare to penetrate the very walls of the tavern,” I just want to make it home safe.”

  Prince Charming lowered his weapon, an obvious struggle within his gaze, as if any justice would be met if he even did decide to call for help. It was naive. It revealed just how young a mark he was, a fact Astarion pressed away until it meant nothing at all. He stepped forward, hesitantly but with practiced grace.

”Please,” he said,” It’s been a horrible night, but you’ve saved me from the worst of it. If you could walk me home, I think-“ he sighed, sensing the man’s resolve,” I know, that I’d be very grateful.”

If the man caught onto the entendre of his words, he didn’t let on. The drunk grumbled some mutilated words between frantic breaths, though charming kept his gaze to Astarion, his voice lifted of the heavy infliction. 

  “I cannot have him arrested if you don’t press charges, and I’d rather hate to know this man walks free-“

”Look at him,” Astarion informed. His patience was wearing thin, but he hoped to portray something more with his batted lashes, slow rising gaze,” He wouldn’t think to try this again, not with someone like you on the streets.”

The man let out a long sigh, though Astarion was met with victory when he sheathed his blade. It only took a few little compliments and fake bouts of admiration for a man to bend to his will. It was almost too easy. He stepped back, for a moment wondering how the man might taste. It was enough to spiral him on edge from the smell alone, something fresh and spiced, like a fine whiskey served by the flames of cedar wood. He had half the mind to keep his clothes on, if he smelt like this than he had to have an intoxicating sort of taste. Cazador might not mind how little pleasure he felt through his blood.

“Are… you alright?”

  Astarion roused himself from his obsessive thoughts and realized the drunk was no where to be seen. He must have taken off running, though by the looks of the strange hero it had been a most eye opening experience for the beastly man. Astarion was kind of disappointed he hadn’t heard the last of his threats.

”I’m fine,” Astarion managed, quirking a pleasant smile in Charming’s direction,” My honor remains, thanks to you-“

”Wyll,” the man finished for him, a delighted grin upon his face. 

“Wyll,” Astarion repeated. He didn’t make it a habit of learning his mark’s names, at least he hadn’t for a very long time. It was easier to forget a face when no words attached themselves, though this man was already making quite a spot in his mind. He’d never been saved, even if he could have easily taken down the drunk in the end. A few seconds more and Astarion would have managed to escape his grasps and find something heavy enough to leave him out cold. Still, the man had made an attempt and in turn succeeded. That enough warranted a little thought, maybe later even guilt. 

~•~

  Wyll hadn’t planned on transversing through the streets of the many taverns and inns so late in the night, but he imagined the horrors this stranger might have experienced if he hadn’t. While he was not one to be taken by his anger, allowing a man to walk free of consequence bothered him to no end. He laid his own burdens down for the sake of the pale haired elf, whose eyes basked almost in red. He had an ethereal sort of beauty, though Wyll had noticed in the passing years the elves he did meet seemed to possess it naturally. Still, there was something different about the one he met now. The way he moved was similar to the plays he’d once been engulfed in as a child, bountiful tales of hero’s and maidens, often times dragons- all rehearsed and memorized in order to capture the audience. 

And that he did.

”Astarion,” the elf offered. The pull of his tongue with the raise of his vowels, the sweet melodic fall of letters to present a very pleasant name, Wyll took it in stride.

”Astarion,” he tried,” it’s a very graceful name. What does it mean?”

”Why does it have to mean anything?”

There was something more than the initial shock of what had almost occurred in the man’s gaze, but Wyll was not one for intimidating or interrogating the innocent. He nodded once, as if to apologize, and then looked towards the edge of the pier farther off in the darkness, lit only by the brazen heat of the guards torches. 

“Shall I walk you home then?”

  The idea caught the elf’s attention, and even more so when Wyll offered up his arm to lead. He’d only need an address, knowing the city’s heart long before he’d learnt to wield a sword. His father might have berated him about it, if they’d been on speaking terms, most likely reasoning this could just as easily be a trap. A man pretends to fight off a drunk, the hero walks them farther into the darkness, only to realize the drunk and victim had been in the game all along. Wyll had heard it all from his father, though it was all just a bunch of paranoia. Even if he ever did walk into a scheme, he knew well enough how to defend himself. 

  He liked to believe he could read people, at least enough to give them the benefit of the doubt. When pale fingers wrapped around his arm, he lowered his sight from the silver curls and to a steady and calculative gaze; Perhaps, assessing the situation, the possible danger Wyll might possess. It was only natural. Astarion seemed to find nothing of harm by the time they turned to the corner of the Main Street. His fingers squeezed Wyll’s arm gentle enough that he wasn’t certain if he’d imagined it. 

“I must have better luck than I’d thought, being saved just in time-“ Astarion kept his tone casual, a bit flirtatious in Wyll’s opinion smothered by gratitude despite the way his steps seemed almost frantic, like he was chasing down the seconds that passed.

   “It really isn’t safe to be in the taverns alone,” Wyll insisted, though he knew it wasn’t any of his business.

”Oh, how sweet of you to worry,” Astarion drawled in that pleasant voice,” but I’ve managed for years by myself. Besides, if I’d been with anyone else I’d hardly the pleasure of being walked home by you.”

His voice deepened with something far more revealing, and for a moment Wyll was struck still in his path. Astarion raised a brow, squeezed his arm once, more noticeably, and tilted his head with a slight chuckle.

   “Am I embarrassing you?” 

Wyll could have sworn the idea delighted the man.

“Flattering,” Wyll compromised. He continued to follow Astarion’s lead down a familiar alley, one that didn’t often have much trouble with crime. When a few uneven steps in the street revealed themselves under the lamp lights, he made certain to avoid them for Astarion’s ease. “Still, I’d advise precaution this late. He might have been the first, but there are many others-“

”I’m aware,” Astarion said quickly, and the moment Wyll looked to catch his gaze he had his head turned towards the growing towers of the Szarr’s Palace. Vitality ceased to pool in his demeanor, and instead a heavy reluctance slowed his steps. Even the hold of Wyll’s arm seemed to tense, despite the light air of his words that followed.

”All this banter about me being in danger, and I don’t see any of your friends following us,” the elf tilted his head to peer at him with a narrowed glare,” Or do you struggle taking your own advice? It’s hardly fair of you.”

   Wyll laughed in good grace,” You have me there, I suppose. I didn’t even mean to come out tonight, but my friends-“ he huffed a little with amusement,” they think I’m in need of companionship.”

“Is the heroic Wyll of The Alley lonely?” Astarion asked without hiding his interest.

Wyll, pleased by the directness of the tease, found no reason to lie to the stranger. He was an open book for the most part. His secrets weren’t much for darkness, though he did have his moments of vulnerability that he’d keep to himself.

”I tend to be distracted from forming relationships. My duty to the city has always come first,” he admitted, strolling effortlessly further towards the towers. He wondered suddenly where they might be going, growing cautious when they turned another corner away from portions of homes he recognized. He was easily distracted by the allure of the voice in response. 

   “Your duty?” The voice inquired.

While Wyll wasn't shy of his family name, he felt it unnecessary to share or wish to stain the conversation with any preconceived notions it might bring. This stranger was already taking his words with ease, no need to spoil it by announcing labels, lest the charming glint to the man's gaze might reveal something more forced, out of respect. He found many people did it without thinking, the moment they realized who his father was, it was like watching them lose any sort of will to pursue on a more personal level. That, was a bit isolating within itself.

"I swore an oath as a young man to protect the city's innocent by blade or hand alone, for as long as I am capable," he explained instead, which in response rewarded him with the shrill amusement of his company.

"You're still young," Astarion pointed," and that's quite a mission. Why don't you start out small? Adopt a cat, or- hells," his laugh was warm despite the fact it was directed at him," have some much needed fun."

   "I have fun," Wyll protested, though he was at loss for words when the elf only raised a brow, waiting for any sort of example to prove him wrong. It was strange, being picked on with the slight edge of something coy, barely noticeable if he hadn't already been taken in by it. Wyll cleared his throat and gestured to the end of the walls, where a guard's station sat parallel to a bridge. 

"You live beyond the walls, then?" He gestured to the Szarr palace, mostly to change the subject before he found himself backed in another corner. 

~•~

   “Unfortunately,” Astarion stopped, a sense of dread consuming him as Wyll bent his neck to take in the massive home of Cazador Szarr,” This is me.”

He hadn’t meant to drop his whimsical and teasing act, but it was like an instant reaction the moment he could breathe the decay of the towers in. He was no longer a man who’d just been saved, but emptiness itself. He was devoid of everything, but the commandments his master carved into his soul, until nothing was ever his again. Not even his fear belonged to him, not really. Cazador could just as quickly take that away too, and with his words alone. 

   “Are you family of Cazador? Always took him as a recluse,” Wyll asked, and if he noticed the sudden drop in Astarion’s mood he didn’t reveal it.

Astarion was almost grateful, if not a little disappointed that it wasn’t the drunk at these doors now. Wyll seemed to be a kind man, one that was more childhood hope than anything. It didn’t seem too fair to bring the ones that had barely lived, but in ways it was almost merciful. They’d never have to know the cruelty of the world, only ever Cazador and his fangs. 

“The bastard likes to be charitable now and then,” Astarion responded, clear distaste seeping with each word. Why hide it? Wyll would be dead soon enough.

”He adopted a handful of us. We work in his house as a way of repaying his awful kindness,” he placed a hand to his chest, and then he let a smirk fill his lips before gesturing to the door,” Enough about him, why don’t you come inside and hear more about me?”

   Wyll’s heartbeat jolted in speed. It was intense, like a whirl of white noise penetrating every pore of his flesh, until Astarion was entranced by the sound of blood being sent through his veins. If not for the centuries of practice, he might not have been able to stir from the horrid thirst. It took him a few seconds to turn away long enough to unlock the door, and then with a newly placed mask, he leaned in a slight arch against the side. He had thirty minutes, easy. It wouldn’t take long, further assuring his mark would be perfect. 

“You wouldn’t deny me in offering you a drink, would you?” He implored. He tilted his head to the side, and noticed the battle of a grin taking place on Wyll’s face. Oh. In another life, Astarion might have found the innocent display of desire adorable; but right now, there, he found it promising. 

   “What kind of gentleman would that make me?” Wyll replied, though it was obvious enough he was only using words he’d heard men use countless of times before. At least with Wyll, Astarion could almost convince himself he meant it, if not for the way he was about to be anything but a gentleman. 

Chapter Text

   Wyll was no stranger to living with fortune, but the palace before him felt more like a museum than anyone's home. The foyer was pristine, though it felt closed in with darkness, vast curtains hanging off the sculpted entryway and it's double sided windows. The staff were ignorant to anyone's presence, too far enveloped in whatever task the owner of the home designated. If he had to give words to the feeling exactly, he might find them in the imagery of his childhood stories. If not a princess stowed away in a tower, perhaps, a pale haired elf who appeared conflicted by it all. 

   He noticed the frustration seeping forth in the elf's words, the way he was quick to change the subject at the mention of Cazador Szarr. Wyll didn't know much of the man, but he was no stranger to the gossip. It was too often a man of wealth abused their power, often involving those that fell under their care. 

"This way, darling" Astarion guided, all play in his ventures, fingers splayed out over Wyll's shoulder before leading him down a long hallway. His mood was quick to change, he noticed, but it was hard to tell if it was remaining nerves from the alley or if something else weighed on the man's shoulders. He was enticing as it was, mysterious even, perhaps even more than the strange shroud of each room they passed, too presentable to be owned by anyone. He found as they made their way into a large sitting room, bar set and fully stocked, he had hardly paid much attention to anything other than his guide. He wasn't even certain he'd remember where the doors were, not this deep into the home. 

   "Take a seat,"  Astarion gestured to the grand couch adorned with neatly stacked books on the side table. Wyll looked to them curiously, only to find they were all printed in different languages, none of which he could read. He wasn't finding much else to study, not when the gorgeous stranger was moving about to ready him a drink. There was that rushed notion again, in the way his fingers cared little for the full cup he offered, or the way he watched Wyll intently until the man raised his to drink. 

Astarion smiled, and it was as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders," Is it to your liking?"

"It is," Wyll informed honestly, and because he couldn't help himself, added" I would imagine it might be easier to enjoy a drink in the safety of your home rather than go out alone, especially with such fine vintage on hand."

"Ah," Astarion set his wine against the side table, further amused by his words it seemed," but then I wouldn't meet such lovely people. You are-" he stopped in his tracks, and then to Wyll's surprise lowered dangerously close to take a seat," like a breath of fresh air in this polluted world. Not many men would risk their drink to walk a stranger home."

  "It was the right thing to do," Wyll informed, brows furrowed at the insinuation. Not all people were as cruel to choose their vices over a stranger, but he also knew the truth to his words. Not everyone shared Wyll's sentiments or morals. 

"Was it?" Astarion asked, for a brief moment his smile faded, but not long enough Wyll could determine its meaning. He only knew the man was quite skilled in word play, captivating to every sense, and that he was leaning forward to grasp his knee with his cold hand. Wyll stilled.

”I guess it doesn’t matter whether it was right or wrong,” Astarion mused, and in one swift, perfect movement his leg fell to the other side of Wyll’s thigh so he could straddle his lap in a very provocative and dangerous display,” I’m rewarding you either way.”

   Many things overcame Wyll in that moment. The physical sensation of a lithe body pressed before him startled his hand that he nearly made a mess with the wine. Astarion rolled his eyes playfully and fetched the drink to set it aside for later. His long fingers parted the button of Wyll's coat, and while he remained struck in shock at the advances, the elf continued whispering sultry words into the nape of his neck.

"It's only fair I offer my gratitude. How would you like me, darling? "

"Ast-" Wyll gasped when lips met his flesh, soft, warm even- unlike the hands that found themselves underneath his tunic. They playfully bit at his neck, nothing that would leave a mark, but enough it enticed a horrible warmth in Wyll's stomach. He was no stranger to desire, but this was hardly how he'd yearn for it. 

   "Astarion, please-" Wyll pressed a gentle hand to the man's shoulder to keep him from furthering his movements," You don't owe me this."

Astarion chuckled from where his face still pressed deep into the nape of his neck, his fingers tightening their hold of his side, possessive almost, desperate. 

"And-" Wyll's head fell back when the elf lowered his hips, dragging them slow against Wyll's obvious predicament. He hardly had control of his physical desires, but as a man with integrity he wouldn't dare seek out taking advantage of someone he'd recently saved.

"And I don't want this," he struggled to keep his voice clear, but the elf pulled away to hear what he had to say.

   "Don't be coy," Astarion purred, lowering his gaze to the evidence," You can drop the heroic little act and ravage me now."

Ravage. Wyll caught the sharpness of the elf's jaw, the slight laugh lines that revealed more than the charming words he seemed to have ready. His long lashes were gorgeous, and in this light, his eyes were most definitely a dark red. Wyll could just as easily tangle his fingers in what appeared to be the softest of pale curls, allow himself the pleasures of what those teasing lips offered, but that wouldn't be him. Wyll wasn't a man who could take such important things from someone he didn't love. 

  "I don't wish to insult you, but I can't find it in me to accept your offer," Wyll watched the man tilt his head with a gnawing confusion, especially when he was clearly bothered and entranced by every slight movement of the body against him," It's just not in me. Perhaps, if we courted-"

A cold laughter struck him like a blade.

"Court? You're not actually serious, are you?"

Wyll stared at him with a glare," Is it so hard to believe? That I should yearn to wait for someone I care about?"

He'd been teased about it before, his notion that people could still fall in love, but Astarion was far more harsh with his response, more judgmental in his hope. It was as if his skin had peeled back to reveal a new face completely, one that turned away as he pried his leg from its position and somewhere much more safe. 

   "Of course," Astarion muttered, mostly to himself," I'd find the one virgin left in Baldur's Gate."

"I'm not a virgin," Wyll said with heat everywhere in his face," I just don't sleep with people I have no feelings for. Besides, you're probably-" he trailed off a little, but Astarion turned on him.

"I'm probably what?"

Wyll took in a deep breath," You're probably in shock still. It's understandable that you'd feel inclined to offer me something, but I promise you, it's entirely unnecessary."

  “Unnecessary,” Astarion spat the word like it was venom, but there was something in his disappointment and rising frustrations. Wyll had no words for it though, couldn’t exactly pinpoint just what it was he found, at least, not until a foreign voice filled the room, breaking the tension.

“I was informed the son of Duke Ravengard had entered my home, but I admit I had to see it for myself.”

Fear. Astarion was afraid.

~•~

  Ravengard. Astarion should have known the man was much too formal to have been a nobody. Where he stood, he could only feel his master’s presence, and it pulled his entire body until he was backed away from the couch and standing with his head lowered, waiting with uncertainty. He’d messed up, bad. They were to offer people who wouldn’t be noticed missing, to listen to their stories as they were slowly seduced, ensuring no one would come knocking upon their departure. He’d been in such a desperate rush that he hadn’t even bothered considering who Wyll might be.

  A fucking son of the grand duke. He wanted to laugh in disbelief, but he was still with horror, and his master had that face that bore both a careful diplomacy and a sneering warning for those underneath him. 

Wyll straightened his posture, looking positively ruined. He’d been on the brink of losing, Astarion knew. He only had to push a little farther, tease a little more and he would have been like putty in his hands, regardless of his moral stature. It didn’t matter anymore. His mark was tainted by his father’s title, and it was a grave mistake he would be punished for.

”I offered to walk him home,” Wyll informed, standing to offer the man a hand,” I’m sorry if I’m intruding. I only meant to stay long enough to know he was alright.”

   Cazador smiled at the idea with great amusement. Astarion could already feel the words he wished to spill, how his seemingly stiff posture would bend to his sadistic will when he used his hands to wring whatever life Astarion had left, until he was nothing more but a rotting, begging body trained into obedience. His gaze lifted only enough that he could see their hands join in a polite shake, and to register the way his master eyed the two, like he was being let in on a rather telling secret. 

“Is that so?” Cazador chuckled as he brought a hand to what had once been Astarion’s wine. He didn’t move to drink it, but his long finger reached down to twirl the liquid with slight interest. 

   Astarion swallowed a horrible lurch in his throat, and then he realized even as powerful an aura Cazador had, Wyll kept his gaze trained on him. It was steady, not revealing any thoughts that might transpire in that head of his. 

“I hope my boy didn’t insult you. He has a knack for trying to undress anyone naive enough to follow him home,” Cazador caught the way Astarion flinched at his words, all while remaining perfectly passive, like nothing more than an unruly child in need of a reprimand. It would do no good to further disappoint the master now. That, would be asking for much worse than what he already had planned. 

  Wyll blinked in surprise, and then he lowered his gaze where his coat and tunic had been fussed about by Astarion’s prying fingers. He smoothed his clothes down, offering the pale elf an apologetic sort of glance. 

“Not so much as I might have insulted him,” he informed, still riding that high from saving a damsel in distress it appeared, otherwise he might have actually found an insult to hurl his way. “I’d like to speak over another drink if you’re ever around the Elfsong tavern again. It’ll be my treat.”

   Astarion’s jaw clenched. Wyll’s interest was so obvious in front of Cazador, that he knew the man was feeding off his desire like a glutton. He enjoyed when men sought out his spawns, as if every lustful gaze warranted his demanding and cruel training. That’s what it was, in the end. The punishments, the false rewards, all to train each imprisoned spawn to heel, far below even the worst of pests. They were nothing, and yet Cazador enjoyed owning them, bragging of his complete control during his private parties and senseless meetings. If Wyll continued to stare at Astarion the way he did now, he feared a flame of interest would light within his master’s mind, with the dire need to show off.

”You’re free to see him anytime you’d like,” Cazador offered, and Astarion was sure it appeared to be an open and friendly invitation, but something dark lurked in his easy words. He never gave without taking. Cazador was always making moves steps ahead of plan, and that’s why he’d always win. He gestured to Astarion who kept still, hands clenched to his side as he tried to remain a face of casual interest. “In fact, I’ve been meaning to reach out to your father in regards to funding some new programs that might benefit all of Baldur’s Gate. I’d like to reach more of the…” Cazador flickered his gaze to Astarion,” the helpless.”

”I’ll be sure to inform him,” Wyll said, a slight strain in his expression, but nothing that gave way to the type of anxiety fueling Astarion’s body. He was sure even the smile he plastered on his face when Wyll turned back to him seemed out of place, but it was all he could manage,” The council could really make a difference with the right funding. Is there any particular program you’ve considered?”

”If your father and you’d like to join me in discussing the terms at the upcoming ball, I’d be more than pleased to give you all the finer details.”

   Astarion couldn’t take it sometimes. If ever before, he felt the disgusting need to scream at the man drinking down every word of the monster, it was now. Just once, he’d like to tell someone everything, the raw and ugly truth of Cazador Szarr and the helpless he kept. He wanted to watch the man be devoured by hate, crushed by his own hands, battered and left with his intestines dripping down his stupid red rugged halls. But at what cost? To speak these words only meant death for the one that heard, and even worse for him. He’d be left alive, possibly in more than one piece, forced to heal without even the smallest drop of putrid rat blood as aid.

“Then I’ll find my best suit in preparation,” Wyll said properly, like a man just from a story book, charming, warm, too stupid to know any better that he was being toyed with by a master manipulator. Astarion turned his head away the moment the man tried reaching for his sights again, because he’d betray himself now. His facade was slipping, as it often did at the end of the night, when the people he brought home should be long dead.

~•~

   There was something really wrong with Cazador Szarr’s Palace. Aside from the somewhat darker architecture and decorum, there was a very thick tension between Astarion and the man who’d adopted him. Wyll had seen the reaction of his body, and the way he’d hardly lifted his gaze to view the man, but it was more than the things he took notice of. It was every little detail he couldn’t help piece together himself in the midst of the rather strange conversation. 

   Astarion had tried to undress him, but it had become more than just a casual way to reveal his gratitude, that he knew. He’d been racing against something, time perhaps, knowing Cazador might appear and view an intimate scene. It wasn’t odd being worried, but the way he froze and faltered at the man’s voice, like he was moments away from being struck- that was odd.

No matter how old the elf was, he worked under Cazador, he relied on Cazador. If this man was striking fear in the hearts of those he claimed to help for mere amusement, then Wyll would do everything in his power to knock the man from his pedestal. What was it then? He’d responded so easy to Wyll, hurled out a horrid accusation for his adoptive son with not so much as a blink of the eye. And Astarion, someone who he’d only just met, but knew was not someone to take such words silent- did just that. 

   It was all he could think of during his short walk home. Astarion, the outrageously beautiful stranger who could just as easily throw a flirtatious quip and sharp words meant to insult in the same breath; He was absolutely breathtaking, but not in the safest way. Wyll had almost lost control of his own desires, pressed so firm to another body, even knowing he would only regret if he reached forward. And another thing, Wyll huffed a breath of irritation at the thought, Cazador had given him permission to see Astarion. Permission. He was hardly a child or a piece of property, if anything it should have been Astarion accepting or declining his offer.

   It reminded him of his own father, at least how he had been before his mother’s passing. There were certain expectations of him, and there had been since he was nothing more than a little boy. His father meant well, he was sure, but he knew better what should come of his life, and he refused to lose his sense of self, playing societal rules that hurt the weak. Wyll couldn’t be controlled, and upon meeting Astarion he’d thought the same of him until meeting Cazador, who irked him in ways he couldn’t explain. This could all be a figment of his imagination, his desire to bring justice playing at his heart, but he wouldn’t rest until he was certain. If someone was being hurt somehow, Wyll couldn’t stand by and ignore it.

   So he’d play diplomacy well, offer a word to his father even, and then find some time to speak to Astarion and figure out what was actually going on. He felt settled in his plan by the time he reached the small cobblestone of a small garden out front of a two bedroom home. It was lovely, though he hated taking space when his friends were trying to build a family. He made a sound decision then to return home that week. He couldn’t run from the perfume of his mother anymore than he could deny his father’s pain. 

   “Gale, I told you to stop taking apart my kitchen! You don’t live here!”

Shadowheart’s voice rang out the moment Wyll opened the door, and then a very loud crash and a startled ‘oops’ from Gale.

He should really try returning home in the next few days. He barely even had time to lock the door when his presence was noted and alerted by Tav, who was stuffing his face full of freshly baked bread. He pinched a piece off and offered it to Wyll, who regarded it with a raised brow. 

“Did Shadowheart make this?”

”No,” he said in a hurried whisper,” don’t worry, it was Gale.”

”Hey!” Shadowheart turned the corner with a bowl of batter underneath her arm, and Wyll had the slightest of pleasures watching Tav somehow appear much whiter than he already was,” Can you tell your friends to stop touching my stuff?”

”I thought we were friends,” Gale shouted from behind her,” And besides, I was helping you.”

   Wyll chuckled fondly at the group’s senseless argument and took a piece of Tav’s bread before catching his penetrative stare. It’s like he had an internal alarm that went off when any of his friends were struggling with something.

”What happened? Did you have trouble at the tavern?” Tav, who’d been the one to even muster the idea of Wyll taking a much needed break to broaden his social horizon, didn’t even bother coming out that night. He was no man of ill manner, only one that had his heart warmed by another already. There was no use for him to gather his wit only to lose it at the hand of a cheap drink.

Shadowheart and Gale stopped bickering between each other the moment they realized. He was not a man to keep secrets from his friends, so they didn’t wait long until he was spilling his thoughts.

”What do any of you know of Cazador Szarr?”

”He's patriarch of the Szarr family. Nasty fellow, if the histories are accurate,” Gale offered, no concern to why Wyll might be asking. It was early yet, but the man still seemed quite ready to explore any route of study Wyll should offer. With a great sense of gratitude, he wondered if they were up this early by choice or in worry that he’d yet to show.

   "Nasty how?" Wyll couldn't remove the tinge of necessity in his tone, nor the way his lips twisted into a scowl at the many ideas that his head offered. 

Shadowheart quirked a brow, a hand underneath her chin," Here I thought you'd come barging through the door with a surprise. Let me guess," she leaned forward, both Gale and Tav turning with furrowed brows," You played hero instead of having fun like you were supposed too."

"Not exactly," Wyll started, but damn her, she was right. He hadn't even bought a drink before he'd decided to return home and get proper rest. With a huff, he moved out a chair and took a seat at the long dining table, just pressed up against the wall where a window revealed the rise of sun in the soft orange it spilt amongst the group. 

"I met someone, and he was-" What was Astarion? He was certainly unique. Wyll couldn't remember a time he'd ever had trouble keeping such focus on the outside world. Even meeting Cazador, someone he knew had a hand in major politics from his wealth alone, he'd been too absorbed in the pale haired elf. He was charming, though kind of rude; but beneath the thin veil of banter and the rather impulsive come on, Wyll also noticed how he hadn't muttered a single word the moment the man found them. 

   "He was like no one I've ever met before," Wyll continued, trying now to find any other oddities for the short time they were in each other's presence," He's supposedly one of Cazador's adopted children, but the way I felt standing there as this man spoke... Something isn't right."

He was not a man who accused those so lightly, and according to Gale, at least even by the histories or it's gossip, he had a standing reasoning for it. 

"He's a wealthy man," Shadowheart informed," Most are a little corrupt, but you can't single handedly decide to help every one, especially based on a feeling alone."

He didn't fight her statement, though he heaved a sigh in response. It was Tav, who was smiling like an idiot, that spoke up.

"I think this is a great idea," he announced, much to Gale's dismay who was on the edge of his seat waiting for a silence to jump back into the conversation and most likely info dump. He looked as if he was in physical pain. 

"Seriously," Tav said, gesturing to the man in question," If it gets him boned, let him do his little investigation. Maybe his feeling is right."

   Wyll could see it was lost for now. He knew how it sounded, just as every other time he'd become too invested in someone else's problems. Shadowheart would make her quips, and later her complaints, but she'd never turn him down if he needed the help.

"I don't care what you do Wyll, but you really should consider taking a vacation," she informed, again, just as Gale opened his mouth to speak. "Boned or not."

"Would anyone like to hear the answer to Wyll's previous question?" Gale announced quickly, on one breath, and the couple offering their home both looked more tired than a soldier at war. He'd find out much later that they'd been in the middle of attempting to make love that Gale had found himself on their doorstep, locked out by his roommate, who... happened to be a cat. Of course, Wyll would never say such things out loud. Tara had quite the temper it seemed. 

   "I'm going to bed," Shadowheart announced, standing from her seat to gather her failed attempt at baking. While, it appeared she'd at least attempted to entertain Gale's nature, her patience was wearing thin.

"Um, me too," Tav said.

"Away with you," Gale waved a hand dismissively, whilst leaning forward to Wyll, who bore such weariness in his bones that a mattress seemed like a fine idea, if not for his pressing curiosities. The couple lingered only moments longer before trailing up the wooden stairs and to their much needed harbor of silence. Gale wasted no time then.

   "I've always had a running theory on the man, though there's only so much you can learn on someone who barely leaves his home, which I can hardly fault him for," Gale shrugged, offering a keen grin," It is quite a space."

"What's your theory then?"

Gale made a show of the dramatic pause he allowed to linger in the air before muttering a single, very anti climatic word.

"Vampires."

Wyll frowned," Goodnight Gale.”

"Listen!" Gale said, eager to claim yet another victim to his string of hypothetical theories. Wyll would have none of it. Cazador was certainly a strange person, closed off to the entirety of Baldur's Gate in that palace of his; but to claim such things was just mere gossip. Wyll hadn't the time. "During my studies, I was all too involved in the intricacies of power within Baldur's Gate. Maybe it's more difficult to see for those who've been here their entire life, but I've been to one of his balls, myself. I heard things, things about a secret society-"

  "You've been to one of his balls?"

"Well, they're open to some of the public, though I never could charm my way into an invitation to one of his after parties," he mused, though defeated by the idea," I'm sure you could manage, friend. Your family name alone merits privilege."

It wasn't much to go on. Gale had only a string of accusations and tales from other people, that and Wyll wasn’t necessarily feeling the privilege of the Ravengaurds as of late. He could try, anyways, to learn more in the mean time, but from someone who genuinely knew what they were talking about.

Vampires? In Baldur’s Gate?

   Wyll would have known if that were the case.

~•~

  Astarion took in a deep breath he didn’t need, if only to find even a false sense of security as he waited for Cazador to drop his facade. Wyll had been lucky, or maybe not when it was so obvious that Cazador had use for him yet. He was not allowed to indulge on any of his master’s plans, but he knew when one was forming. His eyes would glow with a hungry excitement, his movements turned away from anything but the massive shields of red keeping the sun’s flames outside. Just as he did now, while Astarion stared, hiding his trembling fingers at his side in fists. 

“You look at me with such anger, and yet it was you that thought to bring him here,” Cazador turned on him like a predator circling his next meal, sharp, alert, thirsty. He took a step forward, and then just as quickly as the precise warmth of his taunting words, the back of his hand struck Astarion so hard that the starving spawn was sent to his knees.

  He made only a soft gasp, though the strength of Cazador felt like a boulder splitting open his skin with the thick, jewel embedded ring of his finger. He tasted his own blood, which was lifeless, almost as thick as the clots of his last meal. He knew better than to rise, so he did the only thing he could think of.

Astarion begged.

”Please Master,” His palms splayed out underneath the hard floor, though his gaze held itself to the door,” I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”

   “What did you think, stupid boy?” Cazador removed his long coat and threw it across the back of the couch, where Astarion lifted his head only long enough to see him take a seat. It was almost worse. The longer time passed between whatever punishment he’d receive only meant Cazador was soaking in the anticipation, in Astarion’s fear.

”Come to me.”

Before Astarion could even prepare for what that might entail, his body was lifting himself, light as a feather, weak without sustenance, a mere pawn to be pushed. He stopped before the man, the sudden sting of an open cut dulling to a senseless ache in his jaw.

”Answer me honestly.” Cazador’s long fingernails curled along the inside of Astarion’s wrist, and then he tilted his head and bared his fangs,” Did you know who you were bringing into my home?”

“N-“ Astarion winced as the fingers dug themselves into his skin,” No master. I thought only of bringing you blood.”

   “Mm,” Cazador changed the angle of his hold. A single nail dug itself between the veins of his spawn’s skin, tearing it open like nothing more than a closed letter, until the contents of its writing stained the pale of his skin. Astarion whimpered, and as his knees faltered, his master dragged him by the waist, eyes as bright as hell’s fire. 

“The rest of your siblings returned hours ago. Why is that you couldn’t find the time to determine if he was anyone important?” Cazador considered him, smearing his finger further inside of his shaking wrist, until he could feel the thick muscle part, skimming past useless veins as if strumming an instrument. Astarion bit back any further cries, and he fell against the man’s knees, his cheek pressed weakly to the fabric of his pants.

”P-Please master. I didn’t know-“

”Of course, you didn’t,” Cazador said, akin to soothing a lamb before slaughter,” You were too busy trying to be used to afford the small talk, I’m certain.”

   “It-“ Astarion closed his eyes tight as another hand came to pet down his curls,” It wasn’t like that.”

”No?” Cazador snapped,” then what was it boy?”

What could Astarion say? If he mentioned the drunk he’d only be reprimanded for not offering himself behind the tavern, for not trying hard enough to get him home. He’d never allow anyone else to take his blame, not even his siblings, who’d more than once been the cause of his pain. To be fair, he might have done the same given the opportunity. Still, Cazador didn’t want the truth. Cazador wanted his humiliation, and then his turmoil, and in turn his complete submission. If he gave it to him now, perhaps it wouldn’t be like the other times, when he had fight left and words that pressed every button of that stupid long coat. 

  “Master, I’m sorry,” he whispered, though he knew he heard every word.” Yes, I wanted it, so badly that I didn’t think-“

”There it is,” Cazador accepted his defeat, but he was no where near finished. “You didn’t think. You never think. You’re so full of desperation it’s a marvel you haven’t bent over for Godey yet.”

The thought stilled him underneath his master’s touch, who yanked him forward into the embrace of his legs as he muttered his demand.

”Undress.”

   Trembling fingers reached themselves towards his clothes as he struggled to stand at the weight of Cazador’s glare. Modesty was a stranger to him, but given the chance he’d much rather have been taken by the drunk than to present himself now. It was always worse with him, even when he feigned being gentle. He couldn’t escape in his disassociation, the man wouldn’t allow it. The blood thickening at his wound stained the parts of his clothes he fought under, shoving them aside like they were ready to be burnt on the ground. Despite his lack of warmth, the sitting room felt awfully cold. He shivered within himself, hoping silently to be encased by the discomfort rather than be distracted by something much worse.

   “I’m not an unreasonable master,” Cazador faintly mused, running his sights over his naked spawn as if he hadn’t already seen every part of him, as if he hadn’t felt both the outside of his flesh and the bones underneath,” I ask such simple things, that it surprises me every time you fail. No matter, you haven’t ruined anything. I thought,” he kicked a leg out to graze the side of Astarion’s inner thigh, who flinched without meaning. This though, seemed to merit some satisfaction from the man,” that I had sated your urges long enough for you to fix yourself.”

”Master-“

”And yet,” Cazador’s voice was as sharp as a blade,” I remain without any of the blood you seem so sincere in providing for your doting master.”

Doting? Astarion turned his head in disgust. He’d play his games long enough to survive the next day, but he wouldn’t ever believe the praises he offered himself. Astarion wasn’t that far gone, not yet ash to fill a vessel. 

Cazador seemed to notice his resolve.

”Someone will have to bleed for me, it’s only fair, after all I’ve given you.”

  Cazador only offered pain. There was no reprieve, no days of comfort spent tending to any wounds remaining, no warmth- it was a constant, undeniable pain, and not one he could ever grow used to, not to the point it didn’t affect him, as if each punishment was merely the first. Astarion felt his lips twist into an undignified scowl, only for the few seconds his master waited to move.

His sharpened nails dug into the skin of his hips, again leaving their marks, tearing open new skin to allow for the crimson shed of another thing Astarion would never truly own. He fell forward, for a moment forgetting his tormentor to grasp in the comforts of his shirt as he pried further, deeper, until he was almost certain his own skin would peel like a bandage off of his tired body. 

   “Please,” he cried out, ignoring the wetness seeping down his bare leg, stealing what strength he had left to stand without aid. 

“Desperate even now,” Cazador whispered almost fond, his hand still cupping the man, consoling him from the same pain he inflicted. “Don’t worry, boy. After tonight, you’ll have your fill. You will be more useful than you realize.”

Another clawing sensation just above his navel ignited a shattered cry from Astarion’s lips. He could feel it, his insides, his master so greedily lapping up every noise of distress as he prodded and squeezed. He didn’t seem to mind the way Astarion dug further into his shoulder, or the muffled cries echoing out in the room from where his face kept stuffed into his shirt.

   “Perhaps I’ll invite your new friend to an after party of mine,” the thought was lost on Astarion, who was subjected to the demanding hand rubbing his own blood against the unmoving member between his legs. He was still shaking, drowned out by his lack of blood that his master used to find the slightest reaction,” I wonder if he’d deny your pleasures then, knowing how capable you can be under the right guidance.”

Cazador had been listening, of course. He’d seen the desperation in Astarion’s rejection and delighted at it or maybe the challenge it held. It didn’t matter. The only sensation that overcame him was the one that twisted and drug out the most shameful of groans, noises Cazador liked to define as wallowing pleasure. He was half in his lap now, unbending to the touches and yet inescapably consumed.

   “Taste yourself.”

Astarion clenched his teeth against his tongue, just as the man reached forward to part his lips with the coated red of his fingers. He felt something that overpowered the pull and prodding of his body as it sought for the means to heal, like a veil of his demise, so long as he completed his master’s orders. He lifted himself slightly, opening his mouth to suck the drying blood only to be met with another disappointment.

”What do you taste like child?”

Cazador knew, he only wanted him to speak it out loud.

   Astarion bit back another cry when those same fingers trailed over a pool of more blood at his stomach, smearing it across like art to a fresh canvas, and then prodding it between his cheeks, teasing his hole only long enough for an answer.

”Like nothing,” Astarion answered, a dull echo of himself, just as he was any other time his master asked. 

“And why is that?” Cazador implored.

”B-Because!” Astarion jumped, his entire body shifting in effort to remain tucked away on the couch, in his master’s arms who penetrated him with little patience that he hardly had the words to speak,” Because-“ he tried again, except the blood did little to ease the movements, nor the way he’d prepared himself earlier that night for his mark. The stretch was tolerable, but at the hands of Cazador he’d readily accept the many others the man had offered him to, even the one’s that knew no patience.

  “Answer me,” Cazador demanded. He stilled, though Astarion worried for a moment that meant what little movement he’d given would be the last of his preparations. It wouldn’t be enough, not for him to feign pleasure, even as much as he told himself it would be over much quicker if he could present a pleasant show. 

“Because,” Astarion felt a climbing rage at the man, and it strengthened him enough to spit out his words despite their meaning,” I’m nothing.”

   Cazador grabbed him by the face, gripping at his cheeks with a steady gaze,” Good boy,” he whispered, scraping either side, seemingly satisfied by his sudden limpness, like he wasn’t well aware it was the wound’s doing,” At least you haven’t forgotten all of your teachings.”

When Astarion felt the finger slip from inside of him, he lowered his gaze to find his blood drenched half of Cazador’s clothing and parts of the couch between his legs. He’d made a mess, one that either Godey or him would have the pleasure of cleaning. 

“Now,” a belt was being unbuckled, and Cazador was maneuvering him like he was nothing more than a puppet, with ease, with practiced hands,” Take me. I will make you more than you could ever be, my child.”

 Astarion would much rather remain nothing.

Chapter Text

  Blood had become quite a concept to Astarion in the last two centuries. It had once been nothing more than a simple function of the body, times granted, he didn't remember, but he knew he had at some point. Now, it was the crumbling of his mind into insanity, the wavering of his forgotten being in creation of something so foul that it could be ordered to tear open it's own throat all to please it's master. 

   Blood.

His eyelids closed tight in attempt to hide from the throbbing of his head. He could smell something faint, almost dry from the time spent cradling himself in the couch. His blood was less potent than his master's spendings. Even his body knew the difference on his skin, the way it almost burnt with possessive markings. He blinked, only to realize his vision still hadn't cleared completely. It probably wouldn't for a while, or until he was fed. Astarion was empty, though after Cazador had finished he'd allowed him the gift of licking off the remaining puddle on the floor. It hadn't been enough to keep him from losing sensation in his body. 

Footsteps, he thought.

  He groaned, though his throat was so dry that it came out a single breath. It took only moments longer for a hand to curl around his shoulder, flesh, warmth. Chamberlain Dufay. He wasn't often the one Cazador sent to collect him, but he didn't have the willpower to bother fighting it. The man pulled him into his chest with a huff, clearly irritated at his given task.

"I'm sure you'll be glad to hear there's a meal waiting for you on your bed."

He was, and he hated how his mind immediately accepted the hypothetical question of whether or not he'd let Cazador hurt him again if he'd known there would be even a bug to sink his fangs into. Dufay grunted at the end of the hallway, the lights managing to arouse his vision only to blind it soon after.

"You must have done something right for Cazador to think you deserved it."

  He could sense his siblings staring from their beds, and even worse when Dufay rolled his body onto his mattress, and he was met with a decaying rodent, pressed so easily to his lips. His fangs wasted no time ripping into the stringy fur, and for once, his meal was fat with blood. He didn't care it meant Cazador would need his strength, only the way his hands felt like they were waking from a deep sleep to squeeze his meal dry. Too soon did it halt, even as he tried other parts, hoping for even a drop more. When his efforts ran fruitless, he tossed the rat to the floor with a frustrated sigh.

Cazador would never allow him to feel full. 

"So ungrateful," Dufay grumbled, his heavy body looming over the bunk as he reached to collect the empty carcass. Astarion turned his head, better to remain quiet now that he'd been allowed to heal, even if Dufay didn't have the authority to have him punished. He did, however, have a tendency to be annoying enough to convince Cazador. 

  Astarion closed his eyes. It had happened so many times this year, that he almost forgot when months would pass in between. Cazador grew frustrated when his plans were at a standstill, enticing him to find creative ways to remain entertained. There was something in the Ravenguards his master wanted, presumably power, that had his punishment end far easier than Astarion had prepared. 

That should have terrified him, but for a night, he thought only of his relief. 

   The following night his relief ceased the seconds after he was alerted that his master called for him in his office. He barely had time to wash. He would have spent an hour scrubbing his body clean if he’d had the time, but that was another thing Cazador just couldn’t allow. He noticed as he dressed that only Petras remained, slow to ready for his chores of failing abysmally at flirting with a mark.  

“Master isn’t finished with you,” he sneered, still after all these centuries struggling with the hem of his trousers. Astarion could have always fixed it with ease, but he didn’t feel like being selfless, especially for Petras.

“Please,” he remarked with added flair,” Save your lines for someone who’s into that sort of thing.”

”I’m not the one being called into his office. He’s probably upset Dufay offered you a meal and wants you to relive your punishment,” his voice was laced with so much malice and jealousy that Astarion almost felt pity for him. He wouldn’t be baited by the likes of him, not when-

  Not when it felt like Cazador was still inside of him, festering like a vile poison, though numbing whatever emotion he might have experienced to the ignorance before him. He tilted his head and stared at the man, his sibling, a fellow prisoner spawn. There had been a time when the two of them might have considered each other friends, but that wasn’t allowed exactly. Cazador thought it best they all competed for scraps instead.

”Try not to scare off another mark with those awkward clothes,” he said, though with much less enthusiasm as he moved past and to the door. It wasn’t the best of his responses, but he’d have to wait until his body didn’t feel like cement to think of anything proper. While he’d healed, he hadn’t gained any further nutrients from his meal. It had been three weeks since he felt even remotely himself, though he’d gone much longer before. A year trapped in darkness and starvation prepared one for pretty much anything, not that he needed the reminder.

   Cazador was sitting behind his desk, dismissing another of his siblings. Violet seemed to curl in on herself, hair over her face and Astarion watched after her with a raised brow, only to realize it must have been her doing that had Cazador sending for him. Why else would he wish to see him after already teaching him his lesson?

”Astarion,” He greeted, which was about as daunting as the thin grin his master wore,” I take it you feel refreshed after my gift?”

   Astarion bit his tongue again, because there were too many words at the tip of it. He waited for his response to settle to something more to Cazador’s liking and stepped forward hesitantly,” Yes, thank you master.”

What the hell did he want? What more could Astarion give him? How had his hand for punishment not tired the centuries it’d worked?

”Good,” Cazador stated, and almost effortlessly he pinned Astarion in his place with a look,” I wanted to speak to you about your task for the night.”

While Cazador offered silence for a response, Astarion knew better than to speak now without being questioned. He appeared to be in a rather good mood, but that didn’t mean it couldn’t change seconds later.

”You’ll go to the Elfsong Tavern. You can do that, can’t you?” 

   Astarion had been informed to change where he searched for a mark every night to avoid the risk of being caught. It didn’t make sense for Cazador to change that now, or even care where he sought people out, so long as they met his requirements. Unimportant, filled with pleasure, and clean enough as to not disgust the master. 

“Master… might I ask why?” Astarion started with a slight ache in his chest. Sometimes Cazador humored him and actually bothered to explain his reasonings, but that was rare, that was when he felt like he was already winning whatever game was being played. 

It seemed, that Cazador had already planned for it. He tapped a finger against his desk in a languid motion, his eyes still set on Astarion like he’d done something remarkably brilliant. 

“You won’t be hunting until I state otherwise. I have a much more important task for you, child.”

  The Ravengards. Astarion kept his gaze steady, despite all of the pressing questions he knew not to ask. Cazador had a stack of files on his desk, and if he could just take a step closer he knew it would be something on the duke. Cazador lusted for power like no man he'd ever met, so it hardly came as a surprise.

"You will allow Wyll Ravengard any part of you he desires," Cazador informed, the edges of his lips twinging slightly. "Fill his mind with that senseless charm of yours, and if you know what's best for you, you'll keep him from asking too many questions."

Don't let him find out you're an egotistical maniac, got it.

Sometimes, Astarion was pretty sure he survived on spite alone.

      ~•~                    

   Wyll was a hopeless romantic, but he realized he might also be incredibly inconsiderate. He'd invited Astarion to have a drink at the same tavern he was nearly hurt in. There was no telling what kind of experience that had been for him, and what he had to face when he returned home. If he'd truly been a gentleman he would have asked for a specific place, an affirmative yes or no, instead of this awkward moment now. He had entered the moment the sun had set, not too early, and just about the time most people came to get a drink. Women danced off to the side, laughing at their obvious struggle and a few men cornered the tables to start a less than fair game of cards.

   "What do you mean you're waiting for someone?" The foreign voice was still speaking despite his very clear and gentle rejection to her very vivid and crude imagery," I'm right here, sweetheart."

She waved her arms in a grand gesture, and Wyll took in a very deep breath as he continued to search the crowds, half expecting she'd tire out and find a corner to sleep in. Astarion most likely wasn't coming, not with the way things had ended; but still, he'd stand his ground and enjoy a drink... just in case.

"I'm right here ya," The woman grunted once more, and when Wyll remained quiet, she finally sauntered off to trouble another man peering into his mug. It was one of the few things he adored about the Elfsong Tavern, though he really had taken a lot in the past few years that he rarely enjoyed himself anymore. 

   Even the music that once stirred him was no match for the pressing thoughts of his responsibility. He took in only half his drink as the hour passed, people watching like an art, observing the intricacies of the dance moves, the soft lull or loud explosion of different conversations. He smiled to himself, and then as his gaze passed through the crowd once more, he caught sight of a smirking, pale skinned elf, watching him from across the tavern. 

His feet moved him before he could even muster thought. He slid past the few drunks in his way and stopped at a respectable distance to greet the man.

"Hi." It was all he could manage in the few moments it took him to find his place.

"Hello," a warm and honeyed voice replied," I do believe you offered to buy me a drink."

  Wyll couldn’t help but beam like an idiot at the reminder, and he gestured for Astarion to take a seat at the bar. He had to be cautious about his questioning, appear casual as to not startle any reaction. He cleared his throat when they both had a decent quantity of starburst shandy. Astarion seemed in deep thought, his eyes cast down on his untouched drink with his shoulders set. It changed the moment he heard Wyll, and like taking a new shape he eased his entire body and tilted his head to offer him a coy grin.

”Wyll Ravengard,” he pondered, and he narrowed his gaze,” You know, you could have told me.”

”I wasn’t aware it was important.”

”It’s not,” Astarion refuted, his daze fell distant again, his lips tightened into a deep scowl,” Not really.”

”Astarion,” Wyll said as gently as he could,” Are you alright?”

”Hm?” The elf blinked slow, purposeful and then he reached with his long fingers to brush against Wyll’s knee,” Why wouldn’t I be, darling? I’m surrounded by cheap vices and a knight in shining armor who can’t keep his eyes off of me.”

”I’m hardly wearing armor, and I’m no knight,” Wyll pointed. He did his best to ignore the sway of fingers, clearly a means to distract him, and slightly less comfortable he spoke in a whisper,” I meant because of last night. Your father-“

”Cazador,” Astarion corrected.

”Cazador, was he upset with you?”

  The question caught him off guard, so much that he didn’t have time to put on a face. Wyll caught the confusion and then the apprehension even as he turned away to stare somewhere at the wall with a faint chuckle.

”Why would you even think that?”

”You…” Wyll hoped to the gods he didn’t upset Astarion farther, but he had to know,” looked so afraid in that room. I thought-“

”You thought you would come in and rescue me?”

Astarion scoffed at the idea, waving a hand at him dismissively, his tone awfully casual,” I was worried he’d drag on and on about common decency and not undressing strangers in his house or taking his good wine. He can be quite a bore, really,” the amusement came back to his tone like a lit flame” If you really want to save anyone, you should look over to that man. He’s suffering at the hands of that horrid woman.”

  Perhaps Wyll was wrong, but he had a feeling Cazador was just as much a bore as Astarion was theatric in nature. It was no matter, Wyll could wait until the man was ready to speak. It wasn’t exactly easy to trust a stranger after all.

~•~

   "You looked so afraid in that room."

Astarion was always careful, perhaps a little impulsive, but never forthcoming enough with his movements to warrant concern. Wyll Ravengard, his heroic little stranger, with his dark brown eyes peering at him so openly was a pressing concern. Cazador wanted something in this, he wasn't so naive to believe even their banter didn't have a reason. While the details remained locked away in the sadistic forefront of his master's mind, he could only ensure he didn't screw up his task.

Keep Wyll happy, and don't let him ask too many questions.

   Except, Wyll saw too much. He'd spoken to the man no longer than an hour at the most, and yet he was already making observations not a single of his marks had made in the last two centuries. What had Astarion done wrong? He could only flirt and send teasing glances, allow his fingers to strum further up his knee so long before he ran out of options. It was easier when his task was more open to being undressed, but regardless, it was a relief that the man seemed rather put off by casual sex. 

Astarion wasn't in the mood, even with his skill to disassociate. It was worse, putting up a front and allowing things to happen when his master's hands were still caressing every part of his body, knowing he'd touched places inside of him that could never be untouched. 

"I must have misread the situation," Wyll continued, a faint shift in his chair did nothing to sway the hand that rest against him," Perhaps I was more bothered than I let on."

  "You were certainly bothered, love, though I won't lie and say my ego wasn't a little hurt at your rejection," he curled his fingers inwards, and then allowed the man his freedom, for now.

Wyll fluttered a bit, setting down his drink. It was a little endearing, the way he wore his thoughts so vividly on his face, unlike the drunks who were full of cheap food and growing lust. Astarion wasn't ungrateful for it.

"I didn't reject you," Wyll informed, his gaze cast down on the hand that had once been against him," Believe me, there was nothing more I wanted in the moment, except to do it properly, the way you deserve."

Astarion laughed, startling someone who had made their way to the bar. He shook his head, felt for a moment like he was speaking to nothing more than a child reading a romance novel that he'd stolen from his mother. 

"Your idea of love is almost amusing," Astarion reflected, ignoring the way Wyll turned in his seat, the sound of his blood being pumped and pushed through his veins, and the delightful, sin provoking scent. Astarion didn't have it in him to play nice completely. He rolled his eyes and traced the rim of his mug," how old are you?"

   "I'll be twenty soon enough."

Astarion's eyes widened, because even if he was fully aware of the vital youth of the man, he hadn't given it too much thought. Now, while it was his job to manipulate him into whatever plan Cazador had, he felt the twinge of guilt build in the base of his stomach until it clawed upwards into his throat. 

"I-" he huffed in disbelief," Even for a human, that's... rather young."

Gods, he was so innocent. Had he even really lived? Astarion must have been barely discovering what he even wanted at that age, and he most certainly wasn't thinking about courting strangers. 

"How old are you then?" Wyll pressed, leaned up against the bar with an open gaze.

Astarion offered him a mischievous grin," Old enough to know I should walk away."

"You don't like answering questions about yourself, do you?" It wasn't truly a question, and Wyll, while he seemed the slightest disappointed in the fact, didn't offer him anything but his devoted attention. He could have been a worse man, then maybe it wouldn't be so difficult. If his hands searched for him, Astarion could learn to hate him in ways that he hated the rest of the world. Except, Wyll was so convinced he would save him from whatever idea he had in that head of his. It was almost charming, if not for the horrid reality. 

   He opened his mouth to speak, and then a slurred voice reached them from behind.

"I- I know you," the drunk roused, stumbling forward, almost falling against Astarion who tensed at his words," Don' I know you?"

He was a regular everywhere, he was bound even despite his knack for blending into a crowd to be noticed by someone eventually. He was more than good looking, it shouldn't have been a surprise. 

"No," Astarion said, not looking his way," Drown yourself in another mug of beer, won't you?"

Wyll steadied himself to full alert, completely prepared to fight another battle for his pending honor. Astarion let out a long breath and shifted in his seat," Can we go somewhere a little more private? The tavern is-" he gestured to the man still standing behind them," it's rather distracting from our conversation."

   "No worries," Wyll said, so quick to please," We could take a walk in the park, if you'd like."

It was early enough that there were still people out, enjoying the full moon, traversing to Sorcerous Sundries for the little festivities they held outside in order to push more of their business to those with the coin. 

"Actually," Astarion said," I thought that you might take me to your place."

When Wyll seemed alarmed by the notion, he offered him a genuine relief," I'm not trying to seduce you at the moment. I just don't feel like being anywhere out in public...but I'd hate to bring you back to mine."

"There's no trouble, it's only that I'm currently staying at a friend's place."

Astarion raised a brow, he'd have to get the story later when they weren't being watched by a handful of people. It was hard to tell if it was because of the duke's son or if it was his presence that stirred the stupor of men. Either way, he didn't like it. It made him feel on edge, wary of anyone who looked too long. 

   "Do you have your own room?"

"Well, yes, but-"

Astarion stood from his seat, leaned closer to whisper low to his ear, well aware of the way the man's heart sped up in response," I have very silent feet."

                       ~•~

  Wyll could hardly deny the man. While his intentions were still of a selfless nature, there was a very prominent urge in which he had to fight the moments Astarion offered him another string of lines, or those looks that bordered on improper. He was an enigma. Astarion appeared interested in spending more time together, though he also felt a sense of caution that only rose to the surface when Astarion turned his head, when he thought Wyll wasn't paying attention. He'd let out the deepest of breaths, his lips would turn into a tight frown, and then like nothing he would approach Wyll again with the faintest hints of genuine words laced with a more devious intent. 

  "It's not that I mind them knowing I have company," Wyll continued as they stopped at the door to Shadowheart and Tav's place," You’re obviously welcome, but they can be a bit much.”

Gale had insisted he needed only a day more to solve the pressing issue with Tara, so he was a bit wary of entering too quick. 

Astarion tilted his head, as if listening for something in the distance, and with a pleased wave of the hand gestured to the door," After you, I'm sure it'll be fine."

  Astarion hadn't been lying. He had very silent feet, and a rather stealthy adroitness, so much that as he went to close the door behind them that he found Astarion had already made it pass him and halfway to the stairs. He offered him a playful smirk at his shock, and then a single finger to his lips as a commotion in the kitchen went off involving a missing vegetable for dinner. 

"Wyll, is that you?" Shadowheart called out, cursing as something large rolled away off the counter.

"I'm taking a nap," he called out, already ascending up after him before she had the time to make her way to the entrance. He knew she might worry, knowing he'd gone out to the tavern only to return an hour later. She might think something had happened, or that he'd been sourly disappointed in his search for a proper night of drinking. 

   It was successful for now, and as he reached for the guest room he'd been using for the last few months, he wondered suddenly how Astarion might take it. It was clean, though rather lacking in decoration. Astarion entered behind him, picking pieces of the room to look over with an appraising curiosity.

"It's quaint," Astarion offered. His hand reached for a hanging necklace made of colorful beads carved with an apprentice's hand.

"That's uh," Wyll stood beside him, feeling a little odd having someone observe the parts of his life through objects alone," A young woman crafted that for me. She'd been trying to sell them off the docks when a group of rather noxious beasts let out from the water.” It had been one of the first times he’d used his rapier to protect the innocent, and in it he’d been rewarded with a deep sense of self and far greater purpose than being another face to the politics of Baldur’s Gate. It was strange to him, how his father had been the one to see to his training, only to berate him later when he used it.

  “Let me guess,” Astarion teased, though with the slightest hint of fondness in his words,” You jumped straight into battle to defeat her enemies.”

Wyll pressed forward into the room to take a seat at the edge of his bed. 

“Of course, if I hadn’t she would have been in a much different place.”

There were so many innocent people who he hadn’t been able to save, that even helping a few, he felt their pain like it was his own. While he couldn’t right every wrong, he could certainly do his best the moments he was allowed. 

   “You’re rather selfless,” Astarion observed, and he moved his long legs towards the bed where he fell back with a soft, almost content sigh.

Wyll looked at him from over his shoulder with a grin.

”Not always,” he informed,” I’m a man just as any other. I have desires that tempt me from making more questionable decisions.”

”Like me?” Astarion asked, closing his eyes for a moment as he felt the comforts of his pillow. It warmed Wyll to see him relax so easily in his presence, even if only for the few seconds, until Astarion was watching him with a steady gaze.

”Like you,” Wyll admitted, not embarrassed by it. It’s not as if Astarion hadn’t seen or felt his past predicament,” but it’s outweighed by my beliefs. I’d hardly wish to leave you with the idea that I chase carnal pleasures over affections.”

  Astarion laughed, and it was so beautiful and sad in ways Wyll couldn’t understand. He felt there were so many words within the man just aching to be let out. He watched as Astarion half turned, and then as his hand skimmed over the book on his bed side table. Wyll’s eyes widened in horror.

”You certainly chase a few pleasures,” Astarion piped up, full enthusiasm back in his tone as he sat up to open to a random page,” My, my Wyll. Who knew you had it in you?”

Wyll stretched for the book, but Astarion was rolling off the bed to read many of the words as he walked in the timid space of the room. His eyes were lit with a rather dangerous excitement. 

“Tell me,” Astarion implored, clearly unable to hide his captivating delight,” when you read these little stories, are you imagining yourself the chiseled, sweat dripping hero or the maiden in need?”

  Wyll looked towards the door, though he only felt embarrassed at having it discovered just seconds after claiming his virtuous desires. He let out a short breath and gave into the defeat. He knew very well what Astarion was asking, and he wouldn’t deny him the slight pleasure of knowing even if it didn’t matter in the moment.

“It depends,” he answered,” on how I feel in the moment.”

”Oh?” Astarion was practically hunting him with the way his gaze narrowed,” That’s interesting. I hadn’t expected someone so devoted to the modest lifestyle to even consider it.”

”Well,” Wyll took the book when it was offered to him, and he smoothed a slightly crumpled page back before putting it aside on his dresser,” I like to think I know myself well enough.”

  Just like that, the veil was lifted to reveal what Wyll thought sounded bitter with jealousy, despite his overall passive demeanor. He found his way to the bed again, though less enticed to fall back it seemed.

”Aren’t you so lucky?”

”What does that mean?” Wyll questioned, desiring even for a single fact about the man to present itself. What had he really learned, as much information as he’d given away? He had been adopted by Cazador Czar and he frequented the Elfsong Tavern, but other than that he was still a mystery. 

“Oh how easy minded the young are,” Astarion said with a dramatic sigh.

Wyll kept his gaze set on the man as he shifted and gestured for him to take a seat at his side. He did, but a little cautious, because he wasn’t exactly certain what Astarion might surprise him with next.

”I wouldn’t consider myself easy minded. There’s many things I still struggle over,” Wyll told, and he realized that even the brush of their shoulders startled something hidden. He wasn’t touch starved exactly, but he liked the closeness, and the way at this angle he saw another way Astarion’s face was carved with beauty.

”Even more reason to allow yourself to fall into pleasures,” Astarion teased, though this was less playful than challenging. Wyll felt like they were battling amongst the grounds of monsters unseen. The elf tilted his head, something catching his attention, until a slow smirk curled along his appealing lips, and then he leaned immensely close, as if to steal a kiss. He stilled moments before, perhaps choosing his next set of words with caution. Wyll was so enchanted by both his own desires and anxiety, that he didn’t hear the door to his room open.

“Wyll, I just found th- Oh!” Gale startled in surprise, and then Wyll caught the pleased sigh as Astarion turned away,” I was not aware you had a guest, or that you two were in much need of privacy. No worries, I’m only immensely pleased I’ve walked in before clothes have been removed.”

Gods, Gale, please shut up.  

  Astarion tilted his head and analyzed the man before him, clearly reveling in the slight chaos of awkwardness. He seemed to be at his most comfortable when control of the situation had but frayed edges. Gale, on the other hand, looked as if he were in the midst of fight or flight. He had a thick book tucked into his arms, and Wyll considered it before his guest spoke for them both.

”Honestly,” Astarion purred,” I hardly mind an audience, but I think our poor Wyll can only take so much.”

”Right that, uh-“

”Astarion,” he greeted, and he stood from his spot on the bed to consider the man with a raised brow.” Gale, was it? I heard a very upset woman downstairs yelling your name, something about cabbage?”

  It was strange to see Astarion talk to someone that wasn’t him. Wyll had the pleasure of seeing even more that crossed his features, the way he sauntered towards the dresser, the graceful way his fingers skimmed along the book in Gale’s hold.

“Yes, cabbage is in fact a very necessary ingredient for cabbage soup, but it appears someone has been rummaging around stealing vegetables,” Gale continued with a sense of humor, though he furrowed his brows at the fingers close. How else could he take it than a very flirtatious greeting? Wyll sensed it was more natural than a set decision for Astarion. He was a charming man, amongst other things. 

   “Gale,” Wyll reminded, still in his spot on the bed,” you came in wanting to tell me something.”

”Right!” He lifted the book, it was thick and weathered with age, and on the front read in an ancient script, The Curse of the Vampyre. “I found something that might be of great aid and interest to you.”

Astarion tore his hands away from Gale’s space, as if he’d been burnt, and then turned to offer Wyll a very pensive glare.

”Hunting Vampires, are you? I’m afraid to inform you, but Baldur’s Gate hasn’t had a spotting in ages,” he informed, clearly unimpressed by the subject. Wyll didn’t blame him. It was common knowledge, though Gale seemed quite persistent in his theories. He didn’t have the heart to tell him it was his adoptive father the man was accusing.

   “Do you know much on the subject?” Gale questioned of Astarion, and Wyll had the faintest idea why the man penetrated his being with his stare, only until he realized Gale knew who Astarion was. He’d mentioned him only last night, and it was hardly common for him to bring stranger’s home. It didn’t take a genius to figure it out. He hoped, if anything, that Gale didn’t burst out with an interrogation. Astarion didn’t like to speak about Cazador, but even worse he felt the man might not like having his time wasted with nonsense.

”Not really,” Astarion said with a roll of the eyes,” I have much more pressing matters, like trying to seduce that handsome friend of yours.”

”Again, I am terribly sorry,” Gale said, though he was watching Astarion with a squinted gaze,” Why don’t you come down for dinner in twenty minutes? That should be more than enough time to-“

”Gale!” Wyll warned.

”To talk,” he said with infliction, carefully,” It’s the least I could do after barging in on a rather intimate moment.”

Gale would be the death of Wyll one day, he just knew it. He was just about to deny his offer for Astarion’s sake when the man himself took it with ease.

”I am a bit parched.”

  His friend smiled wide in response,” Great! I’ll call you two love birds down when it’s ready.”

Wyll found that he wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.

Chapter Text

   Astarion glared at the door, even a little after Gale left, a bit thrown off by the talkative... He smelt like a wizard. He scrunched his nose and turned to Wyll with a little puff," Well, isn't he friendly?"

To the vampire's complete horror, the man broke out into a wide grin, and in return he stared at him, hoping he'd explain just what he'd said that could be so damn funny. It wasn't to him. This man clearly knew something, even if his interest in vampires had nothing to do with him. He barely had the strength to keep up this pathetic excuse of a facade, let alone fight off a wizard, whoever was down there, and Wyll. He cleared his throat as he realized feeling the fear would only hinder his ability to act. He had to keep playing. If he ate something at dinner, Gale would have no reason to suspect him. 

  "Sorry, it's just, it's nice seeing you irritated."

Astarion raised a brow.

"No," Wyll realized how it sounded and rushed to further explain," No, I mean that it's real. You're not just using your way with words to hide, and it is most definitely warranted. Gale has an issue with boundaries."

It was a slight comfort, knowing the man might be off his hinges, but he still needed to proceed with caution. As heroic and noble Wyll was, he wouldn't give a vampire a chance to explain.

"We have some time before dinner," Astarion reminded, trying to mend the mood of the conversation," Tell me something, it can be as perverse as you'd like." He was wary of his fangs now, even if he knew how to speak in a way that hid them. He didn't want to smile and bring further attention, so he did his best to soften the feelings in his face to something more pleasant.

   "I think it's your turn," Wyll said, charming clasped his hands in his lap after making a small gesture, giving Astarion the floor.

"No," Astarion corrected, folding his arms over his chest," that's not how this works."

Wyll leaned forward, something like a challenge in his gaze. If he'd known the man had this much spark, he might have stopped playing easy a long time ago.

"Why not?" Wyll asked," Every time I ask you a question you manage to sneak your way out of it. You're very intelligent, Astarion. I commend you, but I will not retreat so easy."

   " I know elves older than you that don't speak like that," he rolled right off the tongue.

Wyll gave him a knowing look.

"Fine," Astarion said with a deep sigh, because when he'd imagined spending time with the man he'd never once considered this would be an issue. Wyll was too much. He wanted to know things and ask questions like any of this was his choice.

"I don't understand your curiosity," he added shortly after, and he arched his hip slightly," Everything you need to know is right here."

   He only had to hook him once and everything would fall right into place. A man could only play nice for so long before his desires got the best of him. Astarion had lived centuries. He knew the way a mind worked far better than that of a nineteen year old human, especially one who was so naive to think there was any good left in the world. 

"You're more than that, Astarion," Wyll said. His dark brown eyes stared at him, no hint of a lie, not even as Astarion tried searching with heavy effort. “Even if we only just met, I can tell you have more depth than any person I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

Damn you, Wyll Ravengard.

His sudden shield of vexation receded into a very uncomfortable vulnerability. He felt more bare than he did taking off his clothes, knowing that whatever he was chasing now might not be worth the end.

"What do you want to know?" 

“Anything,” Wyll said,” What you do for fun, how you spend your day, the things people talk about when they wish to know each other.”

~•~

   Wyll could see the conflict overtake him. He considered the question, and then faltered as if at loss. He had only realized that Astarion had a tendency to keep the conversation away from him, but he hadn’t stopped himself to ask why. 

”I-“ he laughed a little, no humor lightening his tone,” This is embarrassing, really.”

“It’s alright,” Wyll said, his eyes softening as the man fought whatever lie in his head, wanting nothing more than to ease his obvious discomfort,” There’s no wrong answers.”

  Astarion lifted his head and glared at him as if there really were, but still, Wyll could see it in his eyes that he was trying. It pained him to see, because what life did one live that made someone struggle in this way? He wanted so much to know everything that the man held back, but he knew it wasn’t his place to decide. Astarion had to feel safe, and by the gods, Wyll was going to make sure he did.

  “Hey! Just letting you know dinners ready!” Gale called up from the bottom of the stairs, breaking Astarion from his daze of thoughts with a few blinks and a rather nervous chuckle.

”The awaited dinner,” Astarion mumbled, appearing tired at a level Wyll had not first taken notice of. It felt like every movement of the man was meant to be studied for hidden messages, though he wasn’t certain if Astarion knew he was sending.

“If Gale bothers you, I’ll tell him to stuff his face,” Wyll offered, though he was sure the man had enough table manners to realize if a guest wasn’t in the mood for one of his discussions. He hoped. 

   Astarion gestured for him to lead the way, again putting on such a perfect face that his friends wouldn’t believe anything had ever been wrong. He touched the door knob, and was struck surprised when gentle fingers wrapped around his arm to stop him. Wyll lowered his sights to see Astarion was staring at him, much like a man about to take a dangerous dive off of a high cliff.

”You asked me what my name meant,” he reminded, turning his head from Wyll,” It means little star.”

Wyll’s lips turned into a small smile. He was grateful to have even just the one fact. Anything the man offered felt more important than any of the world’s gold, and it didn’t matter that Astarion was sending him a very narrowed gaze of warning, playful in nature, to keep him from speaking what would most likely be met with annoyance. Wyll couldn’t help himself.

  “It’s fitting, stars burn bright enough to illuminate the surrounding darkness.”

Astarion inhaled a sharp breath and a hand fell to his side as he looked him over,” You really are like this, aren’t you? It’s not an act.” 

Wyll barely had the time to answer before the elf was biting back his own grin in surrender. It felt like an important step forward, though to what, Wyll was content with waiting to find out.

~•~

   Astarion felt uneasy even offering this, but Wyll was so open with his feelings it was almost difficult not to feel like he deserved even the most minuscule thing. It felt like Cazador was there, at least the moments he’d been in his head trying to find an answer to even one question. What did he do for fun? What did he like? None of it even connected with him, because everything he knew had been continuously beaten into him by the bastard with control. 

It angered him, but even worse he felt the slightest of reprieve when Wyll looked at him like they were both new at this. There were so many rules unwritten about whatever the hell was going on outside of Cazador's plan, but it was nice knowing he wasn't alone. Even if Wyll had less than half the truth.

   By the time they made it downstairs he was more confident about being able to make it through any accusations that might present themselves. Wyll hadn't even batted an eye when the book had been brought into question, so it was a little more soothing when the silver haired woman didn't immediately say something upon noticing him.

There was a large pot of vegetable soup, minus the cabbage, set out over the fire. In the kitchen past a thick wooden divider, Astarion smelt something very herbal and sweet. He was sure it tasted fine to anyone else, but the idea of consuming it already had his stomach twisting into knots of nausea. He'd tried eating before, at one of Cazador's after parties because he'd been compelled. A sick joke, one that had him curled over a bucket whilst the party went on with no mind. At least this time he didn't have to finish it. 

   "Wyll," Gale lifted from his seat with a friendly greeting," Could you help me take out the bread? I have to get the tea set or it'll ruin it's flavor."

Astarion thought those words barely made sense. How incapable was the man he couldn't finish both tasks by his own hands? It was clearly a means to get Wyll alone, for reasons he would find out soon enough. 

"Go on darling," Astarion insisted," I'll introduce myself to your friends."

The woman tilted her head as Wyll passed, ignoring him to set her sights on Astarion. A man with bright blonde hair pulled out a seat for her, though he was quick to offer his own greeting.

"I'm Tav, this is Shadowheart," he was biting back a very pleased grin," You must be the stranger from the tavern."

   "Astarion," He informed, brows furrowed as he tried listening in on the men in the kitchen as he danced around his own conversation. It wasn't exactly eavesdropping if he already had a sharp sense of hearing. He might have abused his powers a little when he pushed close to Wyll knowing damn well there were footsteps in the hall, but he enjoyed how flustered the man could get.

"Wait, did you say 'stranger from the tavern?' Wyll's been talking about me?" He put a hand to his chest, almost in mock satisfaction if not for the fact he actually was satisfied.

"Your friend, he's uh rather pale."

"Perhaps he doesn't much like the sun," Wyll responded in a whisper, sounding every bit of annoyed with the suggestion.

  "How did you two meet exactly?" Shadowheart inquired. While Tav was just now spreading out the bowls for the table, she was already taking her place in a chair. 

"I was being harassed by a drunkard," Astarion said, only half paying attention. Whatever was going on in the kitchen was more important. If she noticed his distraction, she didn't call him out on it, though she did stare at him long enough that he realized he'd yet to actually enter the room. He forced an agreeable smile and took the farthest seat he could from them.

   "It's better than how we met," Tav said, though he was staring at the woman as if he relived the memory to help him fall asleep at night. 

"His eyes... they're quite red."

"Perhaps he has drow in his lineage," a long sigh escaped Wyll, and then," Stop it, Gale. Not tonight. I'm perfectly fine with you investigating Cazador, but Astarion doesn't need that right now. Trust me."

Astarion fell back against his chair. He had thought only to charm Wyll. It had been such a simple task, but now the wizard was attempting to sow doubt, doubt that he couldn't afford. He barely had time to form some sort of escape plan or hear what Tav was going on about, when the men came back with two different trays. They set the bread in the middle, and Astarion knew no matter the pleasant smelling warmth that seeped out in smoke that it would only turn to ash on his tongue.

    "Dinner," Gale said with a bow," is served. Save your compliments for the chef, which is me."

"It's strange," Shadowheart said, raising her hands from the table as Tav brought a filled container of soup to her spot," I think we all keep forgetting that you don't live here, Gale."

"I'm glad my company is so pleasing that I feel like a permanent addition to the family," Gale retorted, which kind of amused Astarion enough that he let the man continue to glance his way without so much as a sharp retort. Astarion had to remember, he'd spent two hundred years perfecting his disguise. It wouldn't fall just because one man decided to look into the finer details.

   "Ignore them," Wyll said with a chuckle, and of course he continued to be the perfect gentleman and helped Astarion to a decent serving of bitter poison. The moment his bowl was set before him, Gale's gaze only strengthened in power. He took solace in the fact Wyll sat in between them, at least diverting him for the time being. 

“Well,” Gale said with a grand gesture,” Go on. Tell me how tasteful the food is.”

Astarion had done much worse things. A few sips, a little sleight of hand to dump most of it into Wyll's with a few spoonfuls, and then he'd be on his way and he'd never consider coming back. With a moment to prepare himself underway, he lifted the utensil to his lips, and then he took a piece of what he thought to be a potato and let it drop into his mouth. It was a strange texture, almost like the clots of blood in most of his meals if not for the juice that followed. It softened immediately, and then it resonated with a vile taste he had to cough to hide his disgust at. 

   "It-" he scanned the table as he searched for words," it uh, is a little salty."

"Salty?"

Gale's shoulders slumped, but he appeared at least sedated with Astarion's pass as he tried another full bite. The man tried his own and made a soft noise of conclusive approval," Mmm... he's right. Shadowheart, did you touch my soup?"

"Gale, I didn't touch your soup," she informed, most prepared to fight him on it. 

"Someone touched my soup-"

Tav lifted his head to the ceiling with a sigh. It appeared Shadowheart wasn't the only one a little bothered by sharing their home. Wyll must have really needed to run away to take space here, knowing how selfless the man was by nature. The man in question observed him from the side, and when he caught his attention he leaned forward to whisper low at his ear," If it helps, I find them just as pressing to my patience sometimes."

It did, a little.

~•~

  Wyll was cautious with the pull of conversation as dinner silenced enough for them to actually enjoy the meal. He kept close attention to any uneasiness Astarion might feel in the midst of the chaotic words thrown about. He seemed to be taking it just fine, even offering a flitted response occasionally when a question was opened to the table. Of course, Wyll had been expecting eventually for the questions to find them directly. 

It was Tav, who approached the subject with a casual demeanor,” It’s an honest surprise Wyll brought you over,” he leaned forward and gave Astarion an amused grin,” You’d think the guy would have a damsel or two after saving so many.”

   “Are you implying I’m a damsel?” Astarion questioned, brow raised and spoon set aside against his half finished bowl. Wyll found to his surprise that he’d barely even made a dent in his own. 

“No,” Tav said with a pointed finger,” but I wouldn’t judge if you were.”

“How kind of you.”

He noticed the way Gale kept perched in his seat, fist pressed tight against his lips with a very obnoxious shaking of his leg. He was trying to be on his best behavior it seemed, so he didn’t mind much when the man finally did speak again.

   “I heard there’s a ball this Saturday. Are you two going together?”

While it was an innocent enough question, Astarion held his breath as if he felt conflicted about answering. Wyll considered asking him, but he didn’t necessarily want to do it in front of them. He’d like something more personal, perhaps even with a gift of some sorts. Wyll was just about to find a way to say it without being too forward when he felt something pressed against his shoulder. Astarion had his cheek pressed up against him, and he was drawing in a breath like he was in pain.

”Astarion,” he whispered,” Are you feeling alright?”

”Just… a little nauseas,” he said back. His lips parted in a deep frown as he lowered an arm to his stomach, and then as he let out another breath Wyll watched his entire body stiffen. Astarion’s eyes widened as he lifted his head and met Gale’s gaze. 

“I had my suspicions,” Gale informed.

   Wyll had no time to make any sense of what had transpired before Astarion was clambering from his seat to rush forward into the kitchen. The room stirred from their dinner to watch him with concern, but it was Wyll that followed behind him to find the pale elf retching into the kitchen basin. From the other room, he heard Shadowheart’s startled words.

”Gale, you’re bleeding.”

”I’m quite aware,” came the response. 

   Astarion gripped the basin tight as he finished throwing up any of the dinner he’d touched, moving a hand to wipe the remaining saliva across his lips with a shaky breath. As he did, Wyll was taken aback by the mirror hanging amongst the wall. Its old and carved decor bordered the emptiness of its reflection, a startling discovery given the fact Astarion stood just in front of it.

“Apologies,” Astarion said weakly. It wasn’t until he finished cleaning his mess that he seemed to realize Wyll’s absolute shock. The man lifted his head, took notice of the mirror and then his face fell with the same look he had moments before Cazador had interrupted them. Wyll could barely think.

Astarion was a vampire.

The water still rushing forward didn’t hide the footsteps that followed behind them, and just as quickly as the revelation sat heavy on Wyll’s shoulders, he moved to pull the man from the mirror and into his arms just as Gale turned the corner, hand raised with a cut along his open palm.

   “I think we need all need to have a very in depth conversation-“

”Actually,” Wyll said, taking great notice in the way Astarion removed himself from his hold,” We’re going upstairs. Whatever you have to say can wait.”

”Wyll-“

”I mean it,” Wyll snapped. His thoughts and heart raced quicker than he could keep up. There were so many new pieces to the puzzle that made up Astarion that he wasn’t even sure where to start. It only mattered now that this man before him was trembling, possibly from stuffing himself with food he couldn’t have or the apprehension in realizing someone had found him out. He tried for a gentle approach, completely different as he turned from the man that moved to clean his wounds.

“Astarion, will you come upstairs with me?”

”Why?” The man regarded him as if he were all but ready to attack, part of his body tense, prepared to fight back despite the way his face revealed he did not think he could win.

”You forget your rapier up there? Sorry to inform you, but I’ve had plenty of blades wielded at me. You’ll need much more than that,” Astarion tried to play humorous, but his gaze kept falling back to where Gale watched with caution. By now, Shadowheart and Tav had crept into the kitchen to catch the last of his words.

   “Astarion, I don’t want to hurt you. Let’s talk. Just you and me,” he tried his best to convey his sincerity in his tone, but it was clearly more than a delicate situation. He wasn’t even sure how to start, but he knew that being surrounded was the last thing the man needed. When Shadowheart sent him a look of alarm, her brows furrowed tight, he only shifted his eyes in hopes she’d take the hint. 

“Fine,” Astarion said after a hard consideration, his chin raised high,” We can talk.”

         ~•~          

   Could the rapier even manage to behead him? Astarion observed it steadily from where it rest against the dresser, his arms closed tight around his chest. He had managed to be found out only hours after Cazador had given him his task. It had been so stupid of him, but he'd had no time to think when the revolting food and the sudden scent of fresh blood had hit him with full force. He glared even deeper at the blade, flinching with his entire body when Wyll placed a hand to the hilt.

"I'm only moving it to the closet," Wyll assured, his voice slow, almost comforting. He was true to his word. He made no move to strike Astarion with a surprise attack, and when his hand came to close the closet door he even turned his back on him.

How naive was Wyll really?

"So..." he turned to Astarion, uncertainty drenching his words," You're a vampire."

Not nearly enough.

  Astarion felt there were numerous ways he could talk his way out. He could be coy, offer another quip that distracted the man long enough to get the upper hand or he could play on his hero mentality, cower like he'd already been struck. Wyll, though, was so bare before him with his confusion that Astarion realized the man was allowing him to speak.

"Actually, I'm only a spawn," Astarion informed, though he was sure it didn't make any difference. He kept a safe distance, his back pressed against the wall, all while listening to the bottom of the stairs in case someone came up.

  Wyll took in a sharp breath. Despite the previous evidence, the confirmation seemed to hit harder. 

"Astarion."

He said the name like a plea before he found the edge of the bed, his shoulders falling with another huff of breath. When he turned his head, Astarion felt the full power of his desperate attempt for answers in his stares.

“And Cazador?”

Astarion’s face twisted with a scowl, but he wouldn’t hide any longer. He lowered his arms and trailed along the side of the room with clear disgust in his response, “He’s my creator, my master, and I’m not sure if you’re inclined to having sympathy for a spawn, but he will have me flayed if he learns you’ve found this out.”

  Wyll did not appear to be a man that could stand the thought, not for anyone, not even for a creature like Astarion. The dark skinned man hurled his frustrations with a groan, the usual allure of his heroic charm dwindling down to nothing more than the youth he held, and the experiences he’d yet to live. It wasn’t exactly what the vampire had been expecting, and his body still didn’t trust it enough that he considered taking a seat at his side. 

“How do you get your blood?”

Of course. Before anything could be done the man had to consider what sort of monster he was faced with. Astarion felt relieved, because at least here he didn’t have to lie. Cazador had done him no favors, but it eased his pressing anxiety.

”I don’t murder people, if that’s what you’re asking,” he said, a little more confident in his words, merely because malice often wrought false confidence,” Thou shalt not drink of the blood of thinking creatures. He has all sorts of fun little rules.”

  Wyll froze in horror.

”Then what do you drink?”

”The dead rats or bugs he finds, when he decides we’re allowed,” Astarion spoke as if it were nothing more than a description of the weather. How else did one speak the binding chains of their soul? What was even worse than ignorance, was pity. Pity didn’t often save lives, not in the end. He was certain Wyll had heard the power of a vampire lord and the way they often sought out spawn to entertain themselves in their torment. He didn’t need to describe every detail. Hells, he wasn’t sure Wyll’s delicate heart could take it.

“He’s been starving you.” 

  Wyll’s fingers clenched to fists at his thighs at the thought, surprising Astarion. This wasn’t any better than Wyll’s conflict. If the man felt too much empathy he might do something stupid, like try to speak to Cazador on his behalf. He moved quickly to his side, eased with his decision when the man didn’t stir out of alert.

   Cazador would hurt him again. He’d rip his flesh from his body, paint the walls in his blood, torment him with his own fingers controlled by the vampiric bond. No, worse. Astarion would be confined in that horrid place of nothingness, longer than a year, and he’d be alone and- his hands started to shake as the situation unfurled.

”Wyll, you can’t let Cazador find out that you know this,” his eyes were wide with his soft plea,” I’ll tell you whatever you wish to know, but-“

”He’s been hurting you for a really long time,” Wyll asked in a low voice,” hasn’t he?”

   The gods had denied his prayers, every single one of them, when he’d yelled at the top of his lungs pinned in his darkness, only now- to be answered, by a mortal man who felt more powerful with his words than any entity he’d sought. Wyll saw him. It was so much that he couldn’t contain the sudden short sob that racked his body, like another wave of his dignity would be stolen from the gasp that followed.

“May I?” Wyll asked, but Astarion was fighting so hard against the aching depths echoing out from within that he wasn’t even sure what the man was asking permission for. He could only nod faintly, surrendering to whatever Wyll wished to do, too tired to fight should it be a question of whether or not he wanted to be put out of his misery.

  The entirety of his sense of self imploded when the man wrapped his arms around him, not to strangle the life from his body, but to do nothing more than smooth a hand against his back in a way that Cazador might before whispering another awful task for him to complete. It didn’t come. Wyll only held him, his gentle embrace a nice place to hide his shaming fall. He shoved his face into Wyll’s body before he could even fathom why. Cazador feigned a caring hand often, denied it the moment his spawns were desperate enough to believe, and then humiliated them until they no longer needed anything. Apathy was the sign of a lesson well taught. 

   Wyll only offered warmth. Warmth he clung to as he tried keeping the gasps at bay. It was another strange concept that had become his reality. As much as he wanted so badly to be saved, being cared for frightened him that even as he allowed it, his body still felt rigid, wrong.

Chapter Text

   There was no right way to react when being told of someone else’s pain. No matter the effort, it never felt like it was enough, not unless Wyll’s words could strip every hardship that had ever come for Astarion. Not unless the hands smoothing down pale curls as he finished letting go could wrap their fingers around the neck of Cazador Czarr, if only to find the right place for his stake.

Astarion was a vampire, but what did that really mean?

   It meant for however long he’d been one that he’d been subjected to the whims of someone who clearly delighted in his suffering. Wyll couldn’t even fathom the things he’d been through, and he wanted nothing more than to ensure it didn’t ever happen again.

”I could tell my father, we could h-“

”You can’t tell anyone,” Astarion growled, his fingers curling along Wyll’s arm as he pulled himself from his chest. The remnants of his sorrows were the slight puffiness to his cheeks, and his long lashes wet with the last of his tears. Wyll paid no mind to the anger that seeped in his voice, because he too knew what it meant to be afraid.

“Don’t you understand? Half of Baldur’s Gates knows he’s a vampire,” he snapped, his fingers tightening even more, though Wyll allowed him to share in his strength.

“They don’t care, Wyll. Even if you did manage to gather people you trusted, Cazador has allies,” Astarion narrowed his gaze,” and the spawns, they’d be compelled to throw away their lives to protect him. We wouldn’t even have a chance.”

  His eyes went away again, to that place he’d noticed a few times Wyll hadn’t yet been able to reach. He waited patiently, not offering any more touch unless he actively sought it out.

”There has to be something,” Wyll tried, very quietly. 

Astarion took in a deep breath, something Wyll had thought vampires didn’t need. There was obviously a lot he had to learn, though preferably from him rather than an ancient book. The vampire, still lovely as ever to the eyes, leaned forward into Wyll, his voice surprisingly calm when he answered. 

“Cazador has been in a good mood, so I think it’s best we just continue as is,” Astarion said, his fingers skimmed the side of Wyll’s hand,” Until I’m able to resist his commands, I’d rather just enjoy the time I’m allowed with you than risk losing that too.”

   It was so honest that it shocked Wyll. While he didn’t understand everything, he didn’t believe Cazador was someone who might just suddenly change. He had felt his sadism from the moment they met, even before when he’d only seen the reactions it had imprinted into Astarion. 

“And what happens when the thing keeping him happy, doesn’t anymore?” Wyll inquired, knowing it was a hard question, but one that desperately needed to be asked. 

Astarion stilled and he tilted his head up to meet his gaze with a guilty look,” You’re what’s keeping him happy right now.”

  “My father. He wants to get with him about new programs. Gods, what is he planning?”

“He only told me to offer myself to you and give you whatever you desire,” Astarion informed, reluctantly as he turned on the bed, enough they no longer shared each other's heat,” I’m going to find out though. One of these days, his lust for power will be the death of him.”

   He didn’t know how to feel about Astarion openly admitting to spending time with him because he’d been ordered too. Everything Astarion did though, he did to survive. It made him so angry that someone was only just now considering doing a damn thing about it. Half of Baldur’s Gate? He could only assume it was most of the elite. If they knew Cazador was a vampire then they knew perfectly well the horrors his spawns faced. 

“I’m the sone of a Grand Duke, Astarion,” Wyll reminded,” I have a very wealthy knowledge of dealing with men like Cazador, vampire or not. If all you were ordered to do is to be at my side, then do just that. I’ll take note of every ally Cazador has and take them down one by one if necessary.”

  Astarion stared at him in awe.

“Wyll, you can’t save everyone. It’ll be the death of you one day.”

Wyll tilted his head with a smile that was meant to be reassuring, though he wasn’t sure he hid the sadness of it, or the true extent to how much he meant his following words,” Better a meaningful death than to live a life where I can’t end your suffering.”

~•~

   Astarion didn't have the privilege to be selfless. He only wished that it could have been anyone other than Wyll. He felt the monster he'd become since being turned consume any of the emotions he had left. Wyll had powerful friends. He was willing to fight Cazador on his behalf even after learning he'd been lied to. The only reasonable solution to this little hiccup of a night was to further manipulate Wyll into protecting him. The man clearly already had affections for him, how much harder would it be for Wyll to fall for him completely? If Astarion could manage it, he might just make it out of this entire ordeal alive, maybe even with Cazador dead.

    "That's sweet of you, but that's if your friends don't stake me when we leave this room," Astarion teased, his fingers trailing forward along the top of Wyll's thigh. The man didn't tense at his touch, good.

"They won't harm you," Wyll said with such certainty that Astarion almost believed him. "Gale might have overstepped his bounds, but he means well. He would take up the fight with Cazador in a heartbeat, as would Tav and Shadowheart."

"Well then, I guess we should really fill them in.”

  They were all hurdled at the bottom of the stairs. Tav propped an arm up against the railing, though he had the audacity to appear as if he had only been admiring the architecture of the home. Astarion noticed immediately the daggers sheathed at his side, a new addition to his outfit since dinner. Shadowheart looked no different, aside the fact her hands were at her side outstretched, magic scenting her fingertips, ready any moment to strike. Gale, well at least he appeared guilty.

"Wyll," he said through gritted teeth," Care to ease your potentially murderous friends?"

   Wyll stepped off the last step, and if he didn't know any better purposely shifted his body like a human shield at Astarion's side.

"Stand down, Astarion is no enemy."

Tav let out a relieved sigh and dropped back from the railing.

"Good Gods, I was hoping that was the case."

Astarion gawked at them, his induced stupor was startled by the display of acceptance. How could they take his words so easily? He searched for any suspicion in Gale's eyes, only to find a very troubled apology instead. 

   "I'm sorry about the uh, blood, but I wasn't sure what to expect coming from Cazador. I hardly knew if you were sent here to harm our friend," Gale clasped a hand to Wyll's shoulder with affection," but I trust his judgement now that all has been laid out on the table.”

"As do I," Shadowheart added," so long as our necks remain untouched."

"No worries there," Astarion replied with a long pull of his words to feign effortlessness," With the amount of salt in that soup, I hardly think I'd like the taste."

Both Shadowheart and Gale shared a cross look with each other. While it would be fun to watch them argue again, Wyll was determined in his case. Astarion had the urge to kiss him, to see his steadiness waver, because when he spoke to his friends the idea he presented felt all too possible.

“So,” Wyll crossed his arms as he collected their attention,” who wants to take down a vampire lord?”   

  The room fell silent. He’d expected looks of confusion, apprehension and even a little hesitance at the obvious suicide mission, but Astarion found only a band of people who had to be completely insane. They didn’t bat an eye. Whose house had he stepped into? The son of the grand duke was liable to have capable people in his life, but this?

Unfortunately he wasn’t a complete monster. They had to know what they were up against. 

“Cazador is a powerful person. He has connections, control. He’ll play you like a pawn before you ever realize you’re in a game, not to mention the actual powers he has,” he found that they listened intently, still open to the facts. It was a little impressive.

”We can’t do anything without finding out how far those connections run. He has regular after parties and meetings with his most devoted followers, those will be the people you find running Baldur’s Gate. While I’ve bared witness to every one of these faces,” he ignored any thought of it,” I don’t know any names.”

  Tav shrugged a little, though he was nodding his head as he considered Astarion’s words. 

“So we figure out a way in, or Wyll does, because he’s most likely to know everyone in there.”

While it was true, Wyll looked upset about it. He was either just coming to terms with the fact power in Baldur’s Gate was corrupted or he’d known for a long time and had always been unable to stop it. Until now, anyways. 

“What exactly goes on in these little after parties?” Gale inquired.

  Astarion turned to study the jaw line of Wyll’s face. He felt the question pull him back into a dull ensemble of flourished charm” The usual amount of debauchery with a touch of sadistic creativity,” he explained, and with a sigh,” You won’t need to sneak in. After the ball, stick around and you’ll see the ones that linger.”

By then Astarion would be preparing himself. He’d wait until the last song, when Dufay would alert the waiting spawn in their chambers, to be taken in and surrounded by important faces with prodding hands and-

“Astarion,” Wyll whispered, and no words followed after. The vampire realized it was a private way of alerting him he’d gotten lost, and in gratitude he let a few of his fingers graze Wyll’s side before he cleared his throat.

”What was your question?” He asked of Shadowheart, who’d clearly been waiting for something similar to a response. 

“And after we find the names of these men and women?”

It was Wyll that answered,” We take away their power until Cazador is completely vulnerable.”

   He would never be vulnerable, but it was a good place to start. While it was all heart warming, Astarion knew the likely outcome. They would all die, and then he'd be flayed and hung up like an art piece as a reminder for his siblings. He'd rather enjoy the handsome features in Wyll's face, set with his determination to play savior, and pretend for the time being that there was genuine hope.

”Why don’t you just point them out at the ball, if you remember them?" Gale pointed, ruining the moment Wyll found Astarion's sudden interest, their eyes flickering away from each other to the wizard. 

”Spawn aren’t allowed to attend," Astarion informed, and he pressed a hand underneath Wyll's chin for emphasis," Even with this face of his, Wyll’s presence won’t change that fact. Cazador doesn’t like us around those that don’t already know what he is.”

Wyll didn't seem to mind the touch, but his face twisted in a pained understanding of his words,” But you’ll be at the after party.”

”Yes," Astarion pulled his hand away, and he ignored the penetrative stares of the group as he admitted," I am allowed there.”

                            ~•~

   When the night grew to a close, Wyll walked Astarion back to the Palace with a heavy heart. A few beggars were already lining the corners, drunkards struggled home, but nothing more prominent in mind than the man walking at his side in silence. Wyll wanted nothing more in the world to offer him shelter, but he knew the pull his commands had, and worse, that he'd face consequences if he ever tried denying them.

   The harsh realities of their situation were not met with only sorrows, but a resolution he wore across his features. He lingered outside of the palace and he gestured for the door when Astarion raised a brow at his remaining presence.

  “I thought I’d come in and speak to Cazador," Wyll informed.

”Darling," Astarion chided," I knew you were young, but I didn't think you were stupid."

  Wyll felt a cold breeze linger like a whisper. Malevolence overcame even the building. He was handing over an innocent man to his abuser. There was no other way to look at it. He lowered his head and forced the words from his lips, ”Whatever happens in those after parties, I know it’s not good.”

”Figure that out all by yourself, did you?”

  Astarion was receding into that front he so preferred, and Wyll so desperately wished it wasn't the safest place for him to run. Wyll let his fingers reach for Astarion’s, his eyes searching for even a moment’s discomfort. The man flinched in surprise, but he leaned into the touch and fell from his indifference with a resigned sigh.

”I’m not used to this,” Astarion admitted. He glanced down to their half intertwined fingers and looked as if he’d been told the most heartbreaking news,” You remind me of someone I met once. It didn’t end well for him.”

  When their gaze met, Astarion wore a grave warning on his face. Wyll had never sought to kill a man as much as Cazador. It struck him then that he had no idea the number of spawns Cazador had under his control. He filed the question away for later, and pushed again with his resolve.

“Please let me help you.”

Wyll had only ever felt this way a few times in his life. He’d always held the responsibility of lives before his own, but never in a way that he could only struggle under its weight, unable to make any moves, not knowing if that the moment Astarion stepped inside if he’d be hurt again. He took in a deep breath, and allowed the pale haired elf release of his hand when he moved to pull away. 

“I couldn’t stand it if something happened to you when I had every power to stop it,” he half whispered, aware even now that the outside world was far too dangerous for them to be overheard by any figure hidden in the darkness. 

”Fine,” Astarion muttered,” if you still want to play hero, then you have to do everything I say the night of the ball. No questions asked,” he narrowed his gaze, even now, Wyll thought despite everything he'd been through he held himself with what must have been awful years of practice,” I mean it Wyll. Cazador can’t find out you know the truth.”

  “He won’t," he assured," I can be a very persuasive actor too.”

Astarion found something funny in the statement, his lips curling into a genuine grin as he took a step into Wyll's space. For a moment the man waited for another skilled turn of conversation, something mildly insulting that he wouldn't place blame on Astarion for anyways, but it didn't come. The pale fingers brushing themselves towards the end of his braids were cold, but not unwelcome. The lips that followed graced the lowest part of his cheek, close enough to his own that he considered taking more, if not for his knowledge now and his fear of furthering Astarion's struggle.

”Good night Wyll. I'll see you when the sun sets again."

He hesitated, but not long enough that Wyll had the time to find words before he moved to the door, and with a slight pang in Wyll's chest, went inside without looking back.

   The morning sun was but a shimmer on the city's horizon, cast to reveal a new day as he found every strength remaining to tear himself away from the Czarr Palace.

"Good morning... Astarion."

   The scent of a fresh catch lingered along the docks and further down the path splitting into two sections of the city. He had once been so enamored by the sea salt infused with the cold breeze that found itself wrapped around the ships of the harbor, once dreamed of adventuring past the gates with only his blade in hand, but how could he even begin to wonder what lied out there when everywhere he turned the people of Baldur's Gate were in need? 

  By the time he made it back to Shadowheart and Tav's place, the silver haired woman was perched on the little wooden porch with a very thick mug of dark coffee. She pulled her leg from where it rest against the second step and gestured for him to take a seat.

"So, I take it you two spent all night talking?"

  While the rest of the group had eventually laid their heads to rest, Wyll had taken the remaining hours to ask all sorts of questions. He hadn't pressed Astarion anymore on Cazador, because he'd truly felt that anymore would only pacify his curiosity, but not help the man who'd already allowed strangers in on some of his most guarded secrets. They'd talked instead, about things that were a little easier. 

"What's your favorite color?"

Laughter, surprise, consideration.

"Anything but red," Astarion had said," I've had enough of it taunting me in this life."

   Wyll settled down and took the mug she offered in hand," It wouldn't be so bad to live life under the moon."

He was getting ahead of himself, he knew, but the thought had crossed his mind.  He wouldn't pursue his new desires and cloud the most important part of their budding relationship. Saving Astarion. Anything else that he might hope for could wait, that is if by the end of it the man even wanted Wyll to remain in his life. He took a long sip and winced at the rough blend of ingredients. He'd forgotten that Shadowheart often didn't add any sugar, though he supposed Tav was sweet enough for them both. 

"You're staring," Wyll noticed," Come out with it, you've never been one to hold your tongue."

She let out a long sigh and offered her friend a pointed look," I just don’t want you to be stupid about this because you have an attraction for him. I’m sure he’s lovely, but you’re about to attract a lot of enemies.”

   From the open window, Tav's voice let out, ”We could take them.”

Wyll set the mug down at his side and turned to see the man hanging his arms in a comfortable position. There was a slight stubble to his chin, and darkness under his eyes that spoke of the sleepless night, despite the way he offered Wyll a smile of warmth.

Shadowheart glared at them both," I thought we were taking a break from saving every damsel in distress.”

Her lover concluded his statement with ease, ”This is a little different."

  Wyll could not be the reason his friend's gave up the peace that they'd found in this life, knowing how hard they'd worked to achieve it. They were young, but that didn't mean they hadn't lived as full as those wearing the turmoil of their years. 

”I won’t ask you to lie down your lives for a man you’ve only met," he started, his sincerity heavy with every word," but I’d appreciate all the help I could get.”

”Oh,” Shadowheart grinned, a little fond in nature,” we’re still helping you, I just wanted you to know that it’s a stupid decision.”

   The world felt slightly less in dire shape when he knew his friends remained at his side. He beamed at them, wondering how long it would take for Astarion to realize that he could have this too. He was more than certain as they grew to know this stranger that they would take him in, just as they’d taken in Wyll.

”Thank you,” he said, and for a while they blinked back the downpour of light from the lifting sun in silence. 

~•~

   Astarion braced the hallway as if it would entangle him in the floor. He'd awake covered in darkness, buried alive, maybe even longer than the first. Even if his master was in a pleasant mood, that he needed Astarion to continue his charm, he still feared a misstep might cause the inundation of his insanity to wield itself and impulsively slash the spawn's throat. He'd live, of course, because while many, his mistakes never trespassed higher than his use. Not yet.

  He searched his master's face only for the few seconds that would be proper, enough that Cazador couldn't determine if his spawns had attempted to look him in the eye. 

"You called for me, master." He wasn't sure where the sudden attitude came, like a storm with wild frenzy. Spending time with Wyll and his friends had garnered a temporary confidence, and it bled with annoyance in his voice.

  Cazador turned in his chair with a raised brow.

"You sound tired, boy," his adorned fingers, thick silver rings, one with a red ruby heirloom, stroked the arm rest of his chair whilst he took Astarion in with a pleased leer. "Did you have your fill of Wyll Ravengard?"

"Yes master," he corrected his tone, and even lowered his head should Cazador consider his exhaustion an insult.

"Soon, he will be sedated enough with pleasure to come willingly into submission," he offered the information only because he knew Astarion wouldn't ever speak his secrets, that and he liked too much to brag. His master stood from his seat and trailed to stand directly in front of him, so close that Astarion could smell the remaining blood, new and strong within his body from the victim's of the night. "Continue on for the next two days. While his father might not rely on me, he certainly will."

   Astarion didn't like the sharpness of those words, or the meaning they must have had. He didn't open his lips to speak, because Cazador had that look on his face that meant he had more to reveal. It was like a cat dangling the rat's tail between it's claws, sniffing it's fear, consuming the moments the prey fell into the certainty of time, when it realized that there was nothing else to do but to wait. 

"Go on and move your things to the favored spawn chamber. Leon's already been reintroduced to his bunk," Cazador delighted at his face of surprise, and like the cat, he swallowed his prey whole," I think Wyll might have use of it during the after party."

Astarion stilled, all but the slight trembling of his hands.

”Wyll isn’t like you,” he said, his voice betraying him. In horror he realized he hadn’t even properly addressed Cazador, and now his master looked over him with a peculiar sort of gaze.

   He raised a hand as if to strike, but stilled as a malicious grin curled over his scowl and he cupped Astarion’s cheek instead. He hummed low as he inhaled his spawn’s scent. “He will be, child. And you’re going to be the one to ensure it.”

   Astarion swallowed against the painful dryness of his throat as his master pulled him forward and he whispered with power the new commands he’d be forced to follow.

Chapter Text

   Wyll woke up drenched in the sweats of his nightmares. He hadn't meant to fall asleep, but lately he'd found only the time when the sun still set high in the sky. His hands grasped the sheets at his side and he blinked back another horrendous edge of words, echoing out into the emptiness of his room, reminding him of the man he dreamt of.

Little Star.

He couldn't keep his impulsive resolves from overtaking him with doubt. How bad would it be should he wait at Szarr Palace to behead the man in charge? He was a trained swordsman, but how would he fight off the remaining devoted, the men his father most likely still trusted? He knew it was smarter learning everything that they could, but it didn't mean it was the easiest option. Astarion was still behind those walls. Astarion was still hurting.

   He sat up from his mattress and collected himself, the best he could given the situation, and caught the single beam of light parting the thin sheets of curtain from his window. It would be dark in a few hours, but he still had plenty to do before meeting his friend. For one, he'd yet to speak to his father about the ball, and that in itself was an endeavor that would be difficult enough. The man had reclused himself since his mother's passing, months of endless meetings, only ever to return to the privacy of his office. He'd even fired the help. 

   Still, Wyll was not inclined to anger Cazador, not until Astarion was somewhere safe. He was careful not to stir the two love birds, who were pressed close together, intaking a warm drink of herbs whilst they spoke in low whispers at the dining table. He didn't notice Gale, so he assumed the whole argument with Tara had found it's solution. 

He mustered a mere glance in Tav's direction, who was far too enveloped in Shadowheart's gaze to realize. Good. They deserved a moment's peace with another. 

   The outside world of the day however was as chaotic as he remembered. People ran about, shoving and complaining through the main shopping district whilst men of many species yelled out at different stalls for their new and cheapened inventory. Wyll turned sharply when a thick man nearly stabbed him in the shoulder with his protruding armor, huffing a little with a raised brow in response. The man had the common decency to look apologetic, if only to distract him long enough for the man behind him to steal his coin pouch from his coat. 

   "Hey!" His arm lunged forward, but the smaller of the men was quick on his feet. He took off running towards the docks, but Wyll had chased far more vicious creatures and knew the city as deep as his bones. He jumped off of a handful of crates and landed on the line of the tracks that parted the water from the city's edge. There wouldn't be anywhere to run, but Wyll refused to let the thief find some corner to hide.

Scattered envelopes flew out towards the people that either watched the chase with a high interest or looked away in fear of being asked for aid. His heart beat with a pleasant speed, even the short air brought on by keeping a rushed pace had him smiling despite his reason for it. Maybe he missed it a little.

   "Oh, mama, isn't that the Ravengard boy?"

"Another day, another low life pickpocketing."

"Men and their games!"

He caught only a few comments before he turned a sharp corner, lined by an iron fence and just as he slipped his rapier from it's sheath he found that the man was already in custody. Red fingers curled into the back of his shirt, lifted the man from his feet, and then tossed him like a sack of potatoes to the barren ground underneath.

   "Karlach?"

The woman in question smiled with all of her white teeth, though the thief had only a broken groan in response. Wyll lowered himself and snatched his coin pouch from his side, only to find he had more than one latched to his belt," You always did have perfect timing."

"Pft," She rolled her eyes, but was delighted by the reminder," Come here, you. Give me a hug."

   Whilst he didn't have any siblings, Karlach would always be his sister. She was kind in ways that taught even Wyll. Her golden heart and brazen strength made for a fit soldier. It had been a good few weeks since she'd last been in the city, often running through jobs for different men in need of security. He found he missed her, more than he'd realized, and he returned her joyous demand with a warm embrace.

  The thief began to slowly lift himself, but Karlach tilted her head at him and he immediately cowered with both wrists outstretched, awaiting to be cuffed and imprisoned for his deeds. Better that than a concussion from a barbarian. 

"What brings you back to the city?" Wyll asked, more than fine with ignoring the man for a moment to catch up.

"Got a job with some fancy benefits," Karlach raised her shoulder and gestured back to the thick and heavy blade of her axe. It was more than nice, it appeared to have been crafted specifically for her, a line of sharp fire tasting the edge of the blade,” Couldn’t help myself, I’m a city girl by heart.”

"And muscle," Wyll said," Thanks by the way."

   "This asshole has been targeting the docks for a while," Karlach put a hand to her side and considered the sack of potatoes once more," Haven't you, Crey? I warned you not try that little trick again."

"I-" The man clasped his hands together, as if in prayer," I had no idea you knew him! I thought only-"

"Yeah, yeah, can it, won't you?" Her arm draped over Wyll's shoulders with ease, always having been one for the comforts of physical affection. "Trying to talk to my friend here. How are you, by the way? Last I heard you were rooming with Tav and Shadowheart.”

  Wyll hadn't been staying long, not as long as his mother's absence had turned what little joy his father had left into something not even his son could persuade.

"I'm returning home tonight. It's been... difficult," he found that these words did nothing to describe it," but I worry more about other things than what my father might say."

  Only months ago his mother had insisted he start courting and become a man as rich in love as his father, and he wondered now what she might say if she learned instead he was throwing all concerns of his life to save a vampire spawn he'd only met. He felt in his heart that she would understand, but his head knew that only someone who'd met Astarion could make sense of his decision.

"Well spit it out, soldier. You know you can tell me anything."

Unless, you were Karlach, who's fire of vitality burnt brighter than those of the hells.

"Come walk with me," Wyll said," After we've taken care to make sure everyone has their things returned, I'll tell you all about him."

Karlach's eyes widened with excitement," Oh, I can tell this is going to get good."

                          ~•~

   Astarion faced the jealousy of his siblings with dwindling grace. While he continued to be let out in the night, a mere day leading up to the ball, in the safety of Wyll’s presence, he’d somehow managed to scuff part of his sleeve. It was already embarrassing only having two outfits, even if he tried to distract anyone that may take notice with the allure of a perfume touched by bergamot, rosemary and a hint of aged brandy. Wyll didn't seem to mind either way. He was either too fixated on his face or the purposeful movements Astarion pulled only because he knew Wyll wouldn't ask for more. 

   "Well, look who's come crawling back. Master kick you out already?" Petras purred like one of those demented cats one might find in the sewers.

Astarion ignored him as he moved to the wardrobe where he'd forgotten his threads and needles, not thinking much other than his master's words when he'd gathered his things for the most coveted chamber. He had yet to tell Wyll. The night before after the man had become incessant with his need for certainty that Astarion hadn't been hurt, he'd spoken of much nicer things, things that the vampire could hardly interrupt with what he feared was coming.

   "He's only in there because he spreads his legs the widest when Master calls," Dalyria spoke from the corner of the room, already prepped for the night, her arms crossed tight over her chest.

Astarion gripped the threads in hand and turned sharply on them," I'm out being wined and dined by the son of a duke and you're on your back for the scum of the city. We are not the same."

"It won't last long," Leon said, who'd just come out from the washroom with a rag thrown over his slender shoulder. He'd obviously been the most insulted by the change, moreso now that he wasn't sharing a room with his offspring. The little girl was a handful, often asking questions of anyone who had an ear to listen. Leon was lucky Cazador even kept her, or maybe not, considering one day she would strike his interest. It was only a matter of time.

   "It never does," Petras informed with a grand chuckle," and then you'll be back in here with the rest of us."

Astarion wasn't sure why he was laughing when he was rarely ever preferred. He’d probably only ever slept in the favored chamber once. Leon had spent so long inside that he’d forgotten it wasn’t truly his. While he didn’t like what it entailed, the slight satisfaction in knowing he had the upper hand was a little nice. 

“Sorry,” he said, feigning casual amusement,” as much as I’d love to banter back and forth, I do have a very attractive man waiting for me outside.”

  Wyll was like a painting, especially that night when Astarion finished mending his clothes and ruffling his curls to appear, he hoped, presentable enough for the prince cast in a dark tunic, coat lined with a dark purple and touched by the light of the moon. He felt so underdressed coming out the palace, that he almost forgot it was Wyll who was taken in by him in ways no other had even considered. 

“I’m fine,” he said before the man could even attempt to ask,” No one was hurt.”

He laughed a little as the man looked him over, as if his master wasn’t so practiced enough that he could only hurt him in a way that left a visible mark. His fingers splayed out against Wyll’s arm, and like magic the man ceased his search completely.

”Though someone might be if we don’t leave this place soon,” he informed, only half joking. 

   The man didn’t rouse any argument there. Like the gentleman he was, he guided Astarion out past Cazador’s property and to the world he’d only ever touched the surface of. Astarion noticed that even the shadiest corners seemed different when lit by the warmth in Wyll’s voice. It was easy to get lost in, to forget what he was, to pretend that the man at his side was merely an admirer meant to court. He could have been, in a different life. 

”And then the thief ran into one of my friends of all people. She had him cowering without so much a word-“ they stopped moving. Astarion furrowed his brows, but his confusion died the moment he realized he hadn’t taken a word in since Wyll had started speaking.

   “I’m sorry,” he mumbled,” I’m just a little tired. The balls tomorrow and I’m-“ he had no words for what he held. He didn’t understand Cazador, even as long as he’d been under his laws. That night when he’d whispered his new commands, it felt more that the man wanted power over people than any politics he threw himself in. Quickly, he tried to change the subject before his Prince Charming had a desire to help,” Did you speak to your father?”

”I left a message, and I hope to see him tonight,” Wyll informed, though steady with his gaze as he caught Astarion in the act with terrifying precision. “Did something happen?”

   “I just want one night where I don’t have to speak of Cazador,” he sneered, less than worried about revealing his fangs now that Wyll didn’t seem to mind. It gave him more freedom of his face.

Wyll didn’t deserve his anger, but he was only ever safe to feel it in front of him. The past few days he’d really started taking advantage of the security, though he hadn’t yet said something he regretted. If he continued on, he’d have to. Wyll and his disgustingly big heart would shatter if he knew what Cazador had planned for them. He swallowed hard and clung to Wyll’s arm as he fought the guilt that lay heavy with his words. 

“Actually,” he raised his head, struck by how close the two stood,” I uh- well, Cazador has informed me that I don’t have to attend the after party. He said that you seem more… possessive and he wouldn’t want you to get upset.”

   Wyll’s face lit up with relief, and damn it, Astarion felt like he’d just been opened up by Godey with his favorite pliers. Cazador didn’t only want Astarion at the after party, but he had a plan to lure Wyll in.

You are not to speak about any of this. You will not warn Wyll Ravengard in what’s to come.

Why?

Why did Cazador ever do anything? Wyll had been an unlucky fool to follow him into his home, and now he’d be apart of Cazador’s game, all for his entertainment. It would kill Wyll. He wouldn’t even think about himself, he’d be wrought with guilt for Astarion, because that’s just who he was. Selfless. Stupid. Or even worse, he’d lose control and start a fight, and then anyone who bore witness would end up dead at his master’s feet. 

  He had to prepare Wyll, as much as he could with what he’d been commanded. 

“That's a relief, I was storming my mind for plans to get you out of it.”

Astarion lifted his chin, and Wyll caught his gaze with careful reverence. 

“Wyll, you have to swear to me that no matter what takes place tomorrow night you will not attempt to take Cazador or anyone else that you might speak to,” he knew the warning unsettled him, but Astarion had to make certain,” Whatever happens, play your part. You can’t save anyone if you die, because you’re upset about something you can’t change.”

   It wasn’t exactly a warning of the after party, but by some chance it’d be enough. The horror of Wyll’s understanding became apparent, like many other things on that pretty face of his. He must have been imagining everything that had happened already, and then considered whether or not he could keep himself from acting. Astarion watched with worry over what that answer might be. 

“I swear it,” he said, and then overcame Astarion with his others,” And I swear Cazador will die, and that you will be free to live a life of your choosing. I swear it all.”

   Why couldn’t he have taken home the drunk?

~•~

  Wyll didn't promise things lightly. He knew the wickedness of the Szarr palace would drench itself in the perfumed men waiting for whatever freedom Cazador gave for those loyal. The only slight consolation was that at least Astarion wouldn't be apart of it. His heart hurt for the other spawn, and he knew it wouldn't be as simple as waiting it out to learn the names of their abusers, but Astarion needed a night away from this. He so desperately wanted to forget for a moment, and Wyll was more than willing to give him that distraction.

   It worked the moment he took a different turn in their path, and Astarion widened his eyes when he realized where it led. His brows furrowed, his lips tightened with the beginning of a scowl," I hadn't realized you returned home."

   The Ducal palace was adorned with its ornate carvings and sculptures, a grand courtyard spreading out with large stone columns and arches. While it had once housed many of the previous dukes, it had become quite a desolate place since his mother’s passing. No children ran through the square, her voice didn’t echo out to reprimand them with a mother’s love, and as he stopped at the layered staircase leading up to the main entrance, he had to remind himself it was still home. He still belonged there.

  Wyll offered him a guiding hand, one that he would readily remove should Astarion make the slightest of dark changes in his face. The pale fingers crossed over his, but he faltered in his ease as his gaze fixated to the grand double doors ahead.

”I’m not waltzing in to meet your father, am I?”

Wyll smiled slightly, ”Who knows?”

”What?”

   The voice came out disgruntled, but Wyll thought it a necessary anxiety, since he wasn’t certain the next time his father might release himself from his office and into the real world. He’d slipped an invitation underneath his door for the ball, and even left a message with his trusted right hand, but almost a day had passed and he hadn’t received a word of response.

  Outside the doors stood two guards on patrol, one of them he knew faintly, the other young and new in the face, a little hesitant when Wyll stepped up with Astarion at his side.

"Hold it-"

"Idiot," the familiar one growled," Do you not know the faces of the one you guard?”

  Astarion huffed with amusement, and even if it was directed his way, Wyll felt all the more satisfied for it. He offered the man a nod of acknowledgement," It's fine. I haven't exactly been around, it's a pleasure to be acquainted-" 

"Jergo, uh- come on in." Sweat trailed down his forehead from underneath his helmet, even after Wyll offered a parting smile. Whatever Astarion had offered, had the man responding in nothing more than a nervous squeak. Wyll raised a brow as he turned, but Astarion only gestured him forward with a coy grin. 

  There was something heavy that lay on the man's shoulders, but Wyll had told him he'd have his night free of anything to do with Cazador, so he didn't press it, and he more than willingly remained silent when Astarion lied it on a bit thick in response to his short explanations of the rooms he passed.

"I'll have to admit it, this is much nicer than that little stone slab your friends stay in." He didn't have to stretch to whisper his following words into Wyll's ear," But I'd rather see the bedroom, darling. You can skip the tour."

   Wyll halted in his step, he was surprised to feel the warmth of Astarion's fingertips pressed to his jaw, and he wondered with hope, whether or not that meant he'd been allowed a meal. He knew it was a fragile situation, that even his most sincere actions might be found insulting, so he remained still, allowing the man to brush further to his cheek.

"It's right here," Wyll said, because if Astarion looked at him any longer he feared he might kiss him. It was an awful thing to desire, knowing how much the man went through, that even as he found solace, it was by force. 

   Astarion had no difficulty pulling away from the near embrace to shove open the door with a piqued interest. He ran a hand along the first dresser against the wall, and took in the bed fit for a king, dyed fabrics pooled over thick pillows, and further back where the fireplace waited to be lit. There was even room for a desk, just aside the balcony doors where more than a few novels were stacked with careful design. 

  Wyll allowed him his exploration, and enjoyed the way his fingers traced objects in curiosity, that is until he reached for a specific set of books.

"Wyll," he teased," The full collection, really?"

   Wyll took it in stride, not warming at the discovery as he had before, though he was certain Astarion would catch him off guard soon enough. The ethereal beauty of the elf was a sight enough to steal away his attention, until he found that he was taking place on the bed at Astarion's side, who'd found the most plump of pillows with a content sigh.

”They speak of great adventures," Wyll explained, only for the sake of conversation," and with many details, it’s not all smut.”

Astarion snorted in disbelief.

Wyll, who was merely enjoying the fact the elf was relaxed, leg outstretched behind Wyll's back, the other folded towards himself while he dangled an arm over his head, smiled as he leant forward to press," What did you read when you were my age then?"

"You just want to know how old I am," Astarion accused, playful in nature and something else in his eyes that entrapped Wyll as he shifted his body until he was propped against the man's shoulder, just a breath away as he whispered," I thought you were a gentleman."

"I'm trying to be," he admitted weak.

Astarion drank in his hesitance like a potion, smirking low," Don't."

  Wyll could very well pull away. He'd known the man all of a few days, even if in those hours they spent talking under the moon he felt that he'd known Astarion much longer. Hells, he'd be a better man to ignore this advance, but hands found their way against the nape of his neck, and as he turned to better encompass his body as they shifted- like a sudden downpour of rain, Astarion pressed his lips to his and all resolve washed away.

~•~

   Astarion was half surprised when the man didn't immediately stop him. His facade of an apology laid to rest the moment Wyll opened his lips with a needing acceptance, hands as gentle as ever despite the way they rushed for warmth against his back. Astarion lowered his body into Wyll's until the man was pressed firm against the mattress, only a moment to realize what he'd allowed before the vampire licked the bottom of his lip, enticing a stifled moan from the man underneath.

"Are sure you're not a virgin?" Astarion teased, nipping gently at his ear as a free hand began untucking his shirt. He had to seduce him. Cazador might take away something precious to Wyll, but at least if they had each other now it wouldn't be the first image to cross his mind when he was being touched. He could relax Wyll, let him enjoy it, because after this- he wasn't sure the man would ever be the same.

  "Wait-" Wyll grasped at his wrist, but the vampire was struck by the quick rise of Wyll's chest and his parted lips that yearned for more, the sedated darkness in his eyes.

"If you say something along the lines of respect, I'm going to bite your ear off," Astarion warned, noticing even as Wyll stopped him, his legs still parted to allow the man to position himself between his thighs and his fingers couldn't get enough of the fabric along Astarion's waist. He'd never had the pleasure of choice, but if he had, he'd choose the man underneath him so heated for the way the vampire kissed down his neck as he waited for a response.

  "Astarion, please," Wyll said through a half breath, and it was such a vulnerable plea for mercy that even Astarion took slight pity, if not a warming, growing desire of his own.

"You really don't mind being the maiden," Astarion observed and his quick fingers found the clasp of Wyll's belt, also noticing how he muttered not a single word for him to stop. He drug his fingernails against the fabric of his underwear, slow, teasingly light along his straining length, and from what Astarion could already see was more than something to use with pride. The man's brows scrunched together and despite the way his hips bucked into his hand, his fingers clenched too tight in the sheets at his side. Astarion ceased his movements and leaned into him," Wyll, we can stop if you want. You don't have to do this.”

  They were unfamiliar words in his mouth, but one's he knew the meaning for longer than he'd chased them. Wyll was too good, he'd just as easily throw away his morals if he thought he was helping. 

Wyll visibly untensed, and all the life in Astarion's face fell. What was he even doing?  Forcing Wyll to go through with this now wouldn't soften whatever Cazador had planned later. He pulled himself away from the man completely, eyes hard on the freshly mopped floors. He wasn't a mark, at least he wasn't anymore, not someone he had to lure into the shadows of Cazador, because he was already there, and he was so precious of a man that it hurt more than he'd first thought.

"I'm sorry," Astarion whispered.

"Don't be," Wyll said with a slight chuckle, unaware of his inner monologue even though he felt it on his face," I was rather enjoying myself, but I find that my abstinence has made me a little sensitive. I didn't want to disrespect you by continuing, just in case..."

"Just in case," Astarion repeated, and he turned with a raised brow. Wyll still had need to settle his breathing, and he was awfully tight in his trousers, but unlike past marks, he seemed in no rush to continue otherwise.

"That you meant to distract yourself, and I would like our first time," Wyll's eyes widened at his statement as he shifted to the edge of the bed," I mean, if we decide to in the future, I want you to enjoy it too."

   Astarion closed his eyes for a second," Wyll, as sweet as that is, I've slept with thousands of people," he ignored the way the man stilled in shock when he searched his gaze, or the way too many of his emotions bled into the struggle to find words," I don't know, even after Cazador's dead, if I'll ever really enjoy it."

This wasn't part of the plan. Seducing the man didn't mean opening up about the horrible time he had with his conquests. He startled himself with the impulsivity to be open again, and very desperately tried fixing the situation before Wyll thought it better to leave him to his master. 

"That isn't to say, I won't regularly engage for someone's benefit," he informed with his head tilted, a low smirk set on his lips," You have me anytime you want me, Prince Charming."

   "I don't care if we never have sex, Astarion."

Astarion paid him no mind, even as the man situated himself at his side again, much more breath in those lungs, and even his quickened heart had settled enough to feign calm. He said it now, but in a few months, if they lived that long, Wyll would be pent up to no end. Astarion was attractive, he naturally made people want to take off their pants. He couldn't blame the man, and he wouldn't. 

   "I'm serious," Wyll continued," I've only ever known one person intimately, and to this day I regret allowing myself to fall victim to lust. I'd much rather have waited, even if I'm never to experience it again, just to be allowed to show you affection-"

"Wyll-" Astarion nearly choked with the urgent words coming from the man with no regards to shame. How could he wear his heart on his sleeve like this? And to Astarion of all people, like any of the words would ever mean anything, as if he had the opportunity to even consider them.

"Wyll," A knock on the door followed a familiar voice," I heard you were in, and I received your message. Are you busy?"

                            ~•~

  Wyll barely had time to register the fact the real world still existed even after sharing such a moment together. He felt like a fool with his words, they'd come up like bile in a fit of lousy excuses for his behavior. He meant his words, of course, but he wouldn't allow himself to get off so easily by his sudden urge to touch Astarion. He should have denied him the moment he found himself bothered, but part of him hadn't wanted to fight it. 

"Should I hide?" Astarion half whispered, eyes raking every possible option.

"What?" Wyll twisted his face into a scowl," We have nothing to hide. Stay where you are."

  His father seemed a bit impatient already, the few seconds it took Wyll to open the door a clear blockage in whatever business the man had to tend to. He did only notice his shirt half untucked when his father coughed, and then moved his gaze from the fabric and to the pale elf standing in the center of his room.

Something shocked radiated in his father's face, and then he fell almost habitually apathetic," I see you have company."

"Astarion, It's a pleasure to meet the Grand Duke face to face," came Astarion from Wyll's side, who'd somehow managed to cross the room in a few seconds of silence. He had that look again. His head lowered as he considered the man, his gaze narrowed with a conflict, and then it disappeared until he only appeared charmed by his own words,” Go ahead, Wyll. Speak to your father. I'll be waiting in bed."

   Wyll inhaled a sharp breath and tore himself from the room and to the privacy of the hall. Of course. He really should have expected Astarion to say something. 

"The company you keep-" the man grumbled and wiped down his clothes as if he'd just been violated," Of all the people, Wyll, you've had chances at suitors for years."

"What's wrong with Astarion?" Wyll asked, and he didn't hide the bitterness in his tone. This man hardly gave him the time of day, and now he wanted to speak on Astarion's character? He might have heeled like a dog as a child, but Wyll had long grown into a man.

   "Let's just say we have shared acquaintances and the stories I've heard-"

"-are all stories," Wyll concluded for him, hoping to the gods that Astarion wasn't eavesdropping. He obviously had to mean Cazador. It only made sense that his father might have attended a ball or two, maybe even shared a drink with the man, but he thought his father at least knew enough to realize something didn't sit right with Szarr," I didn't wish to speak to you for advice on my personal life, I only wanted to inform you I've moved back in and to relay a message I've sent in an envelope for your convenience."

His father seemed genuinely surprised by his lack of caution. While the man was mourning, so was Wyll. He didn't want to walk on egg shells the few moments his father did find time to speak, especially when it was to insult a friend.

  "I will be attending," Ulder said, and with great struggle," Just be careful. Your heart... it still loves like your mother, and I wouldn't want you to get hurt."

Wyll wasn't going to let either of them get hurt.

  The night of the ball, Wyll learned the true extent to just how difficult that could be. Everyone wore dark colors, as if drawn in by the nefarious reds of the Szarr Palace. While many mingled and drank, a few took to dancing, and straight across Cazador Szarr watched with a wicked grin and eyes that found Wyll's the moment he entered. He didn't dare to look away, not even as Shadowheart gripped at his arm to gather his attention. He wished to end his life now, if not for the risk it put everyone else in. 

  He wondered if Cazador could feel his hatred from his make shift throne.

"Wyll," Shadowheart hissed under her breath," Sending death glares to the Vampire Lord we're supposed to be avoiding is not part of the plan." She kept a hand wrapped around Tav, and his along the back of her silver dress. Wyll paid no more attention to it out of respect.

"Can we talk about this plan?" Gale piped up, coming from the side to split himself in the middle of the couple. He found someone familiar in the crowd and waved with a plastered smile, though as he leaned into whisper his scowl was quite evident," Astarion seems to think we can just linger around and find a line leading back into the ballroom, but I highly doubt it'll be that easy."

   It wasn't. Wyll had considered this.

"I'm going to the after party. I don't know how I'll convince him, but I have to know who's allowing this to continue."

Even if it meant experiencing the most horrid things whilst knowing he could do nothing to help. Not yet. Wyll didn't take the time to find anyone's expression, because he wasn't certain he could take it. He was not the victim in this, the one being tormented and abused by the most demented monster he'd ever met. Sensing his growing frustrations, Gale leaned forward as a server passed and nabbed Wyll a glass of champagne. 

"Here, take this."

   Wyll downed the drink and plopped it back into Gale's open hands before turning to maneuver through the crowd to Cazador. He heard only the, "shit, there he goes," let out by Shadowheart from behind. Any other words shared were drowned out, his only concern waiting for him at the end of the room.

The vampire gestured to a seat at his side with a languid movement of his hand, his long dark coat concealing much of his body, like he truly desired to be bathed in complete darkness. 

Make him believe you're alike. 

  "Have you found use in my boy?" Cazador questioned, too immersed in the crowd to spare him a glance. 

Wyll settled his own gaze at Tav, who was stuffing his face full of the desserts laid out on the buffet table. It was a surprise the vampire even had the sense of charity enough to feed his guests. He tried to examine anything, even the way most of all the dances were quite familiar to him, or the way the music allowed for a touch of light in the hidden crypt disguised as a palace. Anything to make it easier to speak about Astarion in such ways.

"I've had a lot of use in him," Wyll informed, and if he surprised Cazador, the vampire made no move in showing it. He hadn't expected the power to strike him so heavily. His aura was thick, consuming the air Wyll breathed all while his head fought off the whirlwind of a drug like force.

   "Have you?" Cazador leaned closer, this time offering him his full attention. He looked as if he'd just been told of a great fortune, one that belonged solely to him," While I'm certain you're aware of his practiced skills, I wonder if you know how he formed them."

Cazador must have been baiting him.

"I-" he broke off, surprised a little the man would be so forthcoming, but very careful to heed Astarion's words. He continued, finding once again somewhere to take his sights," I was a little curious."

  "Naturally," The vampire mused with a low hum," Astarion is one of my greediest children. He has to be used so frequently that I've worried about his future relationships. It's fine, I let my wards play, but his need runs far deeper than the rest."

Wyll clenched the arm rests of his seat.

"He wanted to attend a special party of mine, but I told him that you appeared to be a man that didn't like to share..." Cazador was much too close as he whispered," Am I wrong?"

   For the life of him he didn’t know what angle Cazador was trying for. Was he trying to hint at his after parties or gode him into admitting something stupid? Did he know Wyll knew about him? They were useless questions when Cazador still loomed over him like a storm awaiting an answer. He reminded himself again, that he’d sworn to Astarion he wouldn’t start something he couldn’t finish. A fight with Cazador would end in many innocent deaths.

”I can be possessive,” he said the first word he remembered when Astarion mentioned the news of his dismissal. Better to be what he wanted Wyll to be in the moment,” While I don’t mind having fun, I hardly want someone who’s been touched by so many hands.”

   It was better this way that Astarion hadn’t been invited. He would make it clear that he didn’t want Astarion touched all while playing up the act. If Cazador wanted him happy, then it would only make sense to keep people away. He chanced a glance in the vampire’s direction and found to his relief the man was smirking with pleasant belief.

“Oh, do I have the party for you,” Cazador glared similar to the predators of the land, his long fingernails curling along the chalice one of his servants offered with a trembling state of urgency. He lifted his head at something in the distance and then relinquished his drink to another servant who seemed to sense his sudden movement,” It’ll have to wait. Your father and I have some business to attend. Why don’t you go play with Astarion and I’ll fill you in on the details later?”

   Wyll followed his gaze and found his father in the midst of the crowd. Fear ran through him, but he wouldn’t lie and say he wasn’t more inclined to find Astarion. His father had a choice at least, to leave at any moment he felt uncomfortable. Besides, he didn’t think Cazador wanted the man dead. He seemed to be more complicated a monster than that.

   Gale caught him by the arm before he could even fully step away into the mass population of nobles. He pulled him carefully into a corner where the couple were in midst of fuming about some stranger’s remark. 

“I have half a mind to tear that man to pieces,” Tav grumbled with the remainder of his sweets that he kept close to his chest. 

“It would be more of a compliment if I was certain they weren’t one of the psychos that worship Cazador,” Shadowheart told with a look of mutual disgust. Her hand fell to rest against her side as she took in Wyll with a raised brow.” So, what happened? Do we need to call in Karlach?”

  “I’m not putting Karlach in this position.”

He had more than one reason. She was just getting in a good place after a pretty shit deal with a problematic boss, and she was happy. Wyll wanted nothing more than for her to continue, feeling that as strong as she was her heart wouldn’t be able to take this level of abuse, not sitting down. She’d envelop the place with her rage, unable to keep her heart in check. Wyll knew, because he’d struggled not striking the man in a fit of rage with such tension in his body that he feared his bones might break through skin. 

  “I’m going to find Astarion. If you do manage to over hear anything,” he gestured to where his father and Cazador trailed off towards a set of doors on the right,” we all meet at my place tomorrow night.”

“I assume that means you have a way into the after party?” Gale inquired.

”Yes.”

Wyll felt his blood run cold imagining what was coming, but who else from the group? He knew the names and faces of many nobles, had learned them since he was nothing more than a child playing Duke after his father. No matter what, Cazador could not learn what Wyll knew. It was the one advantage they had, and for the sudden cloak in the vampire’s aura, Wyll thought they’d need all the advantage they could get. 

   He had a plan though. Cazador would  invite him to the after party, allow him to see the faces of the ones involved and then Wyll would muster an excuse and leave. He’d find out what to do with the names, possibly even involve his father and then strike Cazador with everything they learned through his allies. The spawns being abused- he held his breath. They would be saved. Better Wyll be alive to do the saving, even if he didn’t care as much for his own life as he did for the sake of Astarion’s. 

“I don’t envy you,” Shadowheart told, along with the string of looks drenched in a mixture of pity and frustrations found in the group. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood and then turned from them, not with any strength reserved to ease their worries. 

   Scouring through the people who either paid him no attention or too much, Wyll made his way to the double doors and towards the hall. He furrowed his brows as he attempted to remember the first time he’d walked them. Where had Astarion taken him? It had been a long hall with plenty of empty rooms, with the beds made all up, and there had been a staircase, he was almost certain. He took a turn and found himself in a place he didn’t recognize, large paintings of Cazador and what he assumed to be his lineage hung from the wall with each parting of drape. Wyll glared at them for a moment as if they were the entity himself.   

“I’m getting real tired of seeing your face.”

”As we both are,” a voice arose from behind, and Wyll turned to take in a man with dark hair pulled back, his broad shoulders evident enough of his strength, and his scowl penetrated so deep that Wyll could only assume he worked for Cazador. 
“Come, Master would like me to give you a tour. He thinks you might like the treat he has in store for you.”

~•~

  The group of devoted could have been anyone, but their clothes bore no tell of any rank or position, decidedly nicer than the eyes that leered at the waiting spawn. Astarion didn’t often pay attention to each and every face, but after a while it was hard not to recognize them. There were more men than women, but they all held the same desire to take out their frustrations and drench themselves in the humiliation and pain of Cazador’s property. Fifteen? Twenty? Only a handful pooled in now, but he knew as the hours continued they’d most likely be making a discreet exit from the ball. This was merely a gift for those few that Cazador trusted, in the only way the paranoid, power hungry bastard could. 

He didn’t make eye contact, not as they were being served the finest liquor in Baldur’s Gate while enjoying the display of naked offerings.

  Astarion was always supposed to start the night at Cazador’s feet, turned down in submission, while he took his time admiring every one of his creations. He’d make a small speech to his guests, brag about his accomplishments and then offer his children up one by one, to those who’d won his favor recently or to those he was trying to impress. Except Cazador wasn’t there, and the after party was happening just halfway into the ball.

  The moment they’d been called in, a sense of dread encased the siblings when they realized the master had left them at their will completely. While Cazador liked to inflict lessons with his hand, they were driven by nothing more than their sadistic lust. His master was using them like he used Godey, at least until-

He couldn’t think of Wyll. 

  “Are we not the same,” Petras muttered at his side, head down with hair dropping into his face. The muscles of his arms clenched as took in movement from behind, where a forceful hand kept Violet from dropping to her knees. 

“But the Master-“

”But the master,” the prying man taunted, erupting a few followers in a holler of amusement. His voice was familiar, only slightly, Astarion knew he favored Violet, especially when she tried so hard to behave. 

“I can never remember this one’s name.”

”Does it matter? He’ll be screaming yours soon enough.” A woman, who said the words as if she were merely appraising art with her date. 

”Come here,” another man, one so close that Astarion could see his boots from where he kept knelt. He had a few regulars, those that could never get enough of hearing the noises he could make, until he was so dry in the throat and desperate for release they could get him to say anything. He was pulled by a fistful of curls, dragging him in a struggle to his feet. Cazador wasn’t there, so he only had his own will and fear to persuade him into obedience. 

  “Such a defiant look you have,” the redhead purred, his fingers tightening only to find the soft gasp between Astarion’s lips. “I’ll have to take care of that. Wouldn’t want your master seeing this side of you.”

The only man that could make him feel truly naked would see this side, and every other that Cazador had planned. Both a wave of overpowering nausea and anger filled his body, the same one being forced up by the chin to look the hungry man in the eyes. His siblings were being ushered off to the most convincing of rights,  but Astarion had no mind for them or the bearded man shoving his hand to feel the hardening imprint of his cock.

   "You're not going to be feisty this time, are you?"

Astarion held his breath, but then as he caught Petras, glaring at him from where a woman smoothed slender fingers across his chest, he felt for a bit, as defiant as he looked. He shoved the man, more of a gesture than any effort but it was an insult all the same.

"My master gave you no right-"

"He did," the man interrupted, fingers still in places that had once been pet down by a man who'd only wanted his comfort. 

"In fact," his hot breath was already drenched with the beer they had on tap, and the hand he'd yet to find use for, wrapped itself tight around Astarion's wrist," he told me to warm you up before the main event.”

   He had been so encompassed by his dire need to erase himself and the knowledge that if he left, Wyll would be alone, that he didn’t sense the man behind him until he was pressed flush against him, another need hot with demand, one he’d eventually meet with the reverence his master compelled. He closed his eyes, as if it would make any of the fingers that trailed across his chest less invasive. The redhead’s friend spoke, and Astarion knew him immediately. He was the same man that liked to break what he fucked. 

   “Did you miss me?” A breath brushed past his ear just as he found his favorite spot, pinching the cold nipple of Astarion’s flesh. He rubbed his thumb against its nub, and the spawn in his control shook unwillingly, unable to find it in him to use the men to keep upright, but frantic in his efforts to keep from arching into the touch. He wouldn’t make a single noise for these pigs, even as they took their turns tracing the skin of his thigh, teasing slow across his cheeks, and when the redhead groped his length, squeezing harsh at its disinterest Astarion stifled back a pained noise, just as the other pressed a thick finger to his hole.

”He’s not usually this quiet,” the bald headed man whispered across his shoulder, brows furrowed as he shoved Astarion’s muscle apart, the earlier oil he used slicking his movement but still rough with his desperation to see the elf react. Astarion clenched his jaw, but he refused to allow them even this. If they were going to use him, if he wasn’t going to be forced to enjoy it, then he’d give them nothing more than what they could take with their own sinful hands.

  “Maybe you aren’t doing it right,” the red head snapped, already a little impatient with the fact Astarion hadn’t started to beg. He stroked him still, his hand dry and hot, causing a rather horrid friction that each movement further burned into his skin. Astarion swallowed another discomforted gasp, though it escaped enough that the men seemed a little more encouraged with their teasing. He wasn’t sure what was worse. The man behind him knew nothing of preparation, and even if he had spent the last twenty minutes ensuring he wasn’t inflicted with too much, it still hurt. He knew only the sharp jabs of movement, his knuckle bending to tug Astarion back from the man who’d never heard of a lubricated rub.

   “There it is,” the red head managed to get him half hard with his taunting endeavors, and Astarion watched his gaze rake over the seat with a gesture to his friend. Two older men sat across the other side, drinks and pipes in hand, watching with great excitement at the scene.

Another finger forced him open, and he muffled a horrid whimper as he swallowed them, until they were as deep inside that they could be. He fell back against the man’s chest, a hand raised to keep the red head from continuing anymore suffering with his novice palm, but it was met with a growl of disdain.

   “You’re going to make some noise for me, leech.”

A hand struck him across the face, and he’d have fallen if it hadn’t been for the sudden thick arm wrapped tight around him. He was used to being hit, to preforming the most embarrassing things all for the sake of Cazador’s guests, but this was different. This time Astarion found himself with only a name in mind to fight the bitter sting. It kept him safe enough that he didn’t immediately plead.

”Still nothing,” the dumb ass muttered.

”How about we play a little game then?” 

    The men watching muttered something about Astarion’s body, but it didn’t affect him as it had centuries before when he’d still believed he had ownership. It was nothing more than air now. While he could defy them in his head, he’d be stupid to do it physically. Cazador would be back, and these men loved to get their way.

   He didn’t fight it as the fingers pulled out with the wetness of oil, or when the frustrated man of fire told his friend to pin him against the cold tile of the floor. Wet fingers shoved his cheek down, and he half expected to be penetrated without warning when the leader spoke the rules of his game.

”I want you to beg for it, then maybe we’ll play nice.”

”Please,” Astarion voiced, though he had no use for charm or even the half effort it took to sound like he thought it worthy of being begged for. He wasn’t sure what look was shared between the two in response, but in one frustrated grunt the bald man used his hand to pin down his arm where it outstretched across the floor. Astarion tilted his head, the best he could in his position and glared with every ounce of hatred he had stored. They weren’t getting shit from him.

  The red head spared only a momentary glance to his clenched knuckle before slamming down his boot with full force. The first echoed out throughout his body with a sharpness that he was still struggling under when it came again, and again- until he could hear the shattering bones of his fingers, and he was crying out to alert some of the guests that weren’t already using someone. 

   He leant down to stroke Astarion’s cheek, and then he picked up the swelling blue bulge of his hand, ran his fingers across the deep bruises and then pushed forward into the flesh split open. He gasped and chocked on the air he didn’t need.

”Cazador also said that you’d be a little more trouble tonight,” the leader continued in a whisper, as if easing a child who’d had a nightmare. The older men, while they seemed shocked by the sudden violence often left for Cazador’s amusements or order, didn’t move to stop it. They never did. “We only have a little time left to play our game.”

  The man raised himself and lifted his boot until it rose above Astarion’s face.

“Fuck me!” Astarion braced for the piercing rips of his skin, the way his jaw might dislocate, the way his bruised eyes would be drenched in the remaining half of his face. He’d been there before, not with these men, but he knew well enough the horrid healing it entailed. He’d rather them just win.

”What was that?” The baldy roused, snickering with glee.

”Fuck me,” Astarion repeated, eyes wide as he felt the shadow of the man’s boot expand,” Use me. I- I’ll take both of you if you want, whatever you want.”   

Wyll.

 Astarion was unable to decipher the tremors from his pooling guilt and the searing blindness that drug him as he was lifted by his curls again. If he could finish them quickly then perhaps Wyll would only arrive in time to find him in the lap of another, one who wasn’t as creative in inflicting pain. 

“Right here,” the red head plopped down into a seat and motioned for his friend with a nod for him to bring the spawn in hand,” and don’t finish so quick. I like taking my time, you can use both holes that way.”

”Yeah, yeah,” the baldy retorted. He yanked Astarion forward until his nose was pressed firm to the stench of his friend’s overpowering musk. With only a single hand to keep him upright, his arm was bound to go limp, only making that much easier for them to do with as they saw fit. He remained on his knees in between the man’s thighs, and opened his mouth as he was demanded, catching the string of saliva the man spit out, right on his waiting tongue.

   “Good boy,” the fiery one mused.

He couldn’t help it. Astarion left the only way he knew how. It happened so naturally that when Astarion was being pulled back by his hips that he’d been too enveloped by the shield of his apathy to notice until his muscle tensed at a sudden intrusion, and then clenched as it met with a warm thickness. He cried out as his wounded hand met the floor to steady himself, though the jolts across his body warned him to try again, he faltered once more when he took in even more of the guest. They mistook his groans for the soft sighs of pleasure, each small whimper or grunt only enticing them to take more. 

   He was never given the time to fully grow used to the size he was taking, and especially now when the men had fought for his submission. As he continued sinking back onto the length, his mouth was smeared with the leaking pre cum of the other. They did not waste any more time than this. The thrusts that shoved the man further in his body was followed by the slapping of fabric against skin, and while he heard plenty of the others lose themselves to their tasks, he found he was unable to become lost again. 

Wyll, please don’t accept his offer. Please don’t come.

   Footsteps. The door. 

His jaw was being opened wide to make room for the girth, and the man fucking into him repositioned himself so that Astarion was practically sitting in his lap.

”You’ve never been one to keep away from attention,” Cazador’s voice soaked every spawn in the abyss of their orders, and even the guests had a mind to lift their head in acknowledgment. The red head froze. It wasn’t until Astarion heard the faint heart beat in the midst of the crowd that he realized why. The guests were overcome with disbelief when the son of the Grand Duke stepped to Cazador’s side.

Chapter Text

   Wyll had thought he’d never experience a worse heartbreak than losing his mother. The depraved monsters he knew. He didn’t hear a word Cazador said. He could only avert his gaze to find another horror, one after another, worst than any level of hell. Spawns were being beaten as they were taken, some were being forced more than one man- and as he continued swallowing in the vile sin he stopped in the center, where Astarion was.

He couldn’t breathe.

He reached for his rapier and realized he hadn’t been allowed to enter with a blade, though as the reality overcame him he found a thick bottle of liquor on a nearby table instead. Cazador had him by the wrist before he could even take a step forward to move. 

They'd all die.

Painfully.

Choking on their own blood.

Damn them to hell so they could suffer in the after life.

"I sense your anger, might I remind you that this is his decision?" 

"It was his decision to have his hand injured?" Wyll snapped and it seemed to alert the guests of the room, as if speaking out against Szarr was unheard of.

They truly were nothing more than servants to their own desires.

Their insidious tides overcame the room in a pungent scent. Wyll knew despite his impulse to tear the men's throat, that he wore the face of grief. Cazador though, had already turned to cross the room, snapping Astarion up by his arm, who stifled a noise of pain.

  "Tell him," Cazador instructed.

Astarion lifted his dull eyes to meet Wyll's face.

"I like when they hurt me."

He was hurt.

 
They’d die. All of them. Choke on blood.

  In his half state of shock he considered what could be used as a stake, and how many men he’d need to throw off until his friends heard the commotion. Hells, Wyll wouldn’t mind taking down all of them himself. He’d go slow with the vampire. He’d make Cazador suffer.

  “I told you he was greedy,” the voice pulled Wyll in, even with his own vow he felt the allure of his aura, like words whispering the darkest of poems. The power it had over him was nothing in comparison to the way Cazador held Astarion by the back of the neck, fingers curling into his pale flesh as he presented him. Wyll fixated his gaze on Astarion’s face, and found that he was staring at him with a pointed glare, it gave way to a horrible sadness as he gestured discreetly to Cazador. 

Play along. 

Let them choke.

How could he? Astarion had just been hurt right before him, and whatever Cazador had planned would certainly be worse. His entire body repulsed at the way he remained still, flinching when the vampire drug his fingers through Astarion’s pale curls,” I’ll reward you for being so behaved this week,” Cazador informed his prisoner with a low voice," Who would you like to spend your time with, out of everyone in this room?”

   Desperation reaped the life from Astarion. He’d never realized how deep the control Cazador had over him. No matter how many times he’d imagined it sick in his head, he could never have guessed this. He only realized the question that had been asked by the change in Astarion’s face. His eyes widened. He looked to Wyll as if he’d just committed the most heinous act, as if he weren’t the one who needed to forgive Wyll for failing to protect him. Very slow, almost too quiet the elf whispered,” Wyll.”

  Cazador tilted his head and smirked, pleased. He released his hold of Astarion to place a hand to Wyll's shoulder, who tensed as he tried to refrain from the thought of killing him then.

"You don't have to use the boy," he informed, and even if he hadn't bared his fangs, he resembled that of a snake," I'm certain he'll find someone to spend his time with."

  Wyll sought the challenge in his gaze. Perhaps the monster saw him nothing more than his mutual, or perhaps he knew everything Wyll had been told and wished to delight in the great revelation after inflicting pain. He never should have agreed to this. Wyll had been so naive, and yet he'd been told nothing but the truth. Astarion had warned him, and now he tried to warn him again in his pleading gaze. His hand was curled in towards his chest, bruised and swollen amongst the knuckles, a vicious wound for someone who deserved none of this. Julian Hemms and Rion Larse, two of the flaming fist he'd first trained under, still watched Wyll like he'd demand them to hurl themselves onto the edge of their blades. 

   They would be the first.

They would pay a hefty price for their sin.

Die. Die. Die.

"No," he said, only a sense of clarity for the elf struggling for him to listen," I'll... I want him."

Wyll knew what would happen. Deep in his heart he knew that despite his turmoil and rage that he would be putting Astarion at a great risk, amongst the other spawn being hurt. Better Wyll find a way to pass the time without inflicting more than to allow his friend be passed off to one of Cazador's guests. He cleared his throat, noticing the men who watched sigh in relief," but if we could get a room-"

"No such thing," Cazador teased, and he lowered to peer at the wounded vampire, his voice collecting the oxygen of the air to penetrate the veil of his being. The Sire's voice. "Tell Wyll how you love putting on a show."

   Astarion stared, blank face.

"I love putting on a show," He informed, dullened, aching for the safety Wyll had desperately wanted to be. Now he was nothing more than a tool at Cazador's disposal to rip away at Astarion's mind. How could he have been so damn stupid?

   His hands reached for Astarion the moment he was shoved forward at Cazador's hand like an offering, and he held at his arms as his fingers shook, and his eyes fluttered back and forth across his face. This was his fault. He should have known Cazador would have lied to Astarion about being let go from the after party. The vampire was sick and demented, and he'd used every chance he had to ruin them. He felt so at war with himself that he couldn't move.

Astarion had been hurt.

He was still hurting.

"I understand how nervous you might be with your- reputation," Cazador implored," but no worries. No one in this room has uttered a word about what transpires behind these doors."

   He thought Wyll was worried about his reputation? His reputation be damned if it only meant saving the stilled man in his hold. Everything be damned. Wyll would consider selling his soul. He barely had time to find the willpower not to scream his thoughts aloud when Astarion squeezed the side of his hip as gently as he could with his good hand. 

The man's eyes begged him not to. He felt Astarion's fear so vividly that he lost sense of his own. 

"Fair enough," Wyll responded to Cazador as he slipped on the mask Astarion needed him to wear. He'd made Wyll swear an oath. If nothing else, he could follow the elf's lead, hoping to the gods he knew what he was doing. 

~•~

   Astarion didn't know what he was doing. He hadn't even meant to say Wyll's name when the question had been asked. He'd prepared for Cazador to lure the man in, tempt him into partaking in the events, but what Astarion hadn't been prepared for was to have a choice. He'd chosen to bring Wyll into his pain. It was selfish, but he couldn't stand taking another man knowing he was being forced to watch. He didn't want to do this alone anymore. Even if it meant hurting Wyll in the process...

  Wyll had looked so taken back by his shock, that Cazador had taken his slow words as awe. Of course, in his master's mind anyone willing to spend the time with Astarion had to be looking for a specific release. He'd told him so many times before.

"Your cries always fall the sweetest."

But Wyll- who's touch was so gentle, who's eyes radiated with a warmth, who's hands brought comfort, who-

"You're more than that, Astarion."

   Astarion met his gaze and without much effort gave him a discreet nod. Do this. Please. If the man stood there any longer his master would began to suspect his struggle, and that would encourage Cazador, who raised a brow as he gestured to the vast room.

"Go on then, partake."

  Wyll acted to his surprise. The fingers wrapped around his arm pulled him, still as careful as ever, towards the other side of the room with an empty lounge chair, red as the blood splotches and peeled skin over Astarion's knuckles. Wyll seemed to only have enough to make it there before his thoughts opened the new wounds, drenching them in poison until it pulsated underneath the will of Cazador Szarr. 

  Astarion had to make this easy for him. He'd already done so much, lying to him about the after party, practically forcing him to join- He swallowed the painful lump in his throat and pressed a hand to Wyll's stomach to get him to take a seat. The man didn't look at him, respectful of his bareness even now. How sweet a man he was, how horrid the fruit's juice that rolled from the wicked vine to tempt him.

  Cazador would be watching. 

Astarion lowered into his lap. Straddling Wyll's hips, his wounded hand lowered to the man's thigh while the other raised to wrap around the nape of his neck. In this position, at least he could only find the wall, and Wyll, who was staring at him now, absolutely devastated. 

With an urgent pressure Astarion leant forward to whisper into his ear," Don't you dare think about anything other than me." It could have come off as a mere flirtation to anyone who had the hearing of a vampire, but Astarion meant it as a warning, and a promise to be as much a distraction as allowed.

  He could almost feel Cazador's footsteps as he moved to take his own seat, just outside the sitting area of the bar where Dufay offered him a chalice full of blood. It smelt sweet, young. Astarion inhaled the scent as he considered how to go about this, how to leave as little as an imprint on the man below. 

"I'm sorry," Wyll whispered under his breath, and Astarion pressed his lips into his neck in response.

"Shh, darling. I don't mind when they're a little rough," he purred into his skin, hoping that he caught his meaning between disguised words. Cazador could hear everything in this room, even the frantic heart beat inside of Wyll's chest, though if he didn't know the man, he could have easily defined it as a nervous excitement. He blinked, brows tense with his conflict, until Astarion was more precise in his touches, slow and languid, as if worshipping a lover. His good hand untucked his clothes, skimmed underneath to find the warmth of tone muscles along his stomach, causing the man to shiver in response.

   "Astarion," Wyll whispered, but no plea came afterwards. He seemed to understand, finally, that this was happening and that they were being watched by more than a handful of curious eyes. 

It hurt so much more than broken bones to know every touch of his hands would only burn with their deceit. Wyll would hate him if he knew the truth, and he'd deserve it. He left his apologies in his grazing fingers, meant to entice the man further into a physical ecstasy than the sorrows of their reality. They teased the edge of Wyll's nipple, and the man gasped and threw a hand to steady Astarion in his lap. His hands were welcome against the vampire's waist, who circled the tip of his fingernail, and watched as the man fought his defeat.

   "I'm going to take you out of your pants," Astarion informed, not managing to push charm into the statement, but feeling as if the man would need every warning as they continued. He leaned forward, eyes meeting Wyll's," and then I'm going to take you into my mouth."

Wyll stifled a gasp, head thrown as far back into the cushioned seat as it'd allow. It was better than an act. His refusal to bend to lust's power only looked as if he were being horribly teased by a whore. A few of the men distracted themselves with his siblings, but it was obvious enough Wyll was the center of attention.

   Astarion didn't look to anyone's face, especially the other spawn, knowing even if they were in pain they'd find the time to spare him a taunting glance. Look at yourself. You thought you were any different, here sits your prince waiting to be served. He knew what they were thinking, he knew the words that would come later when they had the day to heal from whatever had been inflicted. 

  I want you to enjoy it.

He lowered himself, stifling a noise when he had difficulty balancing again, only to find that Wyll already had his arm raised in support. While horrified, he allowed the vampire to rest on his knees, and he allowed him to open his formal pants and slide them until only the fabric of his underwear kept him sheathed.

 Please don't change after this.

  Astarion drew his thumb into the waistband, and then with a steady hand with teeth clenched to the side he couldn't reach, drew it down the dark skin of his waist. Wyll was a beautiful man, his girth thick and pleasant, clean, groomed, only half hard pressed against his rising stomach. It was a sight he would have liked to enjoy in privacy, somewhere safe, not with Wyll searching the room frantic in response to the different scenes. He caught him, grateful when he noticed Cazador had his sudden interest pulled to a guest with a filled drink.

  He took the seconds rest to raise himself enough to cup Wyll's cheek, forcing the man to look his way. "Keep your eyes on me," he whispered, biting off the urge to kiss him awake. Cazador would have no more than necessary. At least when they were finished they had a chance to keep the little comforts they'd been given. 

~•~

    Wyll would remember every single face.

He was so enraptured in his heartbreak, in his rage, that Astarion had to find him again. He was so soft in his movements, that it hurt even more because it should not be Wyll who needed comfort. It was Astarion being forced now, and by the gods if he could do one thing, it could be to lessen his pain even if only by a fraction. He lowered his gaze as Astarion settled back on his knees, and he nodded once in assurance.

He was there. He would not leave Astarion alone.

   The vampire sighed in relief, and then he leaned forward, his fingers resting on the inner of his thigh, and he pressed his wet lips against his head. It struck him suddenly, warmth sedating parts of his resistance, and before it could recede was met with a river of warmth across the veins of his length. Astarion used his tongue to erase the tension in his face, but he fought every part of the pleasure, because if he released to such horrors, what kind of man would he be?

   Astarion though, seemed to have the opposite idea. He wrapped his mouth around his head, and then lowered with ease to engulf nearly his entirety. His half lidded gaze had Wyll stilled in the seat, only his eyes widening as Astarion reached over to pull his hand into the soft light of his curls. It took Wyll a long moment for him to realize Astarion meant for him to lead.

  Cazador would be watching, and any sign of hesitance could only be explained by nerves for so long before it became suspicious. He pet the curls down with a disheartened gaze, and Astarion leaned into the touch like he ached. Wyll had no time to process anymore before the man began to take him with a slow and easy pace. Each time he pulled back, his hollowed cheeks would guide his lips with skilled pressure around Wyll's head. 

Wyll could not allow his body to betray him. His gasps were all of surprised bliss, and even once a moan, as Astarion's tongue prodded for more of his natural taste. Even as he loathed the idea, he was painfully hard and driven with desire to be finished. He thought to remind himself the situation, to turn away, but Astarion seemed to realize this and as means of a distraction pushed forward until Wyll was hitting the back of his throat.

   Astarion was in pain.

"I've slept with thousands of people-"

Astarion removed himself from his head with a wet plop and raised his sights. 

Wyll had wanted nothing more than to wait until he'd been ready, if ever, to bare witness to the sharpness of his collarbones, the slim paleness of his figure, the way he worked with his lips, but not like this. This was-

   "I think you're ready."

Wyll blocked out the sound of a shriek from the room, only able for the distraction that lifted himself back into his lap. He wanted to grace his palms with the skin of Astarion's stomach, and then lower to his back to press his means of comfort, but he was afraid that anything he did to offer his aid would only feel like adding wool to a fire. 

   Astarion pressed his hand to his shoulder as he raised his hips, and he growled in irritation when he had no further leverage.

Wyll inhaled sharply. 

He'd have to touch Astarion now in order for this to work. Very carefully, he slid his hand towards the parting of his cheeks, a battle of loss and need clashing like a war of the sky. He didn't continue any further until Astarion nodded, his head cast low, his free hand gripping the fabric of his shirt as if for strength. 

Wyll had never hated himself more.

~•~

   At least during this shit show, Wyll managed to read his face, which wasn't too much of a surprise the way the man seemed to notice everything else. He felt Cazador's gaze on his back like an arrow already embedded, infected by the entertainment he sought and gripped a little tighter to Wyll's shoulder. 

  He was parted with a gentle hand, the other used to guide Wyll until he found the slickness of his hole. He'd only ever had sex with one person. This would be the second time Wyll looked to such pleasures with regret. Astarion numbed the guilt long enough to sink onto him, his muscle parting with ease now that it'd been so eagerly stretched. His poor, sweet Wyll could not hold back the scattered sigh of a warm embrace.

   He was so innocent.

His body took in Wyll like he'd been made for him, but he wasn't as naive to believe it. The slight relaxation only came because he knew Wyll would give him full control until it was handed to him. He trusted Wyll, and his body trusted him. Maybe that meant something in a different life, but not theirs, not now.

   He arched his back slightly and let Wyll bottom out until the man underneath was heaving out short breaths, and his hands were caressing Astarion's side, not urging him to move, but with something so kind that it broke him. He shoved his face into the nape of Wyll's neck and muttered another selfish demand.

"Touch me."

Let me find you in that hidden place.

Wyll pulled him in with a hand against his lower back, the other splayed out across his thigh to leave small patterns of his essence, so simple and yet enough to calm Astarion's need. He kept his face hidden as he raised his hips and then lowered back down onto Wyll, clenching against him purposely to entice another stifled moan. He could do this. If Wyll could fill his ears with his voice alone, then he could do this. 

   He started slow for the man's sake, feeling Wyll so deep with every thrust it consumed him. He struggled a little, but he kept a firm hold of Wyll as he changed the angle, let the man roll into every part of him, until he was nothing but a mess of gasps falling further into Wyll's embrace. 

"Touch me," he whispered again, different. He needed more of this, to forget what it meant, that it was nothing more than a new punishment for Cazador to inflict. Wyll so eagerly obeyed, but in his eyes he bore the distraught again, only pacified momentarily when a hesitant hand ran it's fingers across the head of Astarion's cock. He tightened the hold of his arm around his neck, inhaled his scent like it was a drug, and leaned into the touch of his open palm.

   He was gaining speed, even more so when Wyll collected what oil had seeped out from being fucked and used it to ease the movement of his hand wrapped around Astarion as it stroked him slow. A jolt of pleasure ignited a hitch of his hips, but then he was crying out as his wounded hand met the back of the chair.

   Wyll met his needs the moment they arose. He wrapped his arms around Astarion to steady him, and then his hands found either side of his waist and experimentally, he raised his hips in a thrust. He knew all too well the fall of this high, the one Wyll offered him without even a thought to himself, but Astarion found that he didn’t mind the few movements too eager to be gentle, or the way the man rubbed him down, his thumb over his tip to smear what slickness he could to further Astarion’s ease.

   Every so often Wyll would catch himself, slow his pace and look absolutely mortified. Astarion only needed to cup his cheek and ask him to keep going in that special voice, remind him that they were doing this together, that even if it wasn’t by choice that their embrace was not meant to hurt one another. 

   Wyll breathed hot against his jaw, and the moan that vibrated Astarion’s flesh pulled out his orgasm like a rolling wave of echoes. He spilled his seed into Wyll’s hand with a half a breath, and the prince, who looked on the brink, saw the mess coating his fingers and thrust once more before he lost himself too. He’d tried pulling away, but Astarion had so desperately clung to him and clenched down that his spendings filled him with warmth, throbbing in receding power, until they were both riding the high they’d earned.

                             ~•~

  Too soon did their high falter to reality. Wyll was still enveloped by the tight heat of the elf when he lifted his head to find the men from before waiting for what they thought was their turn. He raised his fingers to brush through the curls of his head and stared at them with something so cold they decided it was best to grab another drink. Astarion made a soft noise as he lifted himself, half of his face pressed into his chest as he maneuvered off of him. Wyll tucked himself back into his pants, though Astarion let out a sigh in response.

   "Just tell me when you've had enough rest to take me again," the vampire said with no hitch to his words. While he appeared annoyed by the inconvenience, he didn't look half as scared as he'd been when Wyll had walked through those doors.

Still, Wyll couldn't do that again.

He made certain Astarion caught his gaze before very slowly moving to tighten his fingers through his hair, though this time, he pulled on it gently and glanced over to the bar in Cazador's direction. 

Astarion's brows furrowed, but he nodded in agreement. At least he still trusted Wyll. 

   He pulled Astarion up, though a discreet hand rest at his back to make the feeling less forceful. Cazador was downing another drink, lips curled in to a satisfactory grin as the two approached. 

"I'm surprised," Cazador mused," It's not often he cums in response to the guests."

"I could get him to do it a few more times, if only I could take him into a room," Wyll said, surprised that his voice was immensely calm despite the conflict's edge," It's not exactly favorable conditions to have friends of my father watching me like hawks."

  Astarion tensed, and Cazador leaned forward as if trying to find any evidence of deceit. There were seventeen, seventeen guests who readily used the demented offering of the vampire.

Wyll did not stray from the red eyes that found him. He hoped his own told of the battle to be fought should he deny Wyll his request. Endless pools of victims had been drained dry with the teeth Cazador flashed, and many more broken by the hand that guided itself to Astarion's cheek.

Don't move. It's almost over. Play the part.

  "Understandably, some of the added presence can be quite the nuisance," Cazador concurred, his voice low and almost pleasant if it weren't the voice of a complete monster. Wyll kept his hold of Astarion, though if to continue the act or to keep him from snatching Cazador’s hand away, he wasn’t certain. He knew only that his entire body stiffened with alert.

”Astarion, dismiss yourself, and take Wyll to your room.”

   It felt as Wyll’s bones would penetrate his very skin, that the veins would run dry from the sickness alone that prevailed as Astarion turned to look at him with the deepest pools of red, inflicted with shame. Wyll was at a loss when the despairing man lowered to Cazador’s feet to kiss the end of his shoe. The tension of Astarion’s muscles tightened with his forced whisper,” Thank you-“ he swallowed,” For allowing me to be used, master.”   

“You’re very welcome child.”

It was like all the suffering of the room tore open Wyll's skin until he felt it was his ruining, his judgement looming over the edge. His hands had sinned just as any other that night, and worse, he'd even managed to enjoy the physical sensation. He felt dizzy as he aided Astarion from the floor, and desperate and wrong and stupid. 

   "Before I go," Wyll reached forward to snag a shot of whatever one of the guests had been about to drink and washed down the taste of bile in his throat. He turned his head, and he scanned the room of men and women once more, memorizing every single face," If any one of you so much as lays a finger on this man, you'll meet my blade."

While they had the audacity to look troubled, Cazador revealed nothing on his face.

Wyll laughed, the shock rendering his mind a frenzy of emotions, but he pulled it in as they were sharing nothing more than a casual conversation. "I guess I'm more possessive than I let on."

 ~•~

    Wyll might not have noticed, but the sudden twinge of Cazador's lips to form only a second smile was reserved for those of the nobles who were testing his patience. Astarion knew he'd only meant to help, but Cazador would find plenty of other ways, or other men to fill his time. It wasn't about the after parties. The after parties were merely another tool for his convenience. Keep the powerful eating in the palm of your hands and train a spawn in the process, two birds, one arrow, however it goes. That wasn't the issue. Astarion could get through just about anything Cazador threw, at least he had for the last two centuries, but Wyll- Gods, What about Wyll?

  He remained quiet as they walked from the sitting room towards the favorited spawn chamber. His hand felt like an ache all the way up to his shoulder, and his fangs bared themselves when he caught whiff of blood from the ballroom. It was faint, not enough to be concerning but present ever still, like a slab of meat before a starving wolf. Astarion swallowed against the dryness of his throat and turned a corner, still bare, and found more than ever he just wanted to hear Wyll speak.

   He shut the door behind them, and was startled in surprise when he found Wyll stood so close, and he was hovering his shaking fingers over Astarion's hand like he'd been the one to break it. The vampire lifted his head and followed the first tear along Wyll's cheek, and then unlike himself, he threw his arms around the man and pulled his head into the nape of his neck.

"No, no, don't cry," Astarion pleaded, his voice far more gentle than the warning glares and distance he'd provided in the sitting room. Wyll must have felt so alone, so guilty for what would never be his fault," I don't think I can take you crying, love."

   "I'm so sorry," Wyll breathed into his skin, and with his good hand Astarion brushed his fingers along his braids and down to his neck where his thumb circled slow. He'd never been the one to comfort someone, but this was Wyll, who deserved a life of his desired love, of adventure that didn't inflict such torture.

Astarion was going to be his downfall.

"I should have tried harder-"

Astarion pulled away from him, and Wyll's face fell with his conflict, until the vampire was clutching him by the shoulder with a stern look," None of this was your fault, Wyll. I've dealt with Cazador for two hundred years, and you are the first-" he couldn't keep the open gaze that found him, so he looked away to the bed," You're the first person to ever try to help. That means more to me than anything he could ever take."

   Unless Cazador took Wyll.

He didn't want to think of it, or anything else that had transpired in the last few hours, so very poorly, he tried for a joke.

"Shit, I've almost told you my age." 

The man before him was already clearing his tears with his hand, though no smile met with the words. He looked to be replaying the events, over and over, until anxiety and wrath festered into a pool of exhausted nothingness. He paced half of the room and then fell to a seat on the bed. "Don't comfort me. I have experienced nothing compared to what you've-" he broke off, and his fingers clenched to fists at his thighs, another round of agony for the sick truth spread over him, and then he was closing his eyes tight.

   "Astarion, I'm so sorry."

"Don't," It came out harsh and angry, but he'd only meant it towards everyone else, never to Wyll.

He dropped at his side, and before he could even begin to explain just how much of it he had a hand in, Wyll was taking his wrist, slow and hesitant, and his brows furrowed," Have you any healing potions?"

"I'll be fine."

Wyll released his hand and rubbed both of his own over his face with a sigh so deep Astarion felt it move the shoulder he rest his head against. He could only watch. Wyll was so different than everything else in his life that he'd only recently realized he could still be surprised," I don't want you to wait until we see Shadowheart to get that fixed."

  Wyll was so desperate to help him, and he didn't have the heart to inform him some things just couldn't be fixed. His hand was nothing. He'd rather lose it completely than watch him struggle any longer.

"You know what I really want?"

He pressed his lips to the fabric of his shoulder and relaxed into the way fingers found themselves in his hair again. It had started to become a silent plea and offer within itself. The most simple of touches brought such comfort to the men that the act itself made Astarion feel more naked than the cold air on his skin.

  "I would give you anything in my power," Wyll whispered.

Astarion smiled despite himself, and he lifted his head to peer at Wyll and thought for a passing moment, that it would feel incredibly easy to fall for him.

"A bath, darling and it’s not necessary, but perhaps some clothes.”

  He used his good hand to prop himself back, and felt the way the fingers ceased their movement as Wyll lowered his face and seemed to only realize the man remained bare. He very gently removed himself from Astarion’s side to ready a bath, shoulders tense and his eyes unreadable as he set to work. Astarion could smell the sweetness of his bliss, the vitality of the man’s musk, the intoxicating mixture of even his own faint scent and Wyll’s worn like the most rarest of perfumes.

   And he could smell Cazador, like a stain everywhere he'd touched.

Chapter Text

  Astarion would have to be careful with him. Wyll found the small task of filling the tub with cold water enough to keep him from falling too far that the vampire could not reach. He could remember the first time he’d been involved in an after party, though none of the times in between with such clarity, but he knew it had struck him so hard that for weeks he refused to drink what he’d been offered. He feared that the man before him might shatter if he didn’t find something to grasp too. As much as Astarion would rather spend the rest of his night alone in his own shame, he couldn’t leave Wyll like this.

  “He doesn’t even give you hot water,” Wyll whispered, almost to himself, and then his jaw clenched and he was gripping the tub.

Astarion lifted himself from his seat and placed a hand to the man’s shoulder. Even if only a distraction, Astarion had to take some of his pain. The man turned as if he’d been commanded, but so prepared to fill any order despite his lack of strength. 

“Wyll,” he whispered, and he cupped the man’s cheek, carved with its turmoil and guilt, hardened by the scrunch of his brows, at least until they smoothed in response to Astarion’s voice,” You did so well tonight. Don’t look at me like that. You did. I could have been handed off to any of those guests and it- well, it could have been a lot worse.”

   Wyll didn’t move from his touch, and a thin line formed across his lips.

”Cazador would have used me against you. He knows you care. Denying him would have only made him more creative in his punishment,” Astarion continued, searching for what words would bring him back completely, worried that there weren’t any he knew,” I said your name because I trust you, and because I was selfish enough to throw out any consideration for how it would make you feel. I’m the one who should be sorry.”

   "No," Wyll pleaded," Don't you dare apologize for this," the ignition of his anger was enough, to bring the light in his eyes to the surface for Astarion to see that fight still remained. He was still Wyll in all the ways that mattered," This is Cazador's fault, and everyone else who thought to take pleasure in your pain."

  Astarion had fight left too, except he'd only just realized since meeting Wyll, that he had any hope left to heal, to end his imprisonment with the end of a stake embedded deep into the chest of his master. It was all possible, if only Wyll would stay. He searched for the signs of Wyll's fingers, the way they kept flinching towards the side he wore his rapier, the way his chest rose with his impending anxieties, the way his heart beat-

"Then let's take the names you've learned and destroy every connection he's worked for, until he has a city at his steps," Astarion lowered his hand to slide it against the edge of the tub," I understand if... Well, love, to be honest I half expect you to walk out those doors to never return."

"Not a chance," Wyll informed, sounding horrified at the thought," I'm not leaving you again."

   "Good," Astarion doted, and even if he was fully convinced the man was wrapped around his finger he felt the soft embrace of relief in his statement. It only strengthened when the man offered his arm to help situate him into the familiar sharp bite of cold water. At least this time the shock of his body yearning for warmth fought hard enough he barely had time to consider any more daunting images. He slid down against the side, throwing an arm over to keep himself upright. He would offer Wyll to join him, but he felt the man needed every bit of modest comfort he could find.

Instead, he arched his neck and felt the slight crack of air between his joints loosen some added tension of the night," Mm, now that you mention it, I would love to have a bath at yours one night. Something hot with perfumes and that soap-" he gestured vaguely," The kind with the special wrapping you rich people like to use."

   Wyll's brows furrowed when he considered the request, an ebb of his sorrowed ways receding into the slight, trying smile of his perfect lips. "I could get you anything you'd like. You only ever need to ask."

Astarion thought to press his resolve, if not only for his satisfaction, but because it seemed to be working.

"I'd like more clothes, and daggers, yes, I think it would look good with something from the drow," he lathered the soap between his fingers the best he could, but then Wyll was holding out his hand, unbothered by sheer intimacy of what he offered. It was nothing, anymore, to be touched and opened up, to have hands scour muscle and veins, to be stripped the layers of his own skin; It was nothing compared to the sensation of being bathed.

   Wyll procured a rag from the side table and drenched it with the neutral scent of the bar and some bath water, his brows furrowing as he raised it to his nose to sniff," It doesn't smell like anything."

"Disappointed?" 

"Surprised," Wyll informed, and very carefully did he start to wash Astarion's shoulder and down his good arm, until the vampire was curling forward to reveal his back," You always smell nice. I thought it was the soap you used."

"Oils, herbs... It took a while to find the right blend."

  It should have been an odd to speak of such things after what they'd been through, but Wyll had a new determined glint to his gaze as he considered different parts of Astarion's body. The small words shared back and forth seemed to soften something in him, something so pure that Wyll took more than the needed care to ensure he was clean. He parted his curls through his fingers, massaged the soap into every strand, until Astarion was biting back soft sighs of pleasure with his head thrown back to the edge.

Gods, he'd never known.

~•~

   Two hundred years.

His suffering had a number that Wyll would never reach. No wonder the vampire had his ways of concealing the mental scars of events. He’d been forced to find them, his only comfort for centuries having been the familiar sensation of pain. He felt so wrong to care for the man in a room of the palace, like anything he’d offered would be tarnished before he could even hope to try. The only calming sounds were those of a slowly sedated elf, whose eyes bore their need to rest as the rest of his body warmed itself in the comforts of a towel.

”If you’d like a bath-“

”When you’ve lied to rest and I’ve wrapped your hand,” Wyll said, already moving towards the wardrobe that aside from sleeping garments and his two familiar tunics held nothing else. He reached for the underwear, and if it had been any other night he might have found what was sown into the band a bit humorous. Instead, he offered Astarion his clothes and turned to stare at the walls, encompassing the two like cells of a dungeon. 

  “You’ve seen me in such-“ Astarion’s voice came from behind as he moved to dress, slow because of his hand,” awfully delicate ways and yet you turn for my sake. Darling, don’t spoil me.”

Wyll remained turned, because if he deserved anything it was that his eyes be burnt in his skull for even taking notice once that night. Astarion had never wanted to sleep with him. He’d flirted and he’d so easily offered himself, but Wyll had known it was only ever a way to distract, to numb, to perhaps find the confidence that Wyll would never leave. He hadn’t wanted any of it, no matter how he sounded or the way when he was dressed his gaze penetrated his doubts with fire.

  “Wyll,” he said, the flame dwindling until it was only a light, flickering in the midst of a storm that enveloped the palace,” There’s only a few hours left in the night. I need to make certain you’re alright before the sun rises.”

”What?” Wyll felt the air in his lungs release, until he was fighting for another breath,” I’m not leaving you.”

”Wyll-“

”I am not leaving.”

   Wyll couldn’t. What would happen the moment Astarion was alone? He was so vulnerable, that Cazador only had to order him to his death and he’d fall. He couldn’t leave. He didn’t want to. If it meant picking another fight then he’d just have to hope that one of the gods knew justice enough to intervene. 

“I’ll stay with you. I’ll say whatever I have to say to him. I don’t care,” he said, and he lowered down to sit at the edge of the bed until the floor stopped spinning. He curled his fingers to fists, imagined the way he’d throw his life away if even for a chance to strike the vampire that had caused all of this. Julian and Rion. The two names hindered his ability to think much more, not as he fought the memories so fresh engraved to his mind, or the bitter ache it left behind.

   “Fine,” Astarion allowed, but despite his irritation at his failed attempts to persuade him, he seemed relieved almost,” I’ll just inform Cazador of how obsessed you are with me. He’ll love that.”

Wyll hadn’t meant to flinch at the idea, or at the touch of fingers that found his fist. Astarion didn’t appear insulted by the reaction, but he pulled away, taking what little warmth the pale fingers had left to spare to plop down against the single pillow in the bed. 

”I’m sorry,” Astarion offered, hesitantly, uncertain. His fingers drug themselves along the fabric of his own chest, his head turned towards the door,” I’ve never been good at this. I don’t know what you need.”

   The horrible reality that stirred, when Wyll realized feeling pain for Astarion only meant inflicting more, took every bit of his waking energy and left him in a heap of exhaustion. Blinking back unshed tears he began to undress himself, until he wore nothing but the dark of his trousers, and Astarion stared at him, sheets clenched into his hand.

”I only need for you to rest.” He ripped the fabric of his undershirt, with one tear between his teeth. 

“Gods, Wyll,” Astarion chided, though not with much force,” I’m hardly worth tearing up your clothes.”

   Wyll wasn’t sure what his face revealed, but he saw his own words as they were spoken, and the reflection of their truth in the shock of Astarion’s face.

”You’re worth everything I can give.”

~•~

  While the favorited spawn chamber had no windows, the time it took to get him wrapped and settled in bed at Wyll’s side proceeded with the upmost care, as if their time wasn’t dwindling, seeping out of the hour glass as Cazador loomed over. He lied back against the pillow, the one Wyll wouldn't use as much as Astarion had tossed and turned, tried feigning the fact it was more of a discomfort than aid. He brought his wrapped hand to lie against his chest in defeat.

"You're worth everything I can give."

  He'd wanted to warn the man that it would just be throwing everything away, but he couldn't, not when Wyll was finally settling himself, as much as he could given the situation. He kept rather stiff underneath the sheets, neither his hands or gaze caressing the other side and Astarion felt with a thrum of longing, touch starved.

How silly it was, to want something so miniscule yet empowering when it was gifted. He must have been deranged after all these centuries to find warmth in the things often used to hurt him, but there he was, turning on his side to reach very slow to touch Wyll's arm. He didn't want to be explored, he only wanted to feel the ground beneath his feet.

  Wyll let out an audible breath, and he turned, leaning into the touch. It was like before, when Wyll could finish his thoughts with surprising accuracy, like he'd been born with a book that held all of Astarion's tales and secrets. The man shifted until the end of their legs brushed up against another, and the muscles of his arms stretched to rest just above his hip. They were still at enough distance that Astarion had room to lie his wrapped hand, but so close that he felt strangely anxious. 

  Sex was one thing, but this, this was so unbearably open and yet he'd begun to crave it in ways similar to the way he thirsted for blood.

"Go to sleep, darling. I won't have bags under those pretty brown eyes of yours."

"Tonight or tomorrow...," Wyll said, though clearly in much need of the advice," Whenever we next lie it'll be in the comforts of my bed."

Astarion humored him.

"Alright, I'd love that. Now shut those eyes-"

~•~

  Wyll didn't sleep.

He felt so protective of the man who fell into a very needed trance, that he couldn't help but stare at the door waiting for Cazador. He refused to allow anything more to happen. Cazador really would have to fight him off, and hells, with how angry he was, he might just win the fight. He imagined in so many ways how he would do it. It should have frightened him, he was not a man who held murder with such energy, but this was different. This was about Astarion.

  His eyes softened only as they found him. Astarion could not wear his mask as he rested, and Wyll took great notice in the vulnerability of how gentle he appeared, no malice, no fear.

Without a window he wasn't sure how much time passed, but eventually, Astarion stirred with a soft murmur. "Wyll," he brought the covers over his shoulders, his eyes still closed," Please tell me you didn't stay up the entire night."

Wyll could not bare to state his reasoning, nor could he lie. He tried a page out of Astarion's book and diverted him," Isn’t it the entire day?”

  Astarion smirked, his dark red gaze a most powerful allure, but he only tilted his head to stare at Wyll with something much less gentle than he'd been asleep. Not a word, even as he stretched, and leaned forward to press close to Wyll's face. There was something so challenging in the way Astarion breathed unnecessarily, like he only meant to further tempt Wyll into closing the gap.

  He stirred from his haze with his own guilt. Very quickly, he lowered his sights to Astarion's wound.

“How’s your hand?”

Astarion let out a dramatic sigh as he stood from the bed, stretching once more with his full body, arm outstretched to the ceiling, just enough the end of his shirt rose above his hips. ”It’ll be much better when I get a healing potion in me," he looked at Wyll from over his shoulder," though… I think a taste of you would be much more potent.”

Wyll didn't ignore the double meaning, half certain he’d imagined it, and chose to find the one with less trouble. He tore himself away from the sheets to begin making the bed, though his gaze did not stray from the man who sauntered to his side to go through the wardrobe. 

"I wish you could drink from me."

   The idea stilled the vampire in shock, and then his brows furrowed tight. He seemed to be uncertain whether or not it had been a joke, and he took a moment to pull back and read whatever lied on Wyll’s face. He huffed, for a moment in disbelief,” You're serious, aren't you? You'd really do that for me."

  How long would it be before Astarion no longer found kindness a surprise? He was worthy of the most precious things, and every time he pulled back like he wasn’t sure if there was a looming trap it broke more of Wyll’s heart. He’d more than willingly give his blood. He’d enjoy it. The idea of bringing Astarion anything that might lessen his pain was enough to reason his emotions with not a drop of shame. He’d tell the man every chance he could, if only for him to believe it even once.

"I trust you.”

Astarion’s surprise twisted into a scowl, a sigh of exasperation following with his words," You shouldn't. No, really. Cazador can make me say or do anything. If anyone should ruin this plan, I know it'll be me."

"Then...” Wyll forgot the bed to trail towards the wardrobe, much to Astarion’s annoyance,” we learn how to break his control over you."

"Pft,” the pale elf scoffed,” that's impossible. Do you really think I haven't tried?”

He was allowed this anger, and Wyll would never think to take it away or interrupt. He felt it was just as important to the man as the small comforts he reached for. So, when the redness of his eyes darkened like obsidian in the dim light of the room, Wyll only watched with consideration for his words.

”I don’t think you realize what a vampire lord is capable of. No offense, but that little blade of yours is not much more than looks compared to his power. Honestly, I thought we’d be in a much worse condition.”

  Wyll would have to show him one day his capability with a blade, but for now he only meant to ease his worries, if only a little. He leaned up against the wardrobe’s door Astarion had in his grip and with difficulty offered him a smile, “You might have tried, but you've never had a Gale."

Astarion frowned," I don't want a Gale."

"He'll grow on you."

~•~

    There was an hour until the sunset completely, and Astarion expected Cazador to call any moment for him to speak on the events, perhaps punish him for wooing Wyll so hard that he’d threatened the entire guest list in his honor. It was sweet, but it had been so damn stupid. He tried not pacing in front of Wyll after they finished dressing, but there were so many minutes in an hour. He stopped abruptly when he realized he was doing it again, his jaw clenched. Why was he waiting so long? Cazador always called the moment he knew the spawns would rise, unless he was enacting his orders to Godey for each day of the week he’d spend in the kennels. 

  “Astarion-“

There were footsteps at the door. Astarion wrung it open before Dufay could even raise his hand to knock. He jumped in surprise, and then grumbled as he dusted off his clothes of his embarrassment,” Must you do that so often?”

”The masters called for me, hasn’t he?”

”Don’t sound so pressed. He has merely informed me to-“ his eyes squinted as he peered into the room,” Is that the Ravengard boy? No-“ he threw a hand up and dismissed himself from the entry way,” No, I don’t wish to know. Just be home on time tonight. He wishes to speak to you- alone.”

  Wyll scoffed, but Astarion sent him a look of warning before feigning an artful grin to the hall,” Noted. Did he happen to say why he isn’t calling for me now?”

”No,” Dufay admitted,” but he was smiling.”

He didn’t often offer Astarion any information, more often he’d berate him or send a poorly disguised insult, but something had the man on the edge. Smiling? Cazador smirked. Cazador even grinned maliciously at times, but to say he smiled was… well, that was concerning. Whatever made his master happy usually entailed a pretty gruesome story for that of his spawns. 

  He shut the door on Dufay, who only had seconds to appear appalled.

Wyll was at his side before he could turn,“My father… whatever program he wanted to speak about must have been accepted. I’ll have to see if anyone overheard.”

Astarion raised his long fingers and wiggled them with a smirk,”Or you could find a charming elf with capable fingers.”

”No-“

   Honestly, if Wyll was bashful at the mention of his fingers alone, he’d hate to ever speak on the rest of his body. It was nice, knowing that the after party hadn’t squandered anything that might be between them. Lust? Need? The desire to be saved from a psychopathic maniac?

  He barely had the time to notice Wyll’s disapproval,“We are not breaking into my father’s office to steal any sort of documents. We can’t even be certain they’ve signed anything yet.”

”Knowing Cazador,” Astarion said slow, like he’d been sipping on the darkest liquor,” he’s already gotten your father locked into a lifetime contract. He’s good with those.”

  “You can keep your fingers to yourself,” Wyll said, though he didn’t mind reaching forward to lower them. It felt similar to the pull of the sire bond, but with his will still intact, he chose to stay. Wyll might not have noticed he still held onto his hand even as it was lowered.

“Fine,” Astarion relented with much effort,” No breaking in. I’ll be good, at least until I get bored.”

~•~

   That, was what Wyll would like to call an obvious lie.

The jangling of the lock, as the capable hands, almost healed now that he'd been given a healing potion, echoed out into the stillness of the hallway. Astarion was crouched and had his ear to the door, his brows scrunched in an adorable bout of concentration. Still, Wyll mustered a mumble under his breath," How capable are these fingers?"

The lock clicked, and the door opened slow. Astarion lifted his chin with a pleasant grin," If you’d like another example I’d be more than willing to show you later.”

  Wyll ignored the comment, because he’d either quip back and dig himself a deeper hole at the mercy of Astarion’s natural ability to charm or he’d be brought back to the party, when he hadn’t been willing. Wyll was trying to think of anything but that, even when every touch they shared left an aching burn, sedated the moment he felt the reoccurrence of the fire. He would not allow himself to fall victim to his own emotions, nor his physical desires. Astarion needed to be free of Cazador before he wanted for anything. 

   "We need to hurry before the others get here," Wyll informed, still not yet trespassing into his father's office

Astarion sighed and fell against the door in a way that arched his back, head rested on the wood," After you, darling." His sultry tone was thick as he watched Wyll pass," Committing crimes together already. If I had a heart it would be beating as fast as yours."

"You can hear my heart beat?"

The thought concerned him. Astarion could probably sense when he was nervous or even bothered, and the way the realization on Wyll's face only humored the man who slowed towards the desk, only made the idea that much worse. He didn't mind offering his truths, though there were a few he'd like to remain his own. 

   "You really don't know much about vampires at all. It's... endearing," he offered, though he was raking his gaze over Wyll's chest as if being told even more. 

What in the hells was Wyll supposed to do when the ethereal beauty consumed him with his stare alone? He ushered out a heavy sigh and moved to lock the door, half scowling when he glanced back," We are here for the file, if it does or doesn't exist."  

"Mmm, fine. You're just too easy to fluster," Astarion mused, coy grin plastered on his lips whilst he moved to study the numerous papers and folders cluttered on the desk. 

   There wasn't anything unfamiliar about the office. As a child he'd rummage through his father's things with a profound admiration for his work, and as he grew older, it had been the stage of many pressing meetings involving the people of Baldur's Gate. He ignored Astarion to the best of his ability, though it was quite difficult a task. The man flipped through the files with ease, though appearing very bored and occasionally faking enthusiasm when he read an important statistic or fact. Wyll set the one he'd been working on to the side, and froze when he took notice of the file named Astarion Ancunin.

"I don't recall ever giving him my last name," Astarion came from behind the desk to peer over Wyll's shoulder with a disdained glare.

Upon opening it, he found a long list of dates, locations and times. Most of them had notes on the side. Different taverns, different people seen entering the Czarr Palace only to never leave. Astarion was fuming when he grabbed the file from his hands to search every single thing that had been written. He opened his mouth, only for his eyes to widen as he tilted his head towards the door. 

   "Shit."

"Wh-" Wyll fell back against the desk and without warning was being pulled into an urgent kiss. Astarion's fingers ran across his shoulders, further up his neck, and then the door opened and his father dropped his keys with a startled gasp.

"In my office?"

It all happened so fast that Wyll could only stare at the man in abject horror. Astarion pulled himself away, making a show of swiping his thumb over his lips," Politics turn me on."

   Ulder considered him with a thick layer of disgust. Did he know what Astarion was? Or was this just another overstepped bound, his attempt to collect information on the man that Wyll had decided to spend his time with? Either way, the man had no right.

"I think we need to speak alone."

"Do we?" Ulder asked," I think I should speak to him, and the fact he's sneaking you into my office the day after I've-" he stopped himself and took in a long, deep breath before gesturing for the door," You can leave, Astarion. We will have our moment of words soon enough."

“Oh, I’m sure we will.”

   Wyll knew he didn't imagine the malice in Astarion's narrowed gaze. His father hadn't bothered him about his personal life for a while, but he was so disturbed by Astarion that it didn't make sense. The dates, the locations, the described faces... What was his father trying to say by recording this? And what had Astarion been doing with all these people? Another punishment required of Cazador? Was he taking them home for his master to drink, and if he was, why so frequently?

His father shut the door behind Astarion and waited a moment before gesturing to a chair," There's some information I would like to share with you."

   Wyll was prepared for the worst, but not of Astarion. Whatever he had to say about that man would do little to sway what he already felt. His father, on the other hand, was at a growing risk of losing the trust of his son.

Chapter Text

  The two men stared at one another from either side of the desk. Wyll would not offer so much a word until his father explained the file half open, Astarion’s name printed in a rushed scrawl on the side. He wondered if he listened in now, and if he’d ever stop kissing or leaning into him every time he heard someone coming to the door. Astarion, at times, took pleasure in other’s discomforts, but Wyll found that he didn’t mind being the bud of the joke for his amusement. 

“He wanted you to steal his file, I assume?”

His father slid the contents for Wyll’s hand, gesturing for him to search to his heart’s content. It felt like invading Astarion’s privacy if he looked any deeper than he had, so he ignored the headline on some old newspaper to stare at his father instead. “What are you trying to tell me?”

”If you’d just have a look-“

”I know everything I need to know about Astarion."

  The words on that page could have said anything, but it didn't matter as long as they weren't straight from his friend. He'd learn when Astarion was willing to teach him. His fingers shoved the loose papers back into the file, and his father shook his head with a grimace.

"So you must know then," his father's dark eyes held no mercy," of his curse?"

"Yes," Wyll fixated on every move of his father's face, determined with his position to find any movement to reveal his words' worth," I know, and I know he's no monster. The only monster out there is-"

”Cazador Szarr, yes, I’m aware," The man leaned back in his chair with a hand to his head as if he'd just found a most painful migraine," He’s also a man who’s just donated a large amount of money to Baldur’s Gate. Whatever he does with his spawns is no concern of ours. We bring aid to the people, not to the undead.”

  Ulder Ravengard was no monster. Wyll knew his father was stern and often times close minded, practically cold to those even closest, but he wouldn't say such things about the spawn if he knew the true extent to Cazador's sadism. Hells, Wyll knew he'd barely even scraped the surface. 

"He starves them," Wyll informed, trying his best to not let emotions get the best of him," He tortures them, father and there's- there are these horrible parties he throws-"

”I’m well aware of all these things," his father interrupted with a look similar to the commander of an army, direct and apathetic, only ever to state orders," As I said, we do not protect the undead, Wyll. Vampires have a government of their own, and we have a mutual agreement that no one he sustains himself on would be of noble blood.”

   Wyll felt sick to his stomach. His father had known about the suffering within Czarr Palace and not only ignored it, but enabled Cazador by taking his money to further envelop his malevolence into the city’s heart. His chest rose with his quick breaths, thrown back to all the times before when he’d heeded to his father’s rule, had respected it like the words of gods only to have the burst of his anger set the flame of his defiance. “So as long as he doesn’t ruin your politics, you’ve allowed the man an open menu of the people we’re sworn to protect?”

His father was shocked, eyes wide as he raised his gaze to take in his standing son. He caught his demeanor, turned his head with a sigh,” You’re young, you wouldn’t understand the sacrifices it takes in order to keep the peace.”

”That sounds like bullshit to me,” Wyll snapped.

  He’d never raised his voice to his father, but he’d never felt more right than this. The man took a moment to register the response, and then he dropped the pen he’d been clenching and shook his head.

“Why him?”

Why Astarion?

Astarion wasn't the only one suffering. Wyll would destroy whatever hold Cazador had over them all, and in the process, if that entailed taking down his father- It wouldn't. His father would see reason eventually. He wore his grief like an armor, forgetting those that were left unprotected.

”Spawns are even worse than the lords they serve. The only reason your friend is so docile is because he’s being controlled. If you think Cazador needs to be dealt with, then so does every spawn.”

   Wyll leaned forward in his desperation, eyes as hard as the malice and ignorance of the city, though he only sought the justice these victims deserved. "Innocent people were turned against their will and now they’re being held prisoners, tortured, unable to even claim their own bodies and you think that they are in anyway like Cazador?”

His father closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, nothing appeared to have changed his decision. Not even the slightest of empathy could be found in his gaze. “I’ll schedule a meeting with some of my advisors about your concerns.”

~•~

  Every passing night that he accompanied Wyll, he was pleasantly surprised in the man's character. While he knew the man was better than any he’d ever met, there was always that lingering doubt as he waited for him to turn. Wyll had been met with challenge after challenge in the few moon phases they’d known each other, but his resolve had only grown stronger. This was nothing Astarion had done. He knew if Wyll had met any of his siblings instead that he’d still fight the same. Wyll wasn’t charmed, he just had a good heart.

   Pity, Astarion kind of liked the idea that the man was completely enthralled with him. 

“Wyll-“ the door opened, and charming wore his infuriation the most respectful way he could. He didn’t pull away from the fingers that took hold of his arm, though he could not hide the disdain of his face. Astarion had heard it all, of course, but seeing the man’s features twisted into anything but that prized smile irked him more.

”I- I’m just going on a short walk,” Wyll said with a half breath,” I need to think.”

“Of course,” Astarion released him, and like an apology and token of gratitude in one, Wyll offered the vampire a moment’s breath, words burnt in his anger before they could come.

”Take all the time you need,” Astarion added, gentle and without a single muscle in his body revealing the absolute gore of his imagination. At least, not until Wyll was passing him to descend the stairs, did he narrow his gaze at the Grand Duke’s office door.

  Ulder was tending to files, not an emotion but the slight annoyance at having been interrupted igniting on his face. Astarion leaned up against the entry way in greeting,” That was cruel, even for you.”

”It’s not polite to eavesdrop,” Ulder muttered, though not surprised.

  Astarion huffed with amusement, though it was outweighed with the glare that only grew in power as he sauntered forward to the side of the desk, quite aware of Ulder’s heart, beating frantic with his own irritation or fear.

”It’s not eavesdropping if I can hear you from down the hall,” Astarion informed in a whisper. 

”What do you want?” Ulder snapped, though it appeared more exhausted than forceful as he closed the same file he’d been reopening since Astarion showed,” I’m busy.”

  Something about the man just really made Astarion want the freedom of his own will. It was forbidden many times before to harm someone so important, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be creative. He draped half his body on the desk as his fingers caressed the side of the papers.

”It’s so odd seeing you now that I know who you are. I knew you were someone important, but The Grand Duke?” Astarion’s lips formed a pleasant grin, if not for the way his eyes bled their own dark desires. He leaned in close, watching like a drug sedated man as the Duke looked at loss for words. “I’d blush if I could, but I hardly have enough blood,” Astarion’s fingers traced his knuckles and he revealed the edge of his fangs,” ever.”

”If you’ve said a word-“

”Relax,” Astarion ceded with his charm,” unlike you I give a damn whether or not your son experiences pain and if I told him that you’ve spent the months grieving your wife inside of me I think it might make things a little complicated.”

  This wasn’t like him. Well, it was, but never to anyone who had such power. He could easily write to Cazador of his need to be reprimanded, but in the moment he didn’t really care. He pulled away from the man enough for him to get out a single breath,” But don’t misunderstand me, I will make things complicated if necessary. It’s one of my many skills.”

Ulder was seething in his own rage, and Astarion hated him for it even more. He didn’t have the right to be angry about any of this. 

“Wyll shall see through your act and to what you really are all on his own. He might have a gentle heart, but you’re wearing yourself thin,” the man sneered in his direction, no longer playing a gentle diplomacy,” My boy is much more than any of the victims you’ve lured from taverns.”

Astarion turned his head to the door, forgetting that he didn’t need to breathe.

”I know.” He didn’t offer any explanation to which of the words he was responding to. Ulder didn’t have the right to that either.

~•~

  Wyll hadn’t even the slightest chance of cooling down. The moment he’d made his way down the stone stairs outside, he’d immediately been engulfed in the rising voices of his friends. He bit back any complaints, because it had been his decision for them to all meet. Without the file in hand, he hoped that perhaps they’d heard something that made everything else worth it. 

“Oh-“ Wyll stopped in his place when he saw Karlach’s form, his own anger overpowered by her gaze alone. She was pissed, and rightfully so. 

“You dumb ass!” She looked as if she weren’t sure whether to shove or hug him,” Why wouldn’t you tell me about the ball? I could have helped. What if something had happened?”

”Karlach, I’m sorry,” Wyll said, and then he caught everyone’s gaze as they stilled. They were searching. He hadn’t seen them since the after party, and whatever look he mustered must have told enough for any pressing questions to remain on their tongues. “Let’s go somewhere private and talk. No one should be in the library now.”

  He tried to appear as if nothing more had happened than what he’d saw. He could limit the details, tell them of the faces and names he knew, but everything else- He swallowed back a lump in his throat as he walked them through the foyer, just as Astarion finished descending the stairs. He raised a brow at the added member of the group, but Karlach was more than a warm greeting.

“Is that him?” She asked in awe,” Aren’t you pretty?”

”Me?” Astarion laughed, laying a hand to his chest in mock surprise,” Oh, I mean, thank you for noticing.”

“Did my father have words with you?” When Astarion seemed caught off guard, Wyll stepped closer, head inclined to the top step,” You didn’t come down immediately. Did he say something to you?”

  Shadowheart, who seemed to realize the sudden tension, gestured to the main hall," Privacy first, just in case this gets a little detailed."

Right. There were still guards just outside, and further past the main hall anyone else hired by his father could be privy to listening to things spoken without reserve. He nodded, and then he set his shoulders with a long sigh and led them to the East Wing's library. They were all unusually quiet even after everyone had been seated long enough to merit some words.

   Tav was chewing on something from a bag in his pocket, and Shadowheart had her head propped up with a hand.

Wyll cleared his throat, ”Who would like to go first?”

Gale looked around the table, though it was clear he had no issue with taking the sudden attention.

”Well since no one else wants too," he leaned forward and spoke in a low voice, even if the room was empty aside from the group," I heard a very heated argument from Cazador and your father. It was about you, I think, Cazador didn’t say much. I mean really I would have gotten more information if I hadn’t been collected by servants to-" Gale gestured abruptly at Tav and Shadowheart," to save these two, but just know it seemed to be going in a more amicable agreement after your father was done yelling.”

  Karlach kicked the back of her feet up against a free chair with a raised brow, ”What happened with you two?”

”Someone grabbed Tav’s ass," Shadowheart informed.

”Well,” Tav shrugged a little," I thought he had, but it only turns out he was trying to get some snacks from the buffet table.”

Astarion shook his head slowly,” We’re all going to die a bloody death.” He sounded as if he were merely coming to terms with the mail running late. 

  What would happen when they returned to Cazador? Wyll wouldn’t leave him, and even if no one had gathered enough information to make a difference, he still prepared himself for what fight might lie ahead. He’d have to ensure Astarion was somewhere safe, somewhere the vampire lord couldn’t use his control over him. 

“Hey, don’t be so negative,” Karlach told him,” We might seem like a mess, but we get the job done.”

In the midst of his own thoughts, Wyll managed to catch the roll of Astarion’s eyes, the way he leaned back to appear casual despite the tension of his shoulders and the hard line of his jaw. It was either in reaction to the group’s hectic order, or to whatever his father had said the moment Wyll had left. He wasn't stupid. The man only needed a moment to shove doubt down anyone’s throat until it felt like their own words.

“And on to better news,” Gale unfolded a letter from his robes,” I received this, delivered by a servant of Cazador this morning.”

”Gale of Waterdeep, I write to address an opportunity of employment using your profound understanding of magic to help facilitate research and educate youth of the general study. Please schedule a meeting with my assistant Mr. Dufay, if you are interested in learning more.”

”Is he building a school?” Tav questioned with furrowed brows.

Astarion threw an arm back and plucked the file he had tucked between his shirt and trousers with a smirk. He flipped around a few pages, squinted his eyes, and informed,” A library,” 

   Wyll could only stare in amazement. He'd never seen Astarion take anything, and they'd been only feet away from each other the few minutes they had. “Where did you get that?” Or better yet, how?

Astarion batted his lashes and tilted his chin to peer at Wyll with a less than gracious stare,” While your father was distracted with our affections, I took the one dated the most recently and hoped for the best. It doesn't have much, but I'd love to read over this contract tonight.”

“Or perhaps someone more suited to reading legalities?” Gale suggested with an open hand.

  “Excuse me,” Astarion said with a huff, and he brought the files to his chest with a glare,” I was a magistrate once.”

“Better a magistrate than a wizard I think,” Karlach added in his defense. 

Gale held up both hands,” I meant nothing by it, my apologies. I hadn't realized you had a history in law.”

  Neither had Wyll. He tried to picture it, and found that it rather fit the man. His way with words were confident, tricky even, full of their own power that it was hard not to be taken in by them. He wondered how he had been as a mortal, what his desires might have looked like, if he liked his job or found it to be a dead end. These were all things that had been stolen by Cazador, fleeting memories, so long ago that Wyll wasn't certain if Astarion even remembered. 

“Why would Cazador want to aid in the building of a library?” Tav piped up, snagging his teeth onto something hard and red,” Or the youth?”

”Who knows?” Shadowheart muttered,” Personal appearance?”

”Whatever it is,” Wyll said,” Gale seems to have garnered his attention enough to make our next move obvious.”

  Whatever Cazador wanted, it was going to be part of his downfall, along with the following men that Wyll had burnt like a scar into his being. So much had happened in the last few days that it was hard to keep up with all the new emotions that surfaced. He'd always fought for a noble cause but never had that cause become his own, until he couldn't even sleep out of fear that his own desire for good might be the reason he failed.

“Gale, what do you know about breaking the control of a vampire lord over spawn?” he asked with no recollection of the words he'd interrupted. He wasn't even certain anyone had been speaking.

”Absolutely nothing,” Gale replied with a laugh, and a quick glance to Astarion, who appeared unimpressed,” but the task at hand will be met with the upmost endeavor.”

“And keep us up to date on the whole Cazador thing.”

“I'll respond tomorrow morning-”

~•~

   The tiefling had been a slight relief. The more powerful Wyll's friends, the better, even if it meant being burdened by the lengthy conversation that was still barely even a plan. Astarion was growing restless, knowing that as the hour passed, it was one less he had before returning to Cazador. 

“So…" Shadowheart started, at least sounding hesitant enough to gain Astarion's full attention," not that we need the details, but you did manage to get the names of the guests at the after party, right?”

It was directed at Wyll, who didn't meet anyone's gaze,” Yes, I did.”

  It was too much for one mortal man to bare alone. Astarion almost reached for his hand underneath the table, but Wyll spoke with such clarity that he didn't seem to need the physical comfort," Leave that to me for now. I’ll update you with any changes, but know I’m handling it.”

Karlach responded before Astarion could, ”Wyll what the fuck does that mean exactly?”

He probably needed more time to adjust to his new reality. Finding out some of the men you trusted were complete monsters sort of did things to a man. At least, to the good ones. He tried to read Wyll's face, but he was pulling back in his chair to stand.

“Until then," Charming announced to the group," I promised someone a hot bath.”

   Astarion jumped from his seat, palms dropping to the table with a, ”Gods yes.” He was more than willing to distract the man from his distress by allowing himself to be spoiled and pampered for the evening. He ran a hand through his curls and took the arm offered, pleasantly surprised the man was comfortable with even this in front of friends. Astarion figured he'd be more bashful than ever for some reason.

”Why does Wyll have to go with him for him to have a bath?” Tav half whispered, unaware it seemed that Astarion could still hear despite the closed door of the library. 

"Come on, Soldier, use your head."

”I mean I know why, I’m just surprised he’s so into this. You remember when-“

  Astarion ignored the string of words that followed as they strolled towards the foyer's stairs. It was so often that night that Wyll looked lost within himself, the way he'd appeared when he'd been forced to touch him, and the day after he'd spent exhausted while Astarion had his rest; it was all his fault, really. If not for that night that he'd wasted hours on the wrong mark, Wyll wouldn't be there now, worrying himself over the monster of Szarr Palace.

  While mulling over his own regrets wouldn't change the situation, he could however, change the way Wyll felt. He squeezed his arm before he released it, when he was met with the vision of Wyll's bedroom, opposite staircase from his father's office. Shame, he wanted the man to hear the echoes of his voice throughout the walls. 

“I'll run the bath."

"As much as I adore the fact you'd leave your friends for my sake," Astarion lounged along the bed with a frivolous sigh," They did come all this way to speak to you."

  "I heard everything they had to say," Wyll informed, managing a casual tone, "Trust me, if we remained any longer it would have only pissed you off."

Wyll knew him so well, but he didn't necessarily believe his abrupt departure was for his sake alone.  Even before the after party had been mentioned he hadn't exactly been in the best of moods, courtesy of the bastard across the building. Astarion was thinking up ideas in order to relax Wyll when the man began to drag a divider towards the filled and heated wooden tub.

Astarion chuckled and gestured at the furniture with a brow raised, ”What’s that, darling?” 

”A privacy screen."

  Astarion mustered a grin, because perhaps it had only been a genuine answer and not one meant to assume that he'd never seen one before. He removed himself from the bed, eyes narrowed on his beloved target,” I know what it is. I just meant that I was hoping you might join me.”

  Before Wyll could get the wrong idea, he leaned forward into his space at a safe enough distance," I'm not comfortable with having sex again," he admitted, cautious even if he knew it would only ease Wyll," at least not yet, but... I would like to do something for you, if you're willing."

  Had Wyll ever allowed anyone that he was trying to protect care for him? He'd known him for such a short amount of time, though not once had Wyll asked for anything in return, only ever for Astarion's comfort. He pleaded with the man in silence, hoping that the hand he used to tug gently on his shirt wasn't misread as anything but what he wished to give. Astarion wasn't a kind man, but he felt if the other asked for anything he'd not think twice before offering it.

”Okay," Wyll whispered with a slight nod, his gaze lowering to study the pale fingers against the fabric of his clothes. While it was hesitant, it was also trusting in nature. Astarion would rather die than betray that trust and that in itself was frightening, because he didn't really feel like dying either. 

   Astarion began to untuck his own shirt, and Wyll as gracious as ever, turned his head to give him privacy. He wanted to quip a joke, but he couldn't muster the strength to find anything hilarious about the fact they'd done much more intimate things than undress for a bath. He waited until he sunk as deep as his shoulders in the hot and coveted bath water before calling to Wyll.

"Come here."

  It wasn't so much a command as it was a request, one that Wyll followed with only a moment's hesitation. Astarion waited for any sign that he might not truly want this, and to his satisfaction found the man was turning himself to discard his clothes, with no less haste. He blinked, averting his own gaze out of mutual respect. He wouldn't mind traveling his eyes further down the dark, sculpted skin of his savior, but it would seem rude to not offer the same amount of privacy as much as Astarion didn’t understand the concept.

  He felt the water dip, and from the corner of his gaze, he seized a moment’s glance as the man followed into the warmth. Wyll threw his head back with a soft sigh, but Astarion wasn't finished leading him,” Turn around and come sit in front of me.”

 Wyll furrowed his brows. And Gods, Astarion had seen him shirtless a few times, knew the way muscle was mapped out along his stomach, the youth of his vitality as brazen as the question in the man’s eyes. He felt fond of him, in ways that didn’t have anything to do with physicality or the task he’d been given by his master, which had somehow been forgotten more than a few times in Wyll’s presence. When he looked to the man now it was not a means to find the least worst of conquests, but- what was it then exactly? 

  And what did it mean that despite his confusion, Wyll did as he was asked, his own leg brushing against Astarion’s parted thigh. Charming looked to him from over his shoulder, his lips pressed to his own skin, hiding what might form there,” I’ve never bathed with anyone. Well, aside from traveling and training companions, but it wasn’t quite like this.”

  Astarion ran curious fingers up his spine, and Wyll relaxed into the touch, granting further permission for the vampire to continue as he pleased. He ran both his thumbs along the center of his neck and then very gently did he start to massage the most tense places that his palms could find. Wyll carried a lot of tension in the muscle of his shoulders, and further down his back where Astarion found such a tight knot that upon tending to it the man nearly fell limp in his arms with a soft gasp.

”Did that hurt?”

”No,” Wyll tilted his head back slightly, his own hand taking a careful hold to the pale thigh at his hip,” I just didn’t expect it to feel so-“ he couldn’t seem to find the words.

  Astarion felt for once, like he had some sort of power. While his hands had been trained to pull pleasures from the most difficult people, he felt that the ability to have Wyll Ravengard stifling moans from a massage alone was worthy of being noted. He was so beautiful, even more when he was vulnerable like this, so open to whatever Astarion should wish.

Charming’s lips parted softly as another pleased noise escaped, just as Astarion did the most impulsive and stupid thing. He couldn’t catch himself in time, from lowering to press a reverent kiss to the nape of the man’s neck. He used it against Wyll, by asking him something he knew he couldn’t refuse in the moment.

  “When Cazador is dead,” he said, causing Wyll to turn to face him completely with a look of concern. Astarion wished he hadn’t,” Don’t leave me.”

It was more than selfish. Wyll had a life, and he- well, he had his death. He couldn’t ask Wyll to want anymore than he’d already promised, even that was asking too much. Astarion was complex and a little fucked, and Wyll was young and human- he barely had any time at all. 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Wyll whispered.

What was this? 

~•~

  It was nothing like anything Wyll had read before. He'd spent so many nights wondering how it might feel to be consumed by someone's entirety, never once assuming that it would be anyone like Astarion. Naively, he'd imagined someone like himself. How wonderful it was to have his ideas skewed, how much more precious and real it felt to care for someone he couldn't fully understand. He understood enough of Astarion to know that he didn't want to throw it away the moment the man was freed. Everything else he felt or wasn't certain of, they'd have time to explore soon enough. 

  He lied back against the pillow of his bed, watching as Astarion admired the fabric of Wyll's night shirt, loose on his petite frame, but in a way that complemented his graceful movements. He bit back a smile as the man stood before the mirror, who offered Wyll a soft sigh.

"The curse of immortality."

Wyll sat up, considering him as he sauntered forward," What do you miss the most about being mortal?"

  The question caught Astarion off guard, but only for a moment, and then he was plopping down at his side with his gaze to the ceiling," Ugh, I don't know. Everything. Feeling full, the sun on my skin, the vanity of peering at one's reflection." he scowled again towards the mirror as if it had personally insulted him.

While he kept his tone light with humor, the things he missed felt so mundane to Wyll, that he had to take his time imagining a life without them. What kind of world would Astarion have upon his freedom, if not even the light of day? Cazador would always inflict his pain. Even after he was put down, the curse would still be there.

  "I'm sorry," Wyll said, and the moment he even thought to take Astarion's hand, they were enraptured by the heaviness of meaning in their sudden shared look," So much was taken from you."

He wished that he could give everything back. He wasn't certain what conflict continued in the man's head, or what gracious thought ended his internal suffering, but Astarion leaned forward with the slightest of grins.

"Wyll, you have given me something that even the curse could never take."

  Could he hear the change in his heart? He must have. Wyll inhaled a breath meant to balance himself, but he felt the sway of reality, the aching of his desires now to do nothing more than soak in the other's presence. Astarion stilled a movement away from his lips, and asked in a very doting whisper," May I?"

Wyll leaned in to filll the gap, for a real kiss, not one that had been meant to distract or taunt who ever stepped in. It was slow, guided by the careful movement of Astarion's hand to his jaw, his own finding it's way to the man's thigh. While he allowed himself to be absorbed by the soft warmth of lips parting his own, the way Astarion tilted his mouth for more depth, he pulled away before it could go any further.

Astarion still had his eyes closed.

"It's..." his ruby gaze lifted from the thickness of his lashes," Well, it's much better when you realize you're being kissed."

   Wyll couldn't help but to steal another, and like the moon, they fell into the darkness of the night, lit by the flaming stars of their embrace. Hours? Mere minutes? He inhaled Astarion's perfume like a man who ran the risk of suffocating, and his fingers skimmed his own clothes on the pale elf, who parted only to allow the man a needed break. His curls, still pretty as ever, were ran through so many times that it would be obvious enough his activities of the night should he not comb it.

  He pushed one down now, as they lied on their sides, limbs tangled in a relaxed though heated embrace. 

"We should stop," Astarion offered, though he hadn't yet attempted to pull away. He pressed forth to swollen lips, and Wyll could do nothing more than accept them," We will have to leave soon," the man reminded in a whisper.

  "A moment more?" 

Astarion didn't attempt to hide the pleasant grin, or hesitate to smooth his fingers across Wyll's cheek," Don't tell me you've already become addicted. You've certainly not known me long enough to be so..." he trailed off, perhaps to find a better word than what he'd thought," open to physical affection."

  "I told you," Wyll would not be hindered by any challenge now, though he only fought his reasonings with what he felt to be the truth," I am not a man who lies with strangers, nor would I take my time to kiss them through the night, but you, Astarion, are no stranger."

"Then what am I?" Astarion asked, almost defiant in his ruling.

Wyll pressed half his face into the pillow with a sigh, half expecting the man to grow angry. This was new to them both, but Astarion had so much upon his shoulders that he felt defining anything would only make him feel imprisoned once more. So, Wyll was very careful with the way he described him now.

"You are only whatever you are willing to be."

"Hm," Astarion shrugged a little as he removed his legs from Wyll's," what if I want to be a god?"

  "I guess I should start learning some prayers then."

Chapter Text

   Astarion had been pampered and spoiled long enough that he felt drunk walking back, fingers wrapped so easily around the man's arm. His scent was intoxicating. He smelt it on his borrowed clothes, and the lingering effects of their shared touches throughout Wyll's veins that pumped the most exquisite liquor. He could pretend as they crossed the empty streets aside from the lingering drunks, that Wyll and him were merely lovers taking a night stroll.

   It was stupid, but he allowed it. He pressed half his face into the man’s shoulder and wished for once, that he didn’t have to spoil an evening with the man by his fear alone. Cazador was waiting though. He was always waiting, and there was no telling how Wyll’s behavior at the after party had met with his foul temper. 

  And even worse, what would he find in this contract when he had the sense to read it over? A fucking library? It had to be a front for something demented. Even if Cazador cared about his appearance in the eyes of the public, he’d never offer them a gift unless it came reaping rewards. He wished the bastard would just tell them what he had planned, but alas, his life was never going to be that easy. 

“Did I go too far earlier?” Wyll asked so suddenly that he had to stop walking to properly to analyze his question. 

Astarion raised a brow, chuckling a little as he realized,” Oh, you meant the hot kissing and groping.”

”There was no groping,” Wyll reminded, and the idea seemed to only unsettle his nerves. He'd have to stop teasing him eventually, but for the time being he'd enjoy the endearing display of uncertainty on the man. It was adorable when Astarion was the cause, but if anyone else tried it they were going to be met with bared fangs and daggers, possibly. He was still waiting to hear back on that one. 

  “No,” Astarion mused, offering him a reprieve,” You didn't go too far. In fact, I wanted to mention that thing you do with your tongue. That was in one of those books, wasn't it?”

He couldn't help himself. 

  Wyll turned abruptly to the Szarr Palace’s door and let out a very deep sigh as if he wasn't sure which form of torture he'd rather more. Astarion offered him aid and opened it for him, and like the night, the long foyer before them was cast in darkness. He felt cold as soon as he stepped inside, and without Wyll following just behind he wasn't certain he'd have the strength to continue this time.

  What if this was when Cazador took everything away? He'd been expecting it, but now more than ever. It was a delightful game, to the bastard anyways. Let Astarion breathe for a moment, let him believe he was safe despite the leash tethered to his soul, until he was so desperate for what he'd been allowed that Cazador found his cries of agony the sweetest of poetry. 

  The door to Cazador's office was already open, and from the room he could make out the fresh coating of blood, still lingering in the air from his meal. He turned to Wyll, who looked just as determined in remaining despite Dufay's instructions. He heaved a sigh, opened his lips to speak, but his master called from his desk, "Wyll, you are welcome to join us."

  Everything Astarion had felt receded into the depths of his mind until he was nothing but an item to adorn his master's office. He gave Wyll one last reminder of a warning, found only in his gaze before stepping forward, eyes set down on the polished floors. Dufay hadn't been lying. Cazador was in a mood, a pleasant one, that or he was laying the diplomacy a little thick for Wyll's benefit. Charming didn't take a seat, or remove himself from Astarion's side, and he only hoped that if he found the time to glance his way that it bore nothing of how he truly felt.

"I suspect you have plenty to say about recent events," Cazador mused, and the words alone were enough to quicken the heart beating in Wyll's chest. Astarion wanted nothing more than Cazador to just make his demands, to rip his body in half and burn the few moments he'd been given from Wyll. He was going to do it anyways, why not make it quick?

  Wyll though, seemed to think something else entirely. His voice was calm, but it didn't matter when a vampire could so easily sniff out any lies he offered.

“I do, actually," Wyll said, and he took the few steps towards the desk, causing any warmth that remained with his presence to dissipate in the frigid grasp of Cazador's desires. When Astarion lifted his head, only slightly to keep from gathering his master's attention, he was thrown into a bout of shock from the words that followed, “I’d like to move Astarion in with me.”

What the hells Wyll?  He clenched his hands into fists at his side, and waited for Cazador to strike him down for even suggesting it.

   Cazador laughed, and while anyone else who wasn't aware of his nature might find it nothing more than a friendly reaction, it was laced with a potent venom. 

“I can't fathom why," he shared, his crimson eyes might as well have bled with Astarion's blood, the way Cazador loomed over him with a glare, stealing any perceived will he'd formed the moments in Wyll's embrace," Taking in an unruly spawn is quite an endeavor in itself."

   Wyll took in a sharp inhale of breath, and Cazador narrowed his gaze like he was feeding off his uncertainty.

"Yes, I know your father's spoken to you of our infliction. Though it doesn't appear to have dissuaded you.”

"No," Wyll said after a moment," not at all.”

  What the hell was Wyll planning? Why had Astarion even allowed him to walk so close to the office, knowing damn well Cazador would feast on such an offering? There was no way this was going to end pleasant, not now that Cazador realized the man knew what he was. 

Astarion tilted his head, watched as his master considered the situation, like he had but only one move in order to force Wyll into his defeat. He gestured with a hand to the empty chair and grinned," Then negotiations are on the table. Sit. You can begin by telling me exactly what it is you desire.”

Don't. Cazador was baiting him. He couldn't catch the man's gaze though, especially as he lowered into the seat, leaving Astarion against the wall behind him. He would only be punished if he spoke up now, but for the life of him he hoped Wyll could sense his distress. 

   Wyll was different than before, when he'd first met Cazador and only had his own sense to determine the man's nature. Now, he was tense in his own body, but his words filled with a confidence that could only be tethered to his rage. Wyll did not hesitate.

“I want Astarion freed from any duty that's been given to him. No after parties, no punishments -”

“You've become quite fond of him, haven't you?" Cazador asked with the slightest hint of gratification at the fact." Tell me, how did it feel walking into that room? Are you so inclined to shelter someone who has such an insatiable hunger?”

   Astarion would rip his vocal chords from his throat, only after he'd found his screams pleasant enough to put him out of his misery. This wasn't just about him anymore, and with a desperate pain lurching from his stomach he realized that he wasn't so much afraid of being punished, as he was of losing Wyll. 

“You and I both know he had no ability to consent.”

The words were sharp, accusing, and it surprised Cazador enough that he had to consider the man before him once again. 

“I believe you've grown confused. Property does not consent. It is used until it is no longer capable, and then it is either thrown away or regifted," Cazador smirked as Astarion caught himself trailing his gaze towards the desk again, but he offered no reprimand. It almost seemed like he wanted for Astarion to take in every detail of his new game. Of course, what better way to destroy someone than have an unwilling witness to hold the grief he'd later consume for himself?

“Besides, you appeared to have enjoyed yourself immensely despite it.”

  Wyll remained still in his seat, but Astarion knew even without the way his heart reacted that the man was being forced back to the event, to face his own undeserved guilt, for something Astarion would never blame him for. How could he? It had been his own doing that signed off Wyll's fate. The man had offered nothing but his own submission, trusting Astarion in ways that surprised him even now. If he could just hear his thoughts-

“What do you want?" Wyll demanded, startling Astarion, who had only ever heard one man speak to Cazador in such a way. Like father like son, though the father had quite a long list of issues and his son wasn't an asshole. He was stupid at times, but only ever out of the goodness of his heart. Unfortunately that heart might have Astarion flayed by the end of the night.

  Cazador released a languid sigh, “I am not a difficult man." He was the definition of difficult," I will offer you full use of what belongs to me. You can do with him whatever you'd like, that is... if you're willing to make a few sacrifices.”

~•~

  Everything felt like too much, that Wyll had to step outside himself in order to continue through the maze of reasons that Cazador might have for such negotiations. He had such a fire within him that it burnt any patience he had for the monster before him. His father had been cruel with his decision, but that didn't mean Wyll couldn't work around what he had. If Cazador wanted to make a deal for even partial freedom for Astarion, then he'd readily listen to every word. He didn't need the power of an army, not when he was itching to use his rapier on any given part of Cazador's flesh. 

  "I'm listening," he said.

"Wyll-"

"Silence child," Cazador didn't pay him any further attention than to chide him. Wyll's name on his lips drenched with his desperation, so much that he felt like stopping the conversation then. He could reassure the man, tell him that whatever sacrifice he had to give would be more than worth it, but Cazador was not a man who liked to be interrupted, that much he knew.

 "I need a man who is more encouraged to ensure my success. Work for me," Cazador implored, though the vicious contradiction in his eyes weighed heavy," and I will give you use of the boy until you decide that you're finished.”

"Doing what exactly?"

  While he pushed for the details, he only cared that for the time being while they planned Cazador's death, that Astarion would be safe. He was not so naive to believe the man didn't have something horrible planned in the midst, but... when would he be given another chance like this? And if he denied this deal, what would that mean for Astarion now? He'd already accepted whatever the job entailed before Cazador even opened his mouth to explain.

“Nothing you wouldn't be doing without me. I only need someone willing to protect what future business in Baldur's Gate might entail."

  “The other spawns-”

“Don’t be greedy," Cazador warned, as a hand lowered to one of his drawers and he procured an empty shot glass," I am offering you a gift. Astarion is a favorite of many, but I see something in you that delights me. I think you and I could potentially be very powerful allies.”

“My father is the Grand Duke," Wyll reminded with the same sense of warning.

   Cazador dangled his fingers over the glass, “One day it will be you, though let's not get ahead of ourselves." He slid a dagger from the same drawer and pushed both items in front of Wyll, his eyes gleaming darker than the red of his halls. "What say you? It will be the only time I offer such a gracious deal."

Wyll considered the dagger with furrowed brows, though Cazador took his sudden confusion with ease," It's customary, a symbol of good will."

  While he'd never made a deal with a vampire, the thought of giving Cazador any part of him revolted the man. How could he ask for anything, while the man he let suffer in his thirst watched, unable to speak on his own behalf? 

It pissed Wyll off, in ways that he hadn't thought could ever be apart of him.

"Astarion needs blood," he said," Allow him to drink, as a symbol of yours."

  He heard the soft noise muttered, words dying on Astarion's tongue just as they were born. Cazador was taken by genuine surprise it seemed, and while Wyll expected another twists of words to get his way, was met with only an eager grin.

"I underestimated you," he informed, though the idea in itself only garnered a thicker swab of satisfaction. The vampire drew his hand up, beckoning Astarion forward. At this angle, Wyll could see the trembling in his fingers, the tight line of his lips, and the horrid anxiety that penetrated any shield remaining. He hadn't meant to worry the man, but how could he pass on this? Cazador wanted something from him, and while he sought it, Wyll would take every moment to reach for Astarion in return.

  Cazador blinked, and as if the air in the room stilled, Wyll felt like he might choke while the man set his new commands into stone.

“You are permitted to drink from non-thinking creatures and Wyll Ravengard alone.”

It wasn't what Wyll had asked, not exactly, but Cazador offered no room for argument. Better his blood fill his friend than nothing, even if he would have liked the man to have a choice in the matter.

"Now," Cazador muttered," Waste no further time in making your decision. You will have plenty time to enjoy my gifts before I call for you. I don't think it's necessary to inform you, but should you fail in any of my simple tasks, there will be a price to pay... one that I am not so certain your favorite spawn will be able to survive."

   Wyll's eyes were hard in his determination, and he took the dagger in hand. Whatever the price, Cazador would be dead the moment they found a way to keep everyone else alive in the process. And if he wasn't, Wyll would fulfill his promise, even unaware of how devious the intents of Cazador ran, if only to keep Astarion alive.

"There won't be an issue," Wyll informed, and he slit his wrist in a place he knew would only bleed enough to get the desired amount into the glass. The redness of his vitality filled it a third of the way before Cazador was throwing a folded cloth at him, and then the vile man took his drink and downed it with a low moan of appreciation.

"So sweet, and yet..." Cazador licked the remainder off his lips," There is something dark in your blood, Wyll Ravengard. I can not wait to see how deep it runs."

~*~

   Astarion had once gotten on his back for mere scraps without a single thought, and now- he should have been relieved. Wyll had garnered not only a deal that enabled him to leave the Palace, but also one that allowed him to drink human blood, Wyll's blood. So, why in the hells was he so upset? Wyll was a grown man, and if he should decide to sacrifice his own being to Cazador that was his decision. 

  Except, it wasn't like that anymore. Astarion had received more than he'd had in years, all while being a little shit, and not once had Wyll considered him a nuisance. He hadn't voiced any complaints, spoke in his frustrations of the situation he'd been encompassed by... No, he only ever gave. When would this idiot realize you could only give so much before you had nothing left?

   "You're upset with me," Wyll noted.

"Upset?" Astarion turned on him in the middle of the street and refrained from baring his fangs," I'm infuriated, darling. Why the hells would you take that deal?"

He'd never been this angry before. Even every night he spent surviving on his hate alone, he swore to himself he'd never felt like this. Wyll was so gods damn selfless, and it was going to kill him. 

"Astarion," Wyll's voice bled his apologies, but his eyes bore no regret in his final choice as he reached for his arm, which only pulled away from him in haste," I know I should have warned you, but I thought this was the best outcome considering the fact he knows what I know."

  "And what happens when he asks you to do something you aren't capable of?" Astarion felt like tearing out his own hair in frustration, but frankly one could only look so good half bald. He closed his eyes and took a single moment to consider what they had. It was a deal without specifics, one that could very well be leading to someone's demise. Wyll was no killer. He'd wield a blade for justice, or whatever it is he wished to call it, but he was not a man who could so blindly follow orders presented by a monster.

His voice came out soft, tired as he opened his eyes," I have known so many faces, only to watch them walk to their ends without a clue. If he hurts you-" he shut his mouth, unable to finish his own words. He wasn't even certain what he was trying to say anymore. 

  Wyll took his hand, and this time he had no strength to deny it, nor did he want too. Warm fingers brushed against his knuckles, and he felt like breaking then, but he didn't; because it was done and if he could do anything now it was at least make Wyll feel like it had been worth something. 

"You are not alone in this," Wyll said in a gentle whisper. He wondered if the man shared such warmth to everyone he saved, or if this too was special. It was hard determining sometimes, if Wyll acted in a sense of duty or for Astarion alone. "I'd give whatever he asked. Maybe it was impulsive, but... we're here. We can go home together, and Cazador won't hurt you as long as he thinks-"

"That you have use in his property," Astarion finished, though it held much less force. It was only a tiring reminder, nothing new. He wasn't so dramatic that he'd allow this little fact to erase what had been given. Freedom, at least, it was the closest he'd gotten in centuries. He'd been rented out before, spent many days locked in a room whilst waiting for the favored guest to find use, but never by anyone who'd fought so diligently in ensuring he was fed, never anyone like Wyll. 

~•~

   Wyll understood his anger, better than he let on. Had it been Astarion in his position, he could not say he'd fall asleep so easy with the idea of Cazador's mysterious tasks. It had been stupid, but what better reason to throw out logic than to be able to do this?

He removed his shirt the moment his bedroom door was shut, tossing it aside on a chair before finding a dry towel for the bed. He figured it would be better this way, less mess. He positioned it against the pillows and then lied back, awaiting for Astarion to follow, who faltered with a tilt of the head, his brows furrowed tight," I... I must have misread the silence our entire walk over."

  Wyll lifted himself to a sitting position," Aren't you thirsty?"

The question struck Astarion in shock. He turned his head both ways as if trying to comprehend the fact he'd even been asked, and then his face scrunched further with his uncertainty. "This is happening?"

"If you'd like," Wyll offered, biting back a grin that won over anyways. He could do this for him. It felt so important, to be allowed to give something to the man that would genuinely help. His blood was nothing in comparison to his need, though he also grew excited by the idea of such an intimate exchange. It would be his blood that offered Astarion strength, his submission to the man's thirst an act of devotion on it's own. 

  He would most definitely be keeping that to himself.

"Well," Astarion shrugged," I mean, since you're so willing."

The humor that ruled his tone did nothing to erase the emotions present in his eyes. They were mesmerized by need as they scanned Wyll's offered neck, and they were wrought with fear and doubt when he found Wyll's face.

"I've never done this before," he reminded quickly, though he was already lifting his own shirt from his body," You have to be... forceful if I don't stop."

  That was a risk Wyll had long considered.

"I trust you," he informed, moving one of his legs to give room to the man making his way to the mattress," And don't worry, I've fought in plenty of battles to know when I've lost enough blood."

Astarion scowled at the idea, but he was distracted by the proximity of his offering, a soft inhale sending the slightest of pleasant shivers throughout Wyll's body. His fingers trailed slow until they found Astarion's bare hip, and the man hovering over him let out a soft gasp. 

"Alright," Astarion whispered, and it seemed as if he had more to say, but then his lips were grazing his flesh, and then a sharpness of blades penetrated Wyll's body into a frenzy of experiences. The stabbing pain receded into a sudden stillness of his mind, at least until he realized what was happening. The sedation that caressed him felt oddly cold, even as he found the bliss of his reality, the warmth and heat of his desires bound by the knowledge that this was the closest he'd ever been with anyone else. 

  Wyll threw his head back and while he still had the strength, pushed his hand through soft curls to further entice the man to take. A different angle, when Astarion shifted and grabbed his shoulder as if he were afraid he'd run, had Wyll gasping in response to the depths of his wound. It was a rather odd sensation. The idea that any man would find pleasure from pain was beyond him, but he was there, clinging to Astarion in hopes he had enough blood to continue a little longer. 

   Just as the soft lull of a deeper sleep enveloped him, Astarion tore himself away from his body like he'd be damned if he remained any longer. His dark pools of red lit with new life, and the way he moved back had been with such grace and speed that it unsettled Wyll. How weak had he remained the nights before? How much of his thirst had rid him of parts of his being? It wasn't only his physical prowess, but an entire mood that gave way to a different elf entirely.

  Astarion didn't attempt to hide the wide smile that formed as Wyll lifted himself up to sit, chest still rising with his quick breaths, and with a numbing sensation that spread throughout his body like a drug.

"Cazador was wrong," Astarion informed, and Wyll watched with a half lidded gaze as the man licked the drying blood from the side of his lips," You don't taste sweet at all. No," he tilted his head as he sought the right words," Gods, Wyll, you taste absolutely sinful. I feel drunk, I think. Happy?" 

"Good," Wyll commented," We'll find a system that works. I'll have some healing potions on hand in case we should get carried away."

"We?"

Wyll bit the edge of his lip, and very bashfully lowered his head," I had forgotten that I was meant to stop you. I would have remembered, eventually, but it felt- kind of good?"

  Astarion smirked, and he leant forward with his body until he was but a breath away," Don't say such things. I might actually devour you, my love."

Wyll could not think of a more blissful way to go.

~•~

   It was dangerous how comfortable Astarion was getting, but he couldn't fathom ruining this first with his own doubts. Human blood was far more than anything he could have imagined. He'd smelt it so often, desired it like a chained beast only a step too far to enjoy the meat dangled by a hook. Wyll's blood held the essence of the man, in the slight bitterness of his sorrows, and the warmth of his purity surrounded by the nature of his force, his own strength deploying a battle in taste on Astarion's tongue. How could one man be so complex in flavors? The wines, the slight bark over a fire roasted meal, the cool springs of a forbidden garden and its gentle pull. It wasn't just a drink, not like the putrid rats he pulled from as he ached, but an experience that chased him even after he was finished. He felt alive, for the first time, since his death. 

  He fell into a trance so quickly that he barely shared words with the man that had offered so much already. The only thing that stirred him from his rest, a night without visions of torment, was the loud clash of thunder and rain igniting like a roar outside the draped window. He blinked, and then realized while the bed remained warm, it only lingered where Wyll's body had once been.

  "Wyll?" He called out into the darkness, and when he was met with no response stretched and began to collect the clothes thrown across the room. They hadn't done anything more, but it still ran quite familiar of an action for him, though he hardly had to stay. He wanted too. 

When the room was lit with light, he sauntered aimlessly throughout the room with a sigh. Wyll would be back any moment, and it's not like he couldn't enjoy the seconds of privacy to quench his curiosities a little more. He ran a finger across the wardrobe, and then further along his bookcase. There was more than those raunchy books he liked to digest. There were poems, classics, all sorts of literature that bore little parts of Wyll from his interest alone. 

   He picked a random one up, and as he turned the page a small piece of paper fluttered to the floor. His brows furrowed as he read the writing along it's bottom edge.

Allow yourself the reminder of my face, in times while you cannot reach me.

Astarion rolled his eyes and flipped the paper over. A woman, long red hair and dark eyes according to the water paints, stared innocent enough back at the vampire. He narrowed his gaze as he took in her presence like it was a vile taste. She must have been his first, and despite the fact the man claimed to regret it, she was important enough to keep tucked in a book full of sappy poetry. 

  Astarion slammed the art back into the book and decided it was best not to dwell too deep in thought over it. Besides, why would he? It's not like Wyll owed him anything, or that they were even at a place where asking about exes seemed necessary. 

Were they?

Holding hands like a couple of school boys and making out hardly qualified for jealousy. He wasn't. Astarion didn't get jealous, because that would entail he had any sense of right. 

  But also, who in the hells was this woman? And where was Wyll?

~•~

  Wyll hadn't slept through the night in what seemed like a while. The darkness brought on vivid images, horrid, scorching reminders of what he'd walked into at Szarr Palace. 

You let them continue even after what they've done?

  A woman's voice taunted him through the night while horns engulfed the bottom of a fiery pit, as if it was a creature of it's own. He saw Astarion, so helpless as he fought the fires surrounding him, that he only caught the slightest glimpse of pale blue skin before he fought with his own sheets to release him.

  He'd been so careful not to stir Astarion as he dressed. The rush of his nightmares collected his mind until something purely instinctual took over, so much that he hardly recognized the downpour of rain until he found the shelter of an awning. From this angle, he could make out the movements of a man discarding his armor from a day's work through his bedroom window. Julian Hemms.

  Don't they deserve to pay?

He was not sure if it was his own imagination, or if the woman's voice in his head had seeped through his subconscious to his waking reality, but as it echoed throughout his mind a gust of wind opened the only barrier between Wyll and the bastard. He swung himself over the edge of the timid balcony and pushed forward into the room, until the man who'd thought to inflict with his hands, stared forward at the intruder cloaked in darkness with a frantic gasp of horror. 

  Lightning cast throughout the sky, and Wyll's dark glare found the tension in Julian's. Seconds passed, and then the man lunged for his sword, but not before Wyll could outstretch his rapier to his vulnerable neck in one precise step. 

"Don't move," Wyll hissed. "I'm here for answers. Whatever you have on Cazador, or the men in his favor."

"Wyll," Julian had once been his ally. He'd laughed and made jokes about the stray arrows found from ill trained men, he'd aided him in the battle between borders of land, against the nasty creatures his father had sent him to clear. For what? To so blatantly disregard their noble cause to take what had never belonged to him? It was more than sickening. 

Yes, you should really take care of him.

   "Wyll, please, I don't understand-"

"You don't understand?" Wyll clenched tight to his weapon, felt already how it would slice open his skin. He tried to null his anger before he acted, but it had a biting force that was only encouraged by the growing storm. He said he'd take care of them, but how? What would a good man do in this position?

He took in a sharp breath," How long?"

"W-what?"

"How long have you been hurting them?" The tip of his blade met with his adam's apple, and he tilted his head as he awaited his answer.

"I- I don't know. The other guys, they invited me. I-" Julian looked for an exit at the door," If this is about Astarion-"

  Astarion.

Wyll turned his weapon and brought the hilt with great force to the man's head. His legs gave way as he fell back into a collection of books stacked along the wall, and a disgruntled and pained moan escaped with his pleas," Wait! Agh, Wyll, please-" His chest rose with the adrenaline of the attack, but he lied back a mess of desperation and cowardness. He had no right. How many times had he forced himself on Astarion? How many times had he laughed at his pain? 

   He would do it again in a heartbeat.

Wyll raised his blade for his chest, but with everything in him including the untamed fires, he faltered. Like a fool, he couldn't do it. How different was it? To kill a man for his crimes in the supposed safety of his home rather than on a battlefield with rules? This was right. Killing him was the right thing to do, so gods, why couldn't he do it?

  No one would arrest this man. His own father knew what occurred behind those walls, and yet, no one had done anything to stop it. There were still other innocent people being hurt, vampires or not, it would never matter. As he loosened his grip, the man below him raced for his own weapon, and like the sudden trumpets of the sky, Wyll echoed his remorse for the remaining humanity left in Baldur’s Gate and struck the man, just as the tip of his sword reached out to caress the fabric of his clothes. 

  The rapier penetrated his throat, though Wyll had only thought to keep himself safe, a horrible fit of satisfaction and frustration enveloped him until he was nothing left but numb. The man fell, and blood seeped out his wounds like a geyser until it pooled and he was choking between sobs and the river flooding his lungs. A gasp of bubbles escaped, and then his muscles jerked as he suffocated, and then he lied dead beside Will's feet with his eyes open, looking just as scared as the spawns he'd tormented. 

   The fog of his dream-like world evaporated until he was awoken into a cold night where he barely had time to register what he'd done. Wyll had killed a man before, but never like this, and for the life of him he wasn't certain whether or not he should feel guilty. Julian Hemms.

Chapter Text

  Astarion cursed Wyll out the entire walk over, quite audibly too, because he'd not only spent the last two hours searching the gods forsaken building, but now he was drenched and the lightning barely gave way to any structure aside what his vision allowed past the constant downpour. Even with the cloak he'd taken from Wyll's wardrobe, it was cold, and if he stepped in another fucking puddle he was going to have a meltdown on all of Baldur's Gate. 

  He slammed his fist repeatedly at Shadowheart and Tav’s door, cursing out the thunder that attempted to drown out this noise too. Shadowheart emerged, silver strands of hair in disarray, eyes squinted at the cloaked elf with a thin scowl.

“Great, another Gale.”

Astarion snorted at the idea whilst pushing past her to scan the open room. He ignored her reluctance and obvious bouts of sexual frustration given the fact Tav was sitting in a chair looking just as disheveled.

“Has Wyll stopped by?”

Tav’s brows furrowed and even Shadowheart was inclined to drop her impatience for concern,“ He isn't with you?”

“Do you two share one brain cell?” Astarion asked, and he gestured dramatically at his side to the man who was very clearly not present. In the span of a night he might lose the centuries of patience he'd garnered from his torture. He tried not to reveal just how bothered he was by the man's disappearance, and unclipped his cloak to gather the little warmth offered by the dwindling flame of the fireplace. “Apparently he's thought to have some privacy after signing away his soul to Cazador of all people.”

  Tav sat up stiff in his chair, “He did what?”

"He's agreed to work for him in exchange for-" Astarion waved his fingers vaguely," Well, me. You know, I was so ready to believe he was a gentleman, but he didn't even bother leaving a note.”

“That’s not like Wyll,” Shadowheart informed, and Astarion already knew that, but having it confirmed ripped his facade of casual curiosity straight from him.

“You know him better than I do, so start talking. I want lists. Places he'd go in the middle of a storm-” thunder erupted right on time, blanketing the walls in shadows of their bodies, until the only light was the flickering of the fireplace. Astarion’s fingers traced the heat of the flames as he settled himself, finding that this was probably the first time that he could remember ever being scared for someone else. It wasn't fun. 

   “Losing his mother hasn't been easy on him,” Tav said, urgently,” Sometimes he really just needs his space.”

“Or maybe it has something to do with Cazador?” Shadowheart pointed just as quick. 

Astarion could at least rule that one out. He fell back into his languid movements, enjoying the heat against the soaking fabric clinging to his pale skin. 

“He has no reason to go to Cazador. He has everything he wants,” he lifted his head and offered the couple a moment’s glance,” For someone so naive he is very skilled in stroking egos.”

“I don't want to meddle in other’s affairs, but you aren't... “ Shadowheart furrowed her brows,” Flirting with Wyll just so he'll kill Cazador, are you? Because he'd very willingly do it without all of this-”

  She gestured to his general area. Astarion huffed out a disdained sigh, and despite the fact he wore Wyll’s night clothes, felt the question was completely unrelated to his demands. He'd never be able to admit to what he'd taken from Wyll. The pain he'd inflicted from inviting him into his life alone was inconceivable.

“You two hardly know each other,” she pressed forward,” Let’s just say the others and I have noticed how open he is to your incoming affections.”

“Gods,” Astarion threw out his arms,” I'm dripping from head to toe. I could very well have remained in bed where it's warm, you know.” 

  He wouldn't have left the bedroom if he didn't care about Wyll’s feelings. It was a confusing time for Astarion, but he knew in some way that the human had imprinted himself into his life in a way that he couldn't hide from. Working with someone who had a good heart might have rubbed a little empathic streak into the vampire, if only for the man in question. 

  Tav cleared his throat.

“I think what Shadowheart means to say is, that we’re only worried he might misread your signals and end up getting hurt.”

“Actually I said what I meant.”

Astarion turned from the fireplace and dropped his hand from the empty mantle. Shadowheart appeared less forceful with her accusation like inference, though she remained heavy with her gaze, analyzing ever movement within Astarion’s face. 

“Wyll’s a big boy, he can take care of himself,” he feigned picking at his nails with great concern for any stray dirt,” I imagine he realizes I'm not the best of choices to fall for considering the uh-” he shrugged, though personal infliction weaved through his tone,” well, everything. But if it helps me from being cornered, know that I don't wish to see him hurt.”

Shadowheart took seconds to check his gaze for any truth. Weariness seeped into Astarion’s bones at the urge of his doubts, and the predetermined guilt he wore like a chain. Even Wyll’s friends knew he deserved better.

“I believe you,” she said, her entire demeanor softening to a point that Astarion felt nauseous. 

“Great,” he muttered,” now that you've stopped pestering me with accusations, I'm going to return, and if Wyll knows what's good for him, he'll be there.”

  Tav offered him an apologetic sort of smile and all the advice he could muster.

“He’s probably taking shelter at a tavern. Try the Blushing Mermaid, they're open late.”

“Right.”

~•~

  It wasn't until he found the shelter of an abandoned storage room of the market, that Wyll's adrenaline and blur of thoughts were overcome with the sharp biting of a wound. He forced the wooden door closed against the wind, and with a shattered breath he recoiled his fabric from his side to see the pores seeping red, skin pried apart with the efficiency of a blade. Julian had gotten him after all. 

"Shit," Wyll shoved his hand over the wound and tried to search for any sort of cloth he could use. There were open crates and chests, lined up against the wall, others stacked in front of an old cooking station. While he was no stranger to natural healing, it would be much easier if he could make it home and get a decent potion in him. 

  Astarion. He'd probably been up for hours wondering where Wyll had went. What would he even say? The poignant imagery struck him, until all he could see was the blood between bubbles of struggled breaths, the way the choking noises had echoed out into the warmth of Julian's home. He'd only ever killed before when it was to protect the innocent, when there was no other choice, but this... This wasn't what Wyll was about. He destroyed the monsters that would wish to cause harm to those defenseless and Julian was a man who'd done the unspeakable, but this felt like something insidious inside his own being. He had protected no one by cornering him. 

  He'd only thought of Astarion, how his anger had cast itself like a shadow over any of his morals, his patience. It had clawed out from his vessel and burnt the being with a twisted judgment, even if that judgment had been right.

  When his fingers came back drenched and trembling, when his chest heaved with a half breath, his thoughts swayed to the ebbing sedation of his infliction. He was losing blood, but not more than he could handle if he tended to his wound. He leaned back against a crate and pulled his shirt from his head to better access the site, his muscles twitched in response as he moved a finger to the slice of skin parting like a new river. It collected itself like a pool, and then seeped down to the band of his waist, slow but worrisome all the same. 

  A collision of wood and thunder beat against one another like a war drum. The stir in the darkness when the door was nearly knocked from the hinges with a forceful kick startled him enough he had his rapier outstretched for battle. The glint of his blade stained with Julian’s blood lit amongst the lightning, and the pale skin of Astarion’s vulnerable neck. 

  “Hells-” The rapier dropped with a clatter amongst the floor, and he stepped back as if he'd been pushed. Astarion was drenched, his own cloak wrapped around the man’s tense body, water droplets caressing the concern of his face. 

“I smelt the blood,” Astarion informed, his eyes sharp even in the dim of the room. There was no way he'd managed to pick his scent out in a storm like this, but Wyll could tell the man had no patience for arguing. In fact, he looked pretty pissed already. The cloak was tossed into a nearby chair before Astarion began to search crates and sacks for anything of use.

“Lie back,” the pale elf demanded, and Wyll squinted his gaze to see the loose thread of fabric and a needle. His fingers lifted momentarily from his side before he found a soft sack to lean against, much too aware of the way his friend looked ready to burst with his own rage. His head hit the wall as Astarion procured a bottle from a back room,” Drink this. While you won’t bleed to death, your wound is long enough to merit stitches until I can get you home.”

  Wyll could be so stupid. It was not only anger that lit Astarion’s movements, and as he took a few long swings of the warm wine found the man was unable to keep his gaze. Astarion lifted the man’s fingers from his wound and sighed in relief, though his chest lie still with his refusal to take a breath. Blood. Gods, even having had a drink recently, had it been enough? Wasn't the compulsion and obsession to drink more prominent than any other desire for those cursed with Vampirism? If it was, Astarion deserved a reward for the level of control he retained.

  “The being that did this,” Astarion muttered low,” Tell me they're dead.”

His long fingers hovered with the bottle over Wyll’s wounds and then very carefully, he poured a trickle towards the open flesh and Wyll held back a hiss of pain.

“He’s dead,” Wyll breathed out with closed eyes, at least until he felt the wine bottle in hand once again. He was no stranger to medical attention from those who knew only the skill of a needle and precise hands, but something about Astarion’s aura kept him from falling into the emptiness of his head, even as he let the pain sink like a knot into the warmth of his stomach. He caught only a moment’s glance as his friend set to cleaning the needle, noticing the tightness of his brows, the straight line of his shoulders.

  “Shame,” Astarion bent over him, and though he felt the prodding of his works with the used end of his equipment, Wyll kept his face turned towards the boarded window,” I would have liked to kill him myself. What happened anyway? You're becoming quite the impulsive person darling.”

“Nightmares,” Wyll admitted, though the strange woman involved, he’d keep a secret for now. Even if she'd somehow encouraged him to seek out Julian, it had only been the remnants of a dream, a lure of his own subconscious.

“I kept seeing you… between those men-” he caught his breath, his fingers clenching to fist against his thigh as Astarion pushed the needle through again,” I acted without thinking.”

   Astarion stilled, his head tilted to the side,” Which one?”

He asked like it mattered, so Wyll answered without a moment’s hesitation.

“The red head.”

“Ha!” Astarion clipped the end of the makeshift stitch, his eyes glimmering with a very pleased notion ”Serves him right. Oh, I do wish you'd invite me the next time you decide to take vengeance for my sake.”

  Astarion had every right to be relieved, but Wyll would remain with his guilt, not for the man, but for his own belief that he should have wielded his blade differently. His father had taught him of honor and- he downed more of the wine when he thought, not even what he'd been taught had been practiced by the teacher. 

~•~

  It had been impulsive indeed, and he'd have to make certain Wyll kept cautious when dealing with any other men if they wanted to keep Cazador's paranoia from wreaking anymore havoc than he already had. It was nice though, to null the sting of his own fear, that he'd somehow ruined things between them. Wyll had murdered one of the men he'd often spent imagining killing himself. It was every reason to celebrate, aside from the sadness laced with the vintage wine on Wyll's tongue. 

  "I don't..." Wyll took in a deep breath as Astarion settled at his side," This isn't me. I want to end Cazador, but I fear I'll lose myself in the process, if I'm not careful."

"Don't tell me you feel guilty for him."

The recognition of it had Astarion angry all over again. What was it with good men who sought to torture themselves? He swallowed a painful lump in his throat, though the dryness of thirst surrounded by the coveted warmth would not cease, not even as he tried to drown it with the bitter taste of old wine. His lips twisted into a vicious scowl when he found Wyll was lost to whatever thought that had taken hold.

"Don't be stupid, Wyll," he said, a sharpness taking hold to his tone, even though it was brought on by another wave of desperation," You put down a monster, human or not. That man has done more than you could imagine."

   "I guess you're right," Wyll murmured, his dark brown eyes searching for something in Astarion's face. He lowered his head eventually to examine his wound," I only hope that I don't become one of those monsters in the end."

What was Astarion to do? If he brought forth the countless details in contrast of the two men, Wyll would only be left in a worse state. He clearly didn't know how to ignore pain that wasn't his own. Everyone had flaws, but Wyll thought to hold responsibility for qualities unfound which was beginning to really piss the vampire off.

   Astarion hovered over his bare chest, and then with a very stern look, cupped his cheek in his cold hand," Look at me," he demanded, though he didn't bother raising his voice when the man was already prone to obey. The red of his eyes penetrated Wyll's, but he remained gentle with his touch," Men do monstrous things, but you- not you. You have only ever showed me kindness, and I won't sit here and allow you to punish yourself for something I would have done a thousand times over if I'd been capable."

"Astarion-"

"Shut up," he whispered, his thumb caressed the skin of Wyll's cheek, and without thinking he pulled himself closer to the man's side, until his forehead rest against his," None of this. I need you to stay with me Wyll. I can't do this by myself."

  While he knew his intentions were nothing more than to release Wyll from his defeated state, there was his own self-preservation that manipulated the placement of words, the urgency in which he pleaded. He'd only realized it when Wyll was struck from his thoughts to view Astarion with a wide-eyed gaze as if he'd hurt the vampire by merely listening. It was the truth though. Astarion couldn't do anything alone, and despite his skill for persuading men with his charm, he could not force Wyll to remain in the same grasp of his master. If he left now, he might even still have time-

“I would never leave you,” Wyll whispered, and he lifted his head slightly, until Astarion could feel the heat of his breath, smell the wine coating his resolve,” I made a promise to end your suffering, and I will. These moments of weakness mean nothing in the end. My blade will cut the ties Cazador has over you, and then we'll kill him together.”

   Together. His half-wounded prince charming, cast in the lightning like a god, dark skin drenched in sweat, blood that lingered like the most tempting treat, seemed unreal in that moment. He was so damn righteous and kind, not an evil bone in his body, not a cruelty to be enacted despite the fact Astarion was still playing him to his liking. It didn't matter he felt something similar to adoration for the man, because when it came down to it, Astarion needed him. He wouldn't ruin his only source of protection by doing something stupid like pressing boundaries he wasn't even aware of just yet. 

   Except Astarion was selfish. While he didn't want to be tainted by another memory unrepressed as he offered himself to his savior, it was something entirely different to press forth to feel the relief that seeped into the depths of his body when Wyll returned his kiss. It was a confirmation more than it was meant to explore. Every movement that offered an exchange of power, every delicate brush of Wyll’s fingers through his curls- the way his tongue proceeded only after Astarion chased it, embedded a sense of safety and assurance, even in the midst of the gods-forsaken storm. 

   He pulled away, only to drop his head to the nape of Wyll’s neck, cautious to not lean up against the wound of his side. There was so much that might break Wyll. What would he say when he'd learned just how guilty Astarion was? The endless list of victims, the innocent people he'd betrayed, Ulder Ravengard…

“The storm,” Wyll whispered, and when Astarion lifted his head he found the single line of light cast from the moon ripped away from its imprisonment of clouds. The rain died down to something more soothing, though every few moments the thunder called out for those still hiding to bare witness to its strength.

   When Wyll was healed and they were both in dry clothing, Astarion couldn't help but mull over Wyll's reaction. He'd been so distraught for the bastard, even when Astarion asked if he regretted it as they lied still in bed, and Wyll had informed him he'd do it again, just differently.

What the hells did that mean? How could someone be so forthcoming and yet remain a complete mystery? If Astarion didn't know any better, he'd say he was the one being played. It would only make sense. He'd once believed everything Ulder had said, the same promises of a better life by a noble hand, only to be tossed aside when Astarion was no longer convenient. What would Wyll think? That Astarion had been his father's personal whore the months he'd spent away from home?

  "I'm sorry," Wyll said into the dark room," that I didn't leave a note."

No. Wyll was not his father. If Astarion chose to believe in one thing completely, despite the risk of being shattered until he could no longer be fixed, he wanted it to be Wyll. 

"I thought it was because I did something wrong," Astarion admitted, trying to make it sound more like a joke.

Of course, he saw right through it. The bed shifted with Wyll's weight as he turned on his side, a hand stretched out to Astarion's face. His thumb smoothed along his cheekbone, a very fond glint to his gaze.

"Not in the realm of possibilities," Wyll told.

  Astarion turned his head away from his touch with a scoff," Are you saying I am incapable of doing anything wrong? Because that's naive."

"No," Wyll mended," I meant only that there is nothing you could do that would make me regret helping you."

"Yet," Astarion reminded.

~•~

   There were no amount of words that Wyll could use to encompass how he truly felt about Astarion and their situation. It ran heavier than duty, but to call it just a budding friendship would be a great disrespect to the moments they allowed for lingering touches, whispers through the day when the curtains dimmed the room and they fought the need to rest. Of course they were friends, but he'd not once considered holding any of the group the way he did now. His arm was thrown back against a pillow, Astarion curled into his side as he finished picking apart the contract with only a lit candle on the side table for light.

“What does it say?” he wondered, and he squinted in attempt to find any meaning when the pale-curled elf tossed the file to their feet.

“Tonight I'll have a more conclusive answer for everyone, but for now,” he turned slightly, fingers trailing along the fabric of Wyll’s stomach,” I think you're in need of rest. Don't argue with me either.”

  How could he rest now? If it wasn't the after-party collecting like a parasite in his mind to steal his comfort, it was the sense of something else malevolent, the endless possibilities of how he could make matters worse.

   His father could put a stop to this. Months ago he wouldn't have even thought about it. Courage. Insight. Strategy. Justice. The four pillars of power, the pillars his father had rejected out of grief. How could he have allowed this monster to hold so much control?

If he'd only sit down and listen to Astarion's story with an open heart, then none of this had to continue.

"Wyll," Astarion murmured low, his face a mere inches from his own. Lately, Wyll had noticed the mask that Astarion often wore cracking beneath the moments they shared. His long pale fingers clutched to his night shirt, and with a soft breath he whispered," It worries me that you haven't been sleeping. Please, if not for yourself- then for me."

  The request was voiced with such tenderness that Wyll would think himself a monster if he denied it. He tried to relax his body as Astarion shifted, an arm thrown over his side with such ease that it warmed Wyll. He wanted this. He wanted whatever Astarion had to offer for however long he desired. If the man should leave after being saved from Cazador, Wyll would let him go without a moment's hesitation, but he'd be doing it with a broken heart.

  "Good night," Astarion whispered, a delighted grin crossing his features," You must stop looking at me at like that before I take advantage.”

Wyll blinked, only then realizing the devotion of his gaze. Something about it seemed to both please and irk the man, who pulled away from his embrace completely to lie on his side of the bed. Charm drenched his words as he offered a coy grin," I'll stop being a distraction now. Go on, I think I'll read some more."

  "You fell asleep last time," Wyll informed, while he meant to ease his worries, he wasn't exactly ready to close his eyes just yet. He raised his gaze to the ceiling, a soft grin on his lips," I thought it was a trance, but you were dreaming."

He didn't speak the words lingering in the air between them. Elves didn't often choose to sleep, not when they could trance and meditate on the world around them, safe and still aware. He'd probably been dead tired, but it said a lot that he felt it was something possible for him in Wyll's presence should he choose it. 

"I won't leave before you wake again," Wyll said suddenly, worried that his disappearance might hinder Astarion's desire to do it again. While elves didn't need sleep, sometimes it was nice to dream a world that didn't need to make sense. There was plenty time to meditate on one's life, but not nearly enough to truly rest. 

  When he turned to look to Astarion, the man had his brows scrunched up with a slight frustration. 

"Good. I was livid. My clothes were drenched, I had to stand through an interrogation because your friends think I'm using my charm to manipulate you into killing Cazador-" he stopped, and then with a sigh he offered Wyll half of a shrug," Alright, well, that sounds a lot like me; but I can't help it if I'm charismatic. Do they want me to downplay my entire personality?"

Wyll chuckled," I'll make up for it. You can have a night of your choosing when we've finished speaking to the group, whatever you want.”

  Astarion raised a brow, a dangerous and coy glint to his gaze," Are you so sure you can uphold a promise like that, just knowing what it is I could do with it?"

   Wyll swallowed the words that would have gotten tangled on his tongue anyways. He imagined the things Astarion might have meant, and part of him wondered if he should have just gone to sleep when he'd first been asked. It felt, despite the places he'd already touched, that every new sensation brought forth by the innocent strokes of Astarion’s fingers against his arm were more than anything he'd read of in novels.

  “I trust you,” Wyll said in a whisper, and with great reverence did he take the hand caressing his skin in his own.

Astarion eyed him in alert, a tightness to his expression that faltered at his own words, though his hand remained in the loose embrace, and with furrowed brows he lowered his head to their intertwined fingers.

“Fine, since you're so adamant, but don't say I didn't warn you.”

Chapter Text

  The day bled out like a most intricate series of tests to Astarion's own created apathy. He didn't trance, he didn't try to find the strange allure of sleep. He found that he didn't need to meditate in order for his past to find him, even as he fought so vigilantly to study the details in Wyll's face, to find comfort in the soft breaths, incomprehensible words muttered in the midst of dreams. Of all bloody things to think of, Ulder Ravengard came like a cold shadow to steal his undeserved warmth. 

  He remembered his master's words, an offering to a grieving man who had only just began to realize the creature Cazador was and he remembered the last night, tucked away in a special room for Ulder's privacy, something that Wyll had only ever been offered after it was too late. He'd spent four months, back and forth between searching for marks, playing servant to those of the after parties, and distracting the man who'd once spoke against the marks left on unhealed skin. 

  Ulder had seemed hesitant at first, about using Astarion; but Cazador knew the most productive ways in turning a man's soul. While he'd been the most gentle of his men, and even offered the slightest words of attempted companionship, Astarion had only just began to realize that none of it mattered. The moments he'd once considered a reprieve were still forced. Perhaps he'd thought he was doing Astarion a favor with his countless statements of buying him out from Cazador, if only to please the elf into a more subservient position.

  "I will inform Cazador that I don't like to see you marked. I've never been one to find any desire for his little parties. While your situation isn't the most pleasant, I'd like to think while you remain in my service that it provides some relief."

Astarion had actually been grateful then. He'd allowed his own delusions and desperation to cloud his judgement of the man. It sickened him, but he'd only lounged bare in the sheets, even offering the man his shirt when he turned to dress.

"How noble," he mused," but you keep complaining about making your way to the palace, and you’ve still yet to consider offering a price for me.” 

  He had been able to talk to Ulder in this way. While the man had kept his identity a secret, he knew from his stature alone he was someone important, someone who had the power to uphold his past promises. The man had no issue with his dramatic phrases, his overall cynical thoughts that came out impulsively. In fact, he sometimes even encouraged it. Maybe it was the guilt gnawing away at him, though even that seemed like a passing notion. The Grand Duke obviously didn't give a shit about any of the spawn. 

  “While I enjoy your company, I have to consider how someone of my position might be viewed, taking you as my own,” Ulder finished putting on his boots and offered him a contemplative furrow of his brows,” I will find a solution, preferably someone who has no desire to be as rough as the others.”

Or you could kill Cazador, Astarion thought with a huff.

“Astarion, I promise you that I will try. If it weren't for my son-”

“Positions. Family. All bullshit when you look close enough,” Astarion spat with frustration, which Ulder allowed with the slightest of tension to his shoulders. “Whatever, do as you see fit. I'll be here, your dirty little secret, confined by nothing more than your fear of Cazador.”

“I don't fear him.”

Astarion trailed across the bed to his side with a dark, unapologetic stare,” Then prove it.”

   Astarion narrowed his gaze, his fingers digging into the pale skin of his arm as he imagined stripping both the duke and vampire lord of their power. If it hadn't been for Wyll, Ulder and Cazador would still be passing him around as a means to bargain political desires. It wasn't so different from their situation now, except for Wyll, who meant every word, who'd never once taken what hadn't been willingly given. 

Wyll would always be a better man than his father, if only he could see that himself. 

  Someone cleared their throat, and Astarion blinked with very little  concern for those waiting. Gale propped a hand up under his chin, though his gaze lingered on the closed file across the library table as the others ceded in their small talk. Gods, he was tired, but not in a way he felt had a solution.

"Sorry," he offered," I was waiting for one of you to accuse me of stealing Wyll's virtue before we started."

"I just had to make certain," Shadowheart informed from the far end. While he didn't blame her, it was kind of nice to see her bothered by her own actions. For once, Astarion was not the one who needed to apologize.

  Wyll rubbed the bridge of his nose and let a sigh escape the scowl of his lips," We don't interrogate the people we're trying to help."

"Not normally," Karlach added.

Astarion loved her. She was loud, and even when she was sitting down seemed unable to keep still, but she said things like "pretty boy" and smiled at him in ways that only ever seemed to be a way to reassure him. It was easy to see why Wyll considered her a sister. She had a heart as big as his, and fortunately that heart wanted to protect him from anyone who might doubt his intentions.

   "Moving on to more pressing matters," Gale said with a raised hand," If that's alright."

"Please," Wyll said under his breath.

"Alright, Astarion, the awaited contract if you will."

  Ulder would definitely have noticed by now that it was missing, but he wasn't stupid. He either didn't want to face Astarion again, or he was waiting for the right time. It was strange the man had yet to be seen since their last conversation, though he always did say he was a very busy man. 

"Ulder's name is written plain as day in these agreements, but not once is Cazador's," he informed, and this time he allowed Gale to take it in hand, perhaps to find a more defined understanding of it's contents." He already has an address, and he seems to be interested in using an outside force to gather materials. There's titles, some more innocent than others, but-"

"He's using the duke to bypass the laws on forbidden items and it appears some very dark history," Gale shuffled through the papers with a squinted gaze," Under the guise of a library, no one would blink if the duke decided to sign off on the import of anything really. Education can be found in the deepest of shadows."

  Wyll tilted his head," I don't understand. What exactly does Cazador want from this?"

"Power, my love," Astarion said with a sigh," It's always about power. This is just another way for him to steal it without being caught. Imagine all the things he could learn now that he has the blessings of the grand duke."

" I imagine having a wizard who knows plenty on the subject might be of aid," Shadowheart added as she leaned forward to search the names of scrolls Cazador already wanted implemented. "Though... I wonder what use he has for you, Wyll."

"Oh yeah," Tav said, pulling himself closer to the table," What the hells was Astarion going on about? You're working for him now?"

   Both Wyll and Astarion ignored the look Karlach sent, like she might burst into fire from her frustrations alone. Gale, at least, didn't seem surprised in the least.

"Are you kidding me? When did this happen?"

"It's nothing," Wyll said, such a terrible liar compared to Astarion. Good. That meant he didn't have the practice. At least his friends knew well enough not to hurl their own thoughts on the subject. They sensed Wyll's struggle and offered him the silence he needed to continue. "He says I have some time before he means to call for me, and until then I think it's best we remember our hands remain tied until we're for certain Astarion and his siblings aren't harmed in the process of us fighting him."

  "I'll have plenty of resources to determine what I can of our predicament soon," Gale offered Astarion a knowing grin." Don't worry yourself, I'll have you untethered from Cazador faster than the seasons change."

"And... the guests that support him?" Shadowheart inquired.

Well, as much as Astarion enjoyed the idea of Wyll cutting their throats one by one, he didn't think it was wise, or that Wyll would be capable of such a gruesome hobby. He had mentioned a plan before running off in the night to kill Julian, so he turned his head and waited for Wyll to fill them all in.

The man bit the edge of his lip, and then very carefully he explained his idea. "I thought to bring the names to my father. He would be capable of-"

   Astarion threw a hand over his lips as a laugh of utter disbelief escaped. The entire table lifted their heads to him, though he only felt Wyll like a razor blade. 

"I'm sorry," he offered," It's just... I heard what he said to you. Your father is the last person we can trust to take care of them." Amongst other things that he'd die before mentioning. It was annoying how badly Wyll needed for his father to be the man he thought he knew, but he was allowed this. Astarion might not have had patience for anyone else who brought emotions into this rather delicate time, but for Wyll he would try. 

"If he truly listened he would," Wyll said with such certainty it was sad," If my father spoke with you, he would see the truth. His grief cannot be a crutch any longer. He will either lead this city into safety, or I will have to do it myself." 

Wyll Ravengard, in charge of a city. Astarion couldn't think of a better person, and with great apprehension he realized Cazador thought the same thing. Whatever his master had been attempting to build with Ulder had ceased the moment Wyll walked through the Palace doors. It was obvious enough. Wyll was easier to control, and he'd continue to be for however long Astarion remained alive, or freed, he supposed- if that was on the table still. 

   ~•~

  This wasn't just about the spawns. While Wyll’s main motivation was to keep Astarion from further harm, he was going to stop it all. Why did a drunk without a family mean any less than that of a noble? His father was working in ways he hadn't ever considered the man to be capable, but there was goodness in his heart. He knew. He'd seen it in the way he loved his mother, and the lessons he'd taught Wyll as a child. He just needed to know how to reach him again, before it was too late.

  "Just give me some time," Wyll said," For now, I'll write a list of the guests and we can all keep our eyes open for anything that might be a weakness. Gale-"

"Yes," Gale answered, quite enthused," I'll continue with my research. Tara suggests I look into the curse as a whole, though I am interested in learning from the source itself."

He set his gaze on Astarion, who took a moment to realize the lapse in conversation, because he'd been checking his nails. 

"Hm?"

 That night, he truly hoped that Astarion chose something that he would enjoy, even if it was a little more than Wyll might be used too. After answering any of Gale's questions, he'd definitely need something to relax. 

"Let's say, that Cazador told you to-"

"Eat a wizard?" Astarion offered. Karlach chuckled at that one, which had the elf smirking in delight. 

  "Alright, sure. He told you to eat a wizard that you really liked," Gale painted the story with a wave of his hands," He's used his control over you, but you try to fight it. What happens? Be as descriptive as necessary, it will help."

Astarion took in a short breath as his lips twisted into a scowl. He averted his gaze from the other's that watched, and Wyll couldn't help but be curious himself. He only knew what he'd read, and the little his friend had offered. 

"Ugh," Astarion rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest," I don't know. It doesn't exactly work like that. A spawn doesn't try to fight anything," he turned his head with a sneer," They just obey."

  “That makes things a little difficult, but I have hope that something will turn up,” Gale offered him a warm smile, though it seemed lost on the man who'd immediately reverted back into the shell of his own annoyance,” I might have a few solutions, but give me some time to get in contact with an old friend.”

"Please tell me you don't mean Elminster-"

Shadowheart's complaints and Tav's shared story of stolen cheese and wine receded into the back of Wyll's mind. While it was still early in the evening, he feared his pale friend's patience might wear itself thin before they even decided what was in store for the night. There was enough worry to go around, but Astarion was safe for now and they had what might eventually be a plan in the midst. If anyone could figure out a way to get past a vampire lord's control of their spawn, it was Gale.

   Astarion still didn't believe him, even after another thirty minutes of Gale offering the knowledge he did have about breaking curses or bonds. He was still going on about it when everyone decided to call it a night, aside from the two that lived in it now. Wyll didn't mind the darkness. There was beauty in the life that found it's way through, the drunkards hanging on by mere luck as they told stories of great adventures, the children that fought their parent's calling for supper in the street, and the innkeepers, sweeping away the dust of their customer's shoes from the worn rugs. 

"Gods, he really thinks he's something, doesn't he?"

  Wyll bit back a grin, stopping in his tracks to consider the perturbed beauty. 

"Is this what you would like to do all night then?" Wyll found that he too could play with his words, a sudden bout of confidence filling him enough he didn't worry about how Astarion might get him back later. "I will go along with absolutely anything you'd like, but I hadn't thought it would be to speak about Gale. If I didn't know any better, I'd say you have a crush on the man."

Astarion blinked repeatedly, his face a mere blank canvas. He took a moment, and with the familiar glint of excitement in his narrowed gaze leaned forward to poke a finger to his chest," Okay Ravengard," he actually sounded a little proud," Let's get on with it then. You have to do every single thing I want until sunrise."

  Wyll set his sights to the armor hanging amongst the wall of a blacksmith, his large hands sharpening a blade with a whetstone. He gestured to the area with his head, a small smile revealing what he already had planned,” After I give you something.”

“Well,” Astarion combed his fingers through his curls with a sigh,” I can hardly say no to being spoiled.”

  His hand curled around Wyll's arm, and while the crowd dissipated with each of their own lives, he heard the slight whispers as they passed. The son of the grand duke with not a noble at his side, but an elf with such ethereal beauty that it made no difference. He'd always been a free man in these regards, but it was nice that everyone else, while surprised by the display upon recognizing him, seemed to find it nothing more than news. Astarion didn't seem to mind either. 

  "I do love being the center of attention," the man whispered with a coy grin, though his sights set themselves on the sharpened blades of the shop, and he faltered for a moment, like he had yet to prepare another line for the way the blacksmith turned to greet them.

"Oh, if it isn't Wyll Ravengard and-" The large man grinned wide with all his teeth,” Astarion, was it? Karlach and Dammon have been gossiping about you two.”

  Gods.

Wyll figured it was less gossip than her inability to whisper. While the man tucked away the blade he'd just finished onto a rack, Wyll took the moment to look to Astarion. His red eyes scanned the table before them, too enraptured in the intricate designs of daggers and short swords to pay them much mind. He was brought back to the playful tone of his words in requesting daggers and drow armor, which Wyll wasn't certain where he'd find in town or if he'd even been serious. 

“Looking to buy then?”

Astarion lifted his head. The smile that fought him held such a tender confusion that Wyll thought he'd buy him anything. He'd buy him everything the man owned if he wished. He realized that despite Astarion’s outspoken nature, he wasn't one to take control of a situation unless it seemed necessary. 

  “If he finds something he likes,” Wyll answered for him.

“I-” Astarion huffed a little, though he reached forward to take a dagger, the hilt matching the crimson of his gaze, the slender blade sharp and polished. It was a weapon for those that knew the weight of their own foot and the full control and grace of movements rendered only in complete silence. It was a weapon Astarion would wield with ease. Wyll wondered if he'd ever fought before, even if only for the sake of doing so.

“This one feels nice,” Astarion maneuvered around the dagger like he'd held it thousands of times before, and Wyll could not help but watch him with a great fondness. He'd love to practice with him, just to see how he'd use it in battle, and if it would hold as much grace as he did everything else.

  “Oh that,” the blacksmith pointed with a gleam in his eyes,” Just finished working with that one. Got it down in Rivington as a special order.”

"I would like it," Astarion said slow, as if he wasn't certain they were the right words.

It wasn't surprising that Astarion appeared to be out of his element. Wyll, from what he'd picked up on desperately trying to get to know the man, learned that it was not the darkness he feared, nor the cruelty of his master or his friends. Those things were expected, engraved into his being like a deep scar. It was the light that frightened the man, the words of affection he hid from with another coy line, the sultry words offered in attempt to conceal his desire for something more caring, and the distant look he had when met with his gift.

  Wyll offered him a warm smile and gestured to the blacksmith to give him a price. His heart had to have given him away. He didn't want Astarion to feel cornered by his emotions, so he tried to make the idea appear nothing more than a casual exchange and not something so special to Wyll, that he could gift the man an item he might cherish.

~•~

  Astarion knew he wouldn't be able to keep the gift in the end, but he enjoyed the way it felt at his side, and the way prince charming looked mesmerized by him even after clearly being caught. Wyll was someone he'd misjudged. While he didn't understand a lot of how the world worked because of his youth, he knew more about himself than anyone else he'd ever met could claim. 

"Perhaps I should show you how to use it," Wyll suggested as they continued their slow walk towards the taverns and inns of the city. It was a lively night, but Astarion didn't mind it much now. He'd never really invested the time to observe the scenery, not with Cazador's thirst. It was alright, nothing special. Nothing compared to the way Wyll had more than one person greet him as they passed, only ever managing a respectful nod before giving Astarion his full attention again. Wyll was going to make someone truly happy one day.

  "That's sweet," Astarion commented, though his tone was too light to be taken seriously," that you think I don't know my way around a blade."

In truth, he only meant to lengthen the time until he had to decide what he wished for the night. It's not like he didn't have ideas, and that Wyll hadn't been more than willing to follow. It was just new, deciding things, controlling things. 

"Thank you," he said, before Wyll could muster a response to the slight tease. He wasn't a monster, even if showing his gratitude put him in a tense position. Though, it wasn't like when he bowed before Cazador forced to thank him for his own torture; It was something else entirely. He cleared his throat and turned away the moment he realized how much of a sap Wyll was making him. Gods, this man was affecting him in ways he hadn't been prepared.

  "You're very welcome," Wyll responded, his voice warm, comforting. He was like everything a younger version of himself had dreamt of having. Now, he mostly dreamt of the torture he'd inflict on everyone who had ever hurt him, and anyone who might try too again. And, the night he'd fallen asleep, he'd dreamt of Wyll. 

"Anyways," Astarion turned towards the lanterns that lit up a nice little wine party, and beyond that to the Elfsong Tavern," Now that it's my turn, how do you feel about getting drunk?"

"I don't mind it occasionally, but I'd hate to drink alone," Wyll said, his brows furrowed as he considered the idea," You don't get drunk."

  Oh, he was worried about someone overhearing. Astarion rolled his eyes, because anyone still on the streets were bound to forget everything they heard the next morning. That, and it's not like he was Karlach and didn't know how to whisper. 

"No, but I have a theory I'd like to test now that it's a possibility," Astarion explained, though he didn't need to when it was his choice in the end. Gods, Wyll would regret this. 

Chapter Text

  Wyll had known the taste of the cheapest brandy from the finest wine since the ripe age of fifteen. His father had often encouraged a few nights of less than noble causes, but he'd never been one to desire being so at loss with himself that he stumbled home. He was still trying to make a name for himself, while upholding the duty he had to the people. He could hardly protect those in need if he was nursing a hangover, but Astarion called the shots now, and as soon as they found a more private spot concealed by a thick green curtain, he ordered him three of the most intoxicating drinks.

  Wyll twisted his face with a scowl as he finished half of the first, and Astarion leaned forward against the table with a hand propped up under his chin.

“Keep going, darling.”

“I fail to see how this might be fun for you,” Wyll gulped back another drink, and closed his eyes tight with a frantic shake of the head,” Hells, what did you order me?”

Astarion chuckled,” You can't see how this isn't amusing?”

  Perhaps he was more sadist than he thought. Wyll was not a man to go back on his word, but a small tinge of doubt did cross his mind as he drank bitter acid that burnt like a gyser in his chest. It settled after a moment, until his stomach was comfortably warm and he was having great difficulty in keeping his posture. Astarion watched him like he was witnessing a most enchanting performance.

“How do you feel?” Astarion asked.

“I…” Wyll shrugged, and then he leaned forward with a very telling grin,” I think I feel the best I've ever felt, but also possibly like I might die.”

“Perfect.”

  It was as if Astarion was just there in a single breath. Wyll was certain in his more balanced mind he might have had the time to be surprised, but Astarion’s entire presence consumed him, especially as the man leaned over him to whisper low into his ear,” Can I drink from you?”

Wyll’s body shivered with lightning, the entirety of his veins felt as if they'd rush to the surface only as a means to obey.

He glanced around the room, remembering that they were still in public, even if it was a secluded area. No one would see them through the veil, but what if someone walked in? Even drunk, a vampire was enough to stir trouble. He forgot his worries the moment Astarion raised from his ear to look at him with his worshippable gaze. His face though, while it wasn't upset, it was too formal to be pleased. 

   “It must mean something that Cazador had specific requirements of his meals,” Wyll straightened to the best of his ability, caught off guard that the man was speaking so willingly-” They could be blissfully tipsy, but never so drunk that they lost themselves. I never really questioned it, at least until I tasted your blood.”

“My blood?” 

Astarion lowered into the seat at Wyll’s side, though his hand found a space in the gap between his thighs, and the other ran it’s thumb along his neck in slow circles. He couldn't think. He only knew the sensation, like he’d been struck with bliss of a most merciful god. Astarion tilted his head, watched him,” I thought we could only taste the difference in emotions. I had no idea that we could feel them too.”

  Wyll did not want to think about what emotions he'd experienced whilst offering his blood to him. It was most likely something embarrassing, but right now, he didn't care.

“So…” Wyll arched his neck slightly, a slight smirk rising on his lips,” You want to see if alcohol works the same? Be my guest. My veins are at your command-” 

   “Ugh,” Astarion rolled his eyes, but he was very amused from what Wyll could tell,” Even drunk you're so damn polite.”

What else could Wyll be? Other than wanting for something that he didn't quite understand himself depsite the endless books he'd read, the blood he'd soaked in during battle of beasts, the empty vastness of his soul where his mother had once sang- he could only want for the man who hurt him even now. It wasn't a painful type of wound. It was like an ache, that grasped against each shared part of existence, until it grew warm throughout his body and rose like steam until even his own tongue could taste his desire.

   I want him. 

   Not only to feel skin between his fingertips, or to brush through soft curls until Astarion was gasping with an innocent pleasure; but to hold his mind, to read every word crafted in the valleys and rivers of his being until he knew nothing else. Hells, he was probably staring too long, but he didn't care for shame now and Astarion certainly didn't seem to mind it. His long legs spread out to accompany either side of Wyll's hips and when he lowered completely into Wyll's lap, the man was thrown about like a victim of the sea inside of the moment's feigned clarity. 

  ~•~

  “It’ll be less suspicious should someone decide to interrupt,” Astarion informed, but he knew better than that. He liked the flicker of the man’s gaze as it considered him with his hunger, his horribly raw devotion as he ran his fingers against the fabric concealing the muscle between Wyll’s neck and shoulder. The man was like clay in his hands, and he knew whichever way he should decide to sculpt him that Wyll would only fall limp with his drunken obedience. 

  Astarion could watch him without the urge of time, in this moment, he could brush his thumb along Wyll’s bottom lip, feel the way they parted slightly and the warm breath that steadied despite the frantic heart in his chest. 

Wyll, whose gaze could never be tainted by the cruelty of the world, lingered every second as if awaiting an order. His hand, that often came hesitant, touched Astarion’s side until it grew confident, that his fingers squeezed gently and he arched his neck further back.

“Please,” he whispered.

Please. As if it weren't Astarion taking something, Astarion who needed and needed and not once had anything to offer the man in return but more pain. Wyll was too good, too tempting, like the most pure cloth strewn together by hands of the gods, Astarion wanted to see it painted in blood. He wanted to wear that cloth around his body like armor, until it sunk into his skin, until he could taste Wyll’s essence no matter if he remained at his side. 

  He breathed in Wyll’s scent, pressed an unfamiliar kiss of tenderness and need where his pulse remained the strongest, in the beautiful darkness of his neck. His fangs found their favorite place, and Wyll pulled him in closer by the waist- Maybe I am giving you something after all.

  He bit him, and then he drank his being, clutched his fingers into his shoulder, stifled a soft noise when he felt heat envelop his body both from the sudden shift of Wyll’s hips and his own drunkenness weighing him down. The first time he'd been consumed by the flavors, too much that he barely had time to truly taste what lie beneath. As the liquor coarsed through their exchange, he tasted the innocence of the man like a sweet. Its shell cracked, and out trickled the hot, searing fires of his strength until it diverted like a river, his doubts, his wants, his-

   Astarion pulled away, eyes wide as the last of his trembles died at the edge of his fingertips and he was sedated by a feeling that must have been mortal. This was drunkenness. This was one of the many experiences he'd thought lost to him, and it felt perfect.

  There was a few droplets of blood along Wyll’s clothes, but not enough to warrant attention. Swaying slightly, Astarion licked the wound until it stopped offering its vitality, stained his tongue with its effects, and pulled back, only half aware of what remained on his lips. Wyll stared at him for a long time, and then he leaned forward with a hand still holding him to steal a kiss, one that was willingly taken, and cleaned the remanants of their embrace. 

  The moan that escaped Wyll was not one heated with lust, but something so human and small, that it made Astarion feel like he sat on a throne and tossed aside his riches to the poor who praised him despite the fact everything he had, had been made by the same hands open with gratitude. Astarion didn't want to be worshipped, at least not now when his drink pooled through forgotten veins, and he decided that being worshipped must have been lonely. What Gods knew the mortals under their care? He would remain nothing more than what he was, if only to know Wyll. If that made any sense, he was sure to forget it by the next night when he discovered if vampires could have hangovers.

  Astarion pulled away, because if he spent any longer being held he might forget how to use his own feet. Wyll, still feeling his drink, looked as if he'd lost something the moment Astarion stood. He took the slightest of pity on the man, and his lips curled into a pleasant smile and he offered him his hand,” Come with me. I want to have fun.”

  Fun. It had been such a meaningless word when he thought only of inflicting in reaction to Cazador’s orders, like a penance paid by those innocent, never complete, never full. He let his mind take shelter in his stupor- as they both traveled towards the center of the tavern, and Wyll allowed him to take the lead. He didn't care if he was noticed, because Wyll was all he could find himself. 

  ~•~

  The drunks mingled with themselves, some swayed their hips to a bard half hanging from the bar with a lute cradled lovingly in his arms, others played games scattered about on tables with gold meant to entice the greedy that entered. Astarion kept close to his side, and he wasn't sure if he felt the sway of the floor beneath but he saw the excitement, the smirk of his friend, as they took a seat at a near empty table to greet a man with a deck of playing cards.

   They gambled the gold in Wyll’s pockets, they won round after round until then man curled his cards and bent them, and his accusing gaze struck them like a sword. Astarion was too quick with his fingers, that each time Wyll swore they might lose he found a different face, a King where his ten had been. He bit back a smile and shook his head, thinking that he'd never been the one to cheat, but he certainly would never be the one to watch Astarion lose.

“All in?” Astarion teased the man across them.

“Damn you,” The man grumbled,” Damn you to the hells.”

  More gold was tossed to the center of the table, and Astarion threw his head back with a euphoric laugh, until he was almost out of his seat again, dangerously close to Wyll’s. He'd never seen the man in such a state, that his body was more fluid like water, and his touch was found in almost every moment. He grazed his fingers against Wyll’s thigh, held his arm when more cards were being dealt, rest his head against his shoulder- Wyll would not know the simplicity of a relaxed mind, so long as these offerings remained.

  “This is bullshit!” The table was thrown about, cards and gold scattered to the floor, and the man unsheathed his short sword to point it at his amused friend, who was wild with his joy and snickers.

“Don’t be a poor sport,” he informed the gambling man, except Wyll hadn't the patience to be calm. Drinking invited impulsivity, and his desire to protect Astarion from the slightest of scratch invited his rapier.

  He tilted his head, offering the man a moment to reconsider. Only a moment.

“Cheating bastard! Your friend reeks of it!” The man stammered in absurd curses that followed and then he pointed, just as the others started to stir in a mixtures of curiosity and fascination.

  Astarion lounged back in his chair, unbothered, at least until then man stretched his blade to Wyll in challenge. Just as Wyll caught the clear frustrations of the bartender, Astarion lunged from his seat, kicked the side of the table towards the fuming man and turned, in one swift movement, bringing his dagger to the center of his neck. It had been just as graceful as everything else he did. 

  The man stumbled back in shock, and Wyll, who would rather only his earlier blood to reach the air, very gently pressed a hand along Astarion’s back.

“We’re leaving,” he informed,” Take your gold, my friend and I-”

“Your friend is going to get himself killed,” how the man could still argue despite having a blade so close was a wonder,” You think just cause your father’s the duke I care? I see you-” the man waved a hand to the crowd,” We all see! Your friend can eat my shit!”

   The man toppled back, tripping over the leg of the table, when Wyll had heard enough, thought that Astarion was supposed to be having fun- and punched the man so hard that a tooth flew out and landed amongst the cards. Someone hollered in excitement, and then a clash of glass ignited and the sudden brawl that answered had the two friends staring at another in disbelief. 

   The drunk grumbled, holding his bleeding mouth, but there was too much commotion. People had thought in their bliss that it would be a lost opportunity not to strangle the man closest. Astarion pulled Wyll from the mess with a hand to his arm, struggling only when two men hit the back of another table in their path. When they met with the light of the moon, in the same back alley they’d met, they fell back against the wall and shared a look, and then a most amused bout of boozed laughter.

  Wyll’s knuckles tensed as he folded his fingers into his palm, a slight pain radiating where he'd met with the man’s jaw. He could barely focus on what had even started the brawl, not when Astarion looked as if he was having the time of his life. He put a hand to his own knees and huffed with a wide grin,” Well, I'd hate to say that was unexpected…” 

~•~

  It was like baring the heat of the sun again, the warmth of his body, the ease of his movements. He had no thoughts of paranoia, nor did he feel like holding onto the armor that had only grown heavy in his isolation. He wanted this. He wanted to get drunk and hold onto Wyll’s arm as they stumbled through the empty streets, and he wanted his smile to linger so that even when he left Astarion would remember. 

  “ Did I mention how proud I am of you?” Astarion felt his cheek plant itself against Wyll’s arm as they reached the bank of a small pond. It was just outside the gates, where hills met long grass and trees cast their blooms of vivid oranges and reds in the gentle breeze. Astarion hadn't ever ventured too far from the lower city, and hadn't realized the coat of stars on the dark canvas, illuminated by the glowing rock above. 

“Proud?” Wyll scoffed all in good manner,” There’s a word.”

  They both nearly slipped, and Wyll cast his hand out to grab Astarion by his side with haste. A few rocks tumbled into the water, but their feet remained firm, and their gaze fixated on each other. 

“Didn't know you had it in you.”

Wyll still had his hand on his waist.

“Oh? The uh- the punch?”

   The thing about being full of liquior is that it not only brought on bouts of impulsiveness, but it dissolved any barrier concealing the truth. Astarion had forgotten that, had only seen drunk men and women desire one thing- and it surprised him now to see nothing but the innocence of joy, the adoration he had, the nervousness when Wyll had to think in order to answer.

“It felt good,” Wyll admitted, and his gaze lowered until they found Astarion’s lips. The man swallowed, his breaths short, and just as Astarion thought he might lean in for a kiss, tore himself back with a smirk, and pulled his shirt from his head.

“Oh?”

“I used to swim here all the time as a kid,” except his words mumbled together, half of them strewn about like a man deranged as he began pulling off his shoes. Astarion could only raise a brow, mesmerized by the muscles of his shoulders as he turned, the curves and edges of his hips. He began to take his pants off and looked to Astarion from over his shoulder,” Aren’t you coming?”

  “You must be more pissed than me if you think-” Astarion lowered the finger he'd raised with furrowed brows,” I don't even know if I can swim.”

He hadn't really given it much thought. Maybe he'd even enjoyed it as a mortal, but now he grew a bit anxious imagining himself drown on such a night.

“I won’t take you far enough you can't stand,” Wyll offered, though concern was obvious in those pretty brown eyes. He took his hand and squeezed, and even half sedated there was a heaviness to his promise that made the excitement of Astarion’s drunkenness invite the most sudden of needs. 

   He took his hand back and stripped down to his underwear, handing over his clothes when Wyll held out a hand. It wasn't a cold night, but the warmth of Wyll’s blood did little to shelter him from the growing breeze. That must have been a mortal thing, a confused mind telling him that he could feel any less cold than when he was starved. It felt nice, the shivers of his skin, the slight twitch of muscle as he tried to keep from reacting to the temperature. 

  Wyll put their clothes on a smooth place by the bank, and he noticed with a small smile that he didn't allow any of Astarion’s clothing to touch the ground. Prince Charming was still charming even if he moved about like he was just learning how to walk. Granted, the bank grew a little steep where the grass met the loose dirt, water spilt over lower parts.

“Astarion,” Wyll had his hand out. 

Nothing could have prepared him for the water. Thoughts. Feelings. Sensations. He thought of the way he leant on Wyll to get across, the sturdiness of his being despite the fact he was struggling himself. He thought of the shrieking pores of his skin when they were stabbed with the sharp cold. “Shit! Shit-” He laughed despite it, clinging to Wyll’s arm as if he could steal what warmth he had. 

  “Maybe this was a bad idea,” Wyll said, and Astarion gawked at him. 

“You can swim right?” He asked.

“Of cour-”

He made a large splash when he landed into the water, and Astarion dropped his hands the moment the man resurfaced with a splatter of waves.

”Hey!”

Laughter. Gasps. A cold hand stretched out to him, but the vampire considered himself and the horrid frenzy of sharpness that kissed the flesh of his waist. He took in a deep breath, shivering as he lowered- lowered until he was engulfed and a hand had reached his arm, droplets of water cascading down the handsome face before him.

  It lightened his heated drunkenness, though he still felt the ease of his movements as his muscles tensed underneath the shocking blanket of water. He closed his eyes as his body settled, reached for Wyll’s shoulder as he opened them, and thought that the man looked inviting in ways he didn’t have words for.

He furled the thought away just as he splashed a good amount trying to settle his feet on the ground below. It was like being a child again, even if he couldn’t remember, the way he bore the excitement of their absurdity, the laughter that followed as they crept further in to the depths. 

  “See,” Wyll said with a doting whisper,” S’not so bad.”

”Pft,” Astarion shoved at his chest playfully, but the man caught at his wrist, a loose hold he could easily get out of if he should ever want too.

   His body felt like his own, and the breaths that Wyll released felt like an offering. Astarion mindlessly allowed it, whatever it was that he was allowing, whatever this was called. Wyll’s thumb darted across his wrist, the other traveling very slow to his waist. Waiting. For what? Permission?

Astarion would give him anything now. 

“Astarion,” Say my name. Gods, when you say it, it almost sounds like art. “You’re so beautiful.”

  He’d been called so many things. Spawn, whore, defiant, sinful- but never beautiful. He hoped that he remember it exactly as it had been said, that it would engrave itself so deep into his being he believed it. 

“Beautiful,” Wyll repeated, entranced by their embrace, and the way their legs met in the cold to brush up against another.

  Astarion raised his head, felt the fingers that parted his curls and then lingered on the wetness of his cheek. What had his life been like before meeting Wyll? It wasn’t so long ago, but he couldn’t remember those things now. He only knew his tenderness, his breath as he leaned closer, the time that spread before them until Astarion realized it was up to him to break the distance. 

He did. He gasped into Wyll’s mouth when their bodies collided, and like drinking his being he experienced him. His wet lips caressed his own, his fingers trembled as they came to hold the back of Astarion’s head with great reverence. Reality did not belong in the arms of this man, nor the bliss in his body that shoved them forward until the water pooled around their shoulders- but he took it, because he wanted it and it felt so damn good that he didn’t even realize how he reacted.

   He didn’t realize that his leg raised to half straddle the man’s waist, that he was caressing every muscle of his stomach, his chest, his face. Wyll’s hands had no desire to still either, and they tangled through curls, felt the dip between his shoulder blades, the band of his underwear where it clung to his hips.

It felt good, right, safe-

Horrid, wrong, dangerous.

Not every night could he pretend, especially when he’d only healed from Cazador’s punishments the day before. His face couldn’t make the art of a false ecstasy, nor could he gasp and writhe underneath the man sucking at his throat. Ulder shoved him back further into the bed with a heavy sigh, and Astarion kept his head turned towards the wall, thinking that any strength he had left coated itself along the blood of Godey’s wall. 

“Why are you being difficult?” The man asked.

Nothing. Astarion only remembered the rusted nails that had split his arm as they’d been dragged further to his elbow, until there was only space between his muscle, bones drenched in the juices of putrid rat blood that filtered through veins. He might have been healed, but he still felt Godey’s bones, the way they pulled and tore, squelched with the ruined flesh, until Astarion cried like a man in the desperations of a demented worship.

”Wouldn’t you rather be here? With me? I took you from those parties- would you rather go back?”

”No,” Astarion said, and he blinked, repeatedly, until he was certain his cheeks would remain dry. His master had taken him as he was, told him he’d feed him his leftover skin if he wasn’t grateful. He couldn’t, he was trying so hard to fall into the space, but he couldn’t. 

  Ulder heaved out another sigh and pulled him by the waist,” I am not like my men. I’d rather you look as if you were enjoying it-“

”Please,” Astarion pleaded. He didn’t want to pretend, it was so much worse when he had to accept it, had to make it look like he wanted nothing more. He parted his legs, kept his head on the pillow, away from Ulder. 

“Fine, have it your way-“ Ulder snapped his belt from his trousers, stopped for a moment- because Astarion had forgotten. “Your stomach,” he reminded.

  Ulder couldn’t fuck him and look at his face.

  His face, the face Ulder’s son held with such gentleness that when he was pulled from the sudden memory he wondered if his tears could be mistaken as water. His entire body went stiff, and immediately Wyll pulled back to scan him with worry, and his eyes widened when he saw his distress. 

  “I’m so sorry-“

”No,” Astarion shook his head, pulled away to turn and wipe his tears. Where was the warmth of his drink now? It only tore away at his shelter inside his mind, for Wyll to see him ugly and weak, only moments after he’d said such wonderful things,” It’s not you. I just-“ he closed his mouth, forced himself to find a way to calm. 

“Hey,” Wyll didn’t touch him again, but he moved so that he could see Astarion’s face,” It’s okay. You’re okay.”

”I know,” Astarion said, and he shivered from the cold and the mess he’d become. He’d forgotten how delightful it was to drink, and he’d forgotten the sorrows it sought so greedily.

~•~

  Wyll awoke from his stupor the moment he realized Astarion had been clutched by whatever lie heavy in his heart. He didn’t want to touch him, only to bring more discomfort, so he stood there desperate to find words that would ease. 

“It’s not you,” Astarion repeated, and he closed his eyes for a long time, lips moved as if speaking, but words only came again after he met Wyll’s gaze. “I promise it’s not you.”

”Do you want to talk about it?” 

The idea seemed to make matters worse, and Astarion turned until he was making his way to the bank. He fell back on a dry rock, its smooth surface big enough for them both. Wyll only remained in the water long enough to catch the soft plead in his friend’s gaze, the shame caressing his face, and his words,” Sit with me, please.”

  Wyll didn’t rush him to speak. He sat by him, soaked and cold, but more than that concerned. If it had been anyone else, he would have thought perhaps the drinks had been too strong, but he knew Astarion, he knew the pain that enveloped him and he knew that no matter what he would always be incapable of taking it away. 

“I can’t…” Astarion pursed his lips,” I can’t tell you everything I’ve experienced.”

Wyll remained quiet, thinking he needed this. Astarion curled his fingers into the bare flesh of his thigh, growling with frustration,” It’s bullshit. All of it. Two hundred years of nothing but Cazador. When you touch me it feels like I’m waking up, but sometimes it’s just a reminder.”

  Wyll thought his heart might shatter again. He could have killed Julian all over, everyone who’d ever thought to hurt him. This time he didn’t care for being good or right, he just wanted to know that Astarion would never be harmed again. The man threw his head to Wyll’s shoulder, forehead first,” Distract me. Tell me things. I just need to get out of my head.”

So Wyll did.

He talked about the way he’d found the pond with his mother, he spoke about her kindness, the way she’d sing him to sleep, sew the rips in his clothes, scold him for playing with such sharp things at a young age. He spoke until his throat felt dry, of the fruits he’d tasted, the spices of served dishes, the way he’d once been afraid of heights, not because he was worried of falling, but because apart of him always whispered to ‘jump’.

  Astarion listened, eventually calming enough that he smiled gently when Wyll spoke of his favorited blade, the way he’d use it to protect all the land and waters he crossed. Astarion had laughed a little, whispered,” Protecting Baldur’s Gate, my beloved Blade of Frontiers.”

It had slipped, the nickname to tease, but Wyll lowered his face and smiled wide, knowing he’d succeeded his task in easing Astarion’s mind. 

“I like the sound of that,” Wyll said,” The Blade of Frontiers.”

Chapter Text

  Wyll awoke to fingers, tracing soft patterns against his chest, slow, careful. As part of him stirred into reality, he realized they did not falter when the man at his side breathed out a faint good morning. Astarion didn't look away, didn't rush to hide the focused awe in his gaze directed at Wyll's face. There was an understanding, a sanctuary within the time they had, the peace before the storm. Wyll didn't want to think about the moment it would end. Tomorrow would worry about itself, but now, as he turned slightly and his own hand reached to part pale curls, he chose to forget about anything else. 

 He could say good morning and meet the darkness of the sky for as long as he lived. Wyll was at peace with never finding the sun, locked away behind doors if necessary, if only to see the slight curl of a smile against Astarion's lips as he spoke in a whisper.

"You were talking in your sleep."

Wyll's thumb brushed against his cheek, and when it was met with no resistance, he allowed his hand to stay.

"Was I?"

"Mm," Astarion shifted to sit up, and they both lost the temporary warmth of one another's body. Wyll tried his best to not admire the stretch of his body, the perfect pale skin against a flame's light. Astarion leant forward into his space, a smirk taking over," You say interesting things."

“Do I?” Wyll humored him.

  If he spoke of anything it was most likely through his drunken haze. He barely remembered getting home, only the soft comforts of the mattress when he fell back, the laughter that followed when Astarion had laid a coy joke out for his taking. 

Astarion opened his mouth to speak, but a knock came at the door, frantic with authority only his father would enforce. He held his breath, and then he pulled himself from the blankets and tried to find any sense of clarity before frustration filled him.

Hadn't they been interrupted enough? What more could the man want to speak about? Unless it involved helping the spawn, Wyll wouldn't hear it.

"Ah," Astarion sighed, not sounding pleased either," Should-"

"No," Wyll said," I told you that you don't have to hide."

He didn't even bother finding a shirt before trailing to the door, parting it open only enough to catch his father's disdain. He tilted his head, a strange sense of anger coating his tongue.

"Isn't it a bit late?"

His father's face twisted into a scowl, eyes deep with their disappointment.

"I hear you keep different hours," he peered behind him, or as much as the door allowed," Is it true then? The spawn remains here? I thought you'd fancy yourself for a night and be done with him. What in the hells are you doing Wyll?"

  He didn't sound angry, just tired, and by the way of his face, he'd spent nights curled in his office again. Wyll didn’t have it in him to feel sorry for the man, not when he’d been torn away from warmth, not when the man’s disgust was so evident in his tone. 

“Tell me you haven’t…” Ulder leaned forward, glancing back to the hall as if worried someone might hear his whispers,” It’s not like you. You’d never stoop so low as to please yourself without courting, and with him.”

  It struck Wyll then, what his father was asking. While he’d walked in on them sharing affections, his father must have only just now worried that they’d pushed for more physical ways to spend their time. It wasn’t any of his damn business, and the fact he thought to come, to ask such things when Astarion was still in his bed lit a flame of rebellion he’d tasted only a few times before. 

“I could ignore the fact you’ve decided to offer it shelter, but to allow it to taint you-“

”It?” Wyll asked.

His father blinked, take aback by the sudden coldness in his tone.

”What?”

   He couldn’t strike his own father with his hand, but he would inflict with everything else. His words were like a blade he wanted to twist in the man’s flesh, until he was weak and begging for forgiveness, not from Wyll, but from Astarion. He wanted every word to hurt.

”If you’re so privy to my bed manners, then I’ll do you a favor,” he stepped closer, glaring at his father as his fingers clenched against the door’s handle,” I’ve tainted myself in many ways, many times with him. While there was no courting, I assure you we’ll make up for the loss.”

“Wyll!”

”Would you care for more details or is there another reason you’ve sought me out?” Wyll asked, unsure where this power came, this sudden need to see his father kneel. Of course, it was about the man he kept in his room, but never before had he been unable to hinder his sharp words from escaping. Never had he been so close to losing his mind from a mere sentence uttered.

  His father took in a sharp breath, taking a step back.

”What’s happening to you? This isn’t like you. Ever since you met him, you’ve been-“ he struggled for words, and then in defeat let out a frustrated sigh. The man cleared his throat, shaking his head,” I came to inform you I’m taking a trip. There’s been dispute on the borders that need my immediate attention… but, now I’m not sure if leaving is the best-“

”It’ll be fine,” Astarion’s voice came from behind them.

Wyll turned to catch his gaze, and based on the humorous glint in his eyes, he knew Astarion had caught every word. He relished in being insulted, the way a prophet held messages, mulling over which ones they’d decide to sow. Wyll felt fingers against the bare skin of his back, teasing almost, if not for the way the humor died along the edge of the elf's tongue.

"Ulder," he greeted, with his free hand he pressed the door open enough that he could meet the man's hardened gaze," We have to stop meeting like this. It's almost embarrassing."

  "You-"

"Father," Wyll said," Take your trip. There's nothing more we need to discuss."

~.~

   It was... very intoxicating to watch Wyll Ravengard, the noble and respectful son of the grand duke almost lose his shit to preserve his honor again. Part of him felt guilty for it. Would he be so quick to lash out if he knew? The whole truth, the way he'd touched his father more times than the man had spoken Astarion's name in affection? Better to think on it later, when he wasn't being forced into another group meeting with his master as the main topic. Impending doom first, and then the long list of lies he was creating every waking moment for a man who deserved nothing but the truth.

  Astarion perched a hand under his chin as he waited for Gale to speak on something worth mentioning. He knew his curse was inescapable. He knew his body wasn't his own. He didn't need a vampiric book to remind him. 

"This one's different," Gale insisted.

"How so?" Tav asked, sounding just as bit as bored, though something seemed to strike his attention under the table and he let out a soft gasp as he moved to rub his knee and eye Shadowheart with a pout. 

"Maybe we can't stop the sire bond-"

"Surprising," Astarion muttered.

"Ah," Gale let out a sigh, finger raised," I'm not finished. If we can't stop the sire bond, then maybe we transfer it."

  Wyll furrowed his brows and the rest of the group found great interest, especially Astarion, who couldn't even muster a laugh at the joke. Transfer... the sire bond? He'd once thought Gale might actually hold some intelligence. 

"No offense, Gale," Karlach said from across the table," but you've had better days."

"No, listen- I have done a lot of research, and it's not necessarily transferring as much as it is overpowering the obedience," when no one moved to interrupt, because there wasn't much to say to that, he continued, pushing an open book forward," Cazador has enlisted many scrolls to be delivered during the opening of the library. Some of these, upon further inspection have to do with the connection of a transfer in power. Say, sacrificing his vampiric abilities for something more."

"Wait," Astarion said," I'm sorry, are you implying we let the man find more power in hopes he'll no longer be able to control his spawn? Do you have a death wish?"

"It's all 'what ifs' for now. I'll hardly be able to form a plan until I know for certain the properties of these scrolls, but it is possible our solution could very well come from Cazador's hand himself."

   Astarion inhaled a very long, deep breath. 

Wyll, dutifully, sweet Wyll, lowered a hand to the back of Astarion's chair, fingers brushing his shoulder. Karlach made eye contact with the two, and feeling strangely out of his comfort zone Astarion decided to stand.

He offered the group one of his usual grand smirks, hands clasped together to adjourn the meeting.

"As pleasant as this dead end has been, I have some things to tend to before dinner."

Before they had dinner and he drowned out his boredom whilst staring at a gorgeous neck. He'd been made aware that he could partake, but he refused to do so whilst Wyll had an empty stomach, and he really did have things to take care of... as much as he would loathe doing so. 

   "Things?" Wyll asked, lifting his head in concern.

"My siblings," another lie," they want to meet with me. It's not common, but they do miss my presence some nights."

"I can come with you-"

"No!" Astarion said a little too quickly. He laughed a little, knowing if his heart beat it would be racing within his chest. When he had he lost his control with words? He'd once been able to convince anyone of anything, never stirring, never batting a lash out of place. Wyll had, in some ways, weakened him. He tried again, attempting to sound natural," You stay here. I don't enjoy the way they undress you with their eyes."

  Tav eyed Shadowheart and mouthed something, but Astarion was more privy to Wyll's reaction. The man's face contorted first with confusion, thoughts loomed over, only to break with the soft notion of his trust. Astarion didn't deserve it. He would never deserve it, but he'd always been greedy. He'd once sought for Cazador's comfort, like a pleading worshipper on a broken altar, and now trembling after being filled by Wyll's pure warmth. In some ways, it was more painful to keep than the latter. 

  "Will you be safe?" he asked, unguarded, with such intimate care that it felt they should not be speaking like this in front of the others. 

Astarion forced a small grin," I'll have my favorite dagger with me to ensure it."

~.~

  It didn't sit right with Wyll, allowing Astarion to venture out in the night without him, but what kind of man would he be to persuade him otherwise? He'd had enough of being controlled. Wyll refused to be like them, as much as the worry gnawed at him more than he'd like. He could only wait, staring at the stars, counting the minutes that turned into an hour too easily. Astarion hadn't mentioned this, but he'd been on edge since they'd awakened and had their privacy interrupted.

  His father had left home soon after, not so much as a word in parting. Wyll clenched a hand around the hilt of his rapier and leaned back against a pillar, looking out the garden lit by two grand torches. He hated this. He hated not knowing. Is this what it felt like to...

"You're smitten," Karlach's voice came from the side, though he'd caught her shadow quick enough to not be surprised. 

Wyll huffed a little," I won't deny it."

"Don't blame ya," she said with a playful nudge," He's adorable, fangs and all. Just wish he'd stop playing around. He doesn't seem to think he can trust us, like he isn't sure we're on his side."

  Wyll offered her a warm glance," He's working on it, trusting people..."

"I know. Can't be easy. Hells, I had a hard enough time after, well, you know."

Gortash could meet his blade's edge too. Never so many times in a week had he thought such violent things, but it wasn't necessarily something he found troubling anymore. Innocent people had been hurt enough. If he veiled his own desires for justice with guilt, he too, would be hurting the innocent by remaining still. No more. Cazador. The men he'd once served with...

"Everything will turn out alright, so long as we have each other."

"Thank you, Karlach," Wyll said with a gentle grin, releasing the tension in his shoulders.

"And then you two can hash it out and get on with being official."

  Wyll rolled his eyes, all in good nature. Astarion had asked him to stay, even after they finished Cazador off... but that didn't necessarily mean anything. He was free to change his mind, and he just might after tasting true freedom. Wyll had thought it once before, an aimless thought, impulsive, whether or not Astarion would want him when he wasn't needed. It didn't matter in the end. Even a moment in his presence would imprint on Wyll's being for a lifetime. 

  He lifted his head and found the full moon. Even if Astarion decided to leave, at least they'd both share a view. 

"Uh...I hate to interrupt-"

"No, you don't," Karlach said, interrupting Gale with a smile.

The man forced a grin in return, but his brows were furrowed tight and he kept tapping both fingers together as if he had his own confessions he could no longer deny. The two raised a brow, and then with one sudden breath he spoke very quickly.

"I do believe it is very imperative that you keep a calm demeanor and make your way to the front to speak to a sudden guest."

"Huh?"

"A very nervous and needing guest."

Wyll pushed himself off the pillar," Who?"

"I..." Gale turned his head to the cobble stone path," You should see for yourself."

~.~

  Astarion kept a steady pace. While he'd frequented this particular tavern more than enough times, it was never any easier than the first. Many drunk men gambled in the common room, held the whores close as they whispered for more coins hidden in their sacks. No one paid him much mind, concealed by the darkness of his cloak, that he only chose to remove when he stood before the designated room. He moved to knock, only to have it open before he could. 

Ulder gestured once with his head for him to enter, and he did, not wanting to be caught either. He wasn't sure how he'd explain himself should the news spread he was meeting with the duke who was supposed to already be out of the city. He could say it was merely to absolve a father's wish to speak to the man bedding his son, but his lies were spilling like blood already. This wasn't an interrogation. He... wasn't quite sure what he'd call this.

  "I'm surprised you showed yourself."

Astarion closed the door behind him.

"You didn't give me much of a choice," he informed.

Ulder poured himself a drink, entire body tense, heart racing despite the overall calm demeanor of his face. He lifted the chalice to his lips, clanking it against the table as he lowered to sit. 

"I didn't come to threaten you, sit."

"Sitting gives the impression I want this to last longer than a few minutes," Astarion said, and to busy himself he drug a finger along the dresser, lifting it with distaste when he came back with dust. He smirked a little, turning to look at Ulder," You're really upset. What did you think was happening when you walked in on us in your office? That we'd kiss and wait for marriage? Your son is so pent up-"

"Shut your mouth!" Ulder hissed. His eyes widened, surprising himself, and then with a shattered breath, he cursed with his head in his hands," I don't know where I went wrong."

   "This has nothing to do with you," Astarion replied with a glare.

"Doesn't it?" The man lifted his gaze to him," You chose him because of me. You want to get back at me, because you think I owe you when it was I who was doing you a favor."

"A favor?" his voice came out without much emotion," You think fucking me was a favor?"

Ulder stood from his position and crossed the room. Astarion had his weapon, even if he couldn't use it, it felt for a moment like Wyll was still protecting him. It wasn't fair, that Wyll should have to still protect him. It made his blood boil. For once, he'd like the power in his hands to crush those that should reach for them, to ruin this- whatever it was they were hoping to achieve. He hated Ulder. He hated Cazador. He hated himself for being so weak.

"If Wyll learnt about us," he continued," do you think he would consider it a favor? Do you think he would side with you? That's why you're hiding out. That's why you're so desperate to be rid of me."

He'd thought the man might lash out in anger, but he didn't move any further. He smiled, a thin and tired smile.

"It doesn't matter. He'd only have to learn of the times you came running to me, begging for it, to be mine-"

"If you lived under Cazador's rule you'd chase anyone offering you an escape," he snapped.

   No. Ulder wanted a reaction. He wouldn't give in. 

He turned his head towards the mirror, catching the man's prying gaze. He would win, whatever this fight was truly about.

"You should leave the city," Astarion said much more calm in his demeanor," Say what you have to say. Wyll is waiting for me."

Ulder chuckled, which caught Astarion off guard. The man was not known for his ease. He was acting as if he'd already gotten what he'd wanted, and it was beginning to piss him off. He waited. Seconds. Ulder stepped forward, brought the back of his hand to Astarion's cheek. His body became rigid, but he didn't flinch. He'd long perfected the act of being still, like a statue, cold, only weathered by age, not tainted by a mere desire to trace the design of apathy. 

  "You think you know my son, then let me ask you this," his breath was hot against his ear as he leant forward, whispering low," if he had to choose between a whore and his first love, who do you think he'd choose?"

He felt the stone crack.

"What?"

Ulder's hand dropped, and with a soft, content sigh he dropped back down into his chair to take his chalice in hand. He lifted it, as if for a toast, and then downed its contents completely.

"Go ahead and go back. I only needed you gone for a moment. The rest will take care of itself."

  Astarion felt something unravel within his stomach, worse than the nausea of a human meal. He forced himself to meet the man's face with his gaze.

"What did you do?"

Ulder only smirked.

Chapter Text

  How long had it been since Wyll had last laid eyes on the only woman he'd ever allowed his most intimate state? Her red curls were longer, knotted with the debris of nature. Her eyes widened, fingers trembling against his tunic as she clutched to him. A year? More than that. He couldn't think as she continued to sob into his chest. He thought only to bring her some sense of comfort in hopes that when Astarion returned he had a reasonable explanation for why there was a stranger clinging to him on his bed. 

  He brought a hand to discard a stray leaf from her when she finally did pull away. Alexandria, the young daughter of a noble, whose eyes had once been so full of her certainty that he'd once questioned if she ever held doubt. She lowered her head, let her fingers drop from him to rest in her lap where her cloak sat bundled up. She grasped it into her fist and let out a deep breath before wiping at stray tears with a shaky laugh.

"How embarrassing to be seen like this by you of all people."

Wyll felt his heart stir. He'd never been a man to desire someone to tears, even if their history spoke of his own heart break. 

"Don't worry about it," he whispered," there is no shame in this."

She smiled, her dark eyes meeting his.

"I..." she let out a soft sigh," It is only that I hate the fact I must ask you a favor after ruining your dinner. I didn't know where else to go though."

"Ask it," Wyll said without thinking. He wouldn't turn her down. Whatever it was that had occurred had been enough to bring a woman of her power to desperation. It wasn't anything she would say with ease. 

   In his heart, he had already forgiven her.

"I need a place to stay for the time being. My father... he's ill, and my step mother already detests me. She sent me packing the moment he became bedridden."

Wyll's eyes widened," Your father's sick?"

"He has been for some time," she explained, playing with the frayed fabric of her skirt," I didn't know what to do, but you're a kind man. I thought even after everything, you'd never turn down someone in need. I'm right, aren't I?" She looked to him full of hope," You remain a good man, yes?"

   Wyll wondered if many would say that now. They didn't know how his hands were covered in blood, how he'd lashed out on his father just hours before, or how he ached for a man he'd hurt.

"I'd like to believe so," he responded somber. 

It didn't hurt anymore, losing her. He remembered it so vividly, the way their first kiss had tasted of wine, enveloped by the moon's light, the way he'd been so desperate to experience their love that he'd thrown morals out the window, thought to encompass a night's passion with his need. He was not the only victim in this. He had wronged her too.

  Alex took his hand in his, squeezing gently.

"I have regretted turning away from you ever since I left," she said suddenly, and Wyll froze as she leant forward," We could fix things though, you and I. Remember how I'd use to sneak into your room and we'd just talk about books the entire night? It could be like that again. We could-"

"Alex," he said, not without kindness," you can stay as long as you'd like, but you must know that... it can't be as before."

Her eyes widened with more unshed tears," You still hate me."

"I've never hated you."

"Then why-" she laughed, surprising him as she pulled away completely to stand," you're engaged to be married?"

"...No."

"Then there's a chance," she informed, finding her resolve in the bookcase, the way her fingers traced the outline of the one she knew well," You wouldn't still have this, if there weren't."

Wyll let out a soft sigh. He hardly had enough knowledge of any given language to explain why they would never work. How could he? Astarion was for more than he could ever put in words.

~.~

   Astarion had no reason to be worried, other than the fact should Wyll lose his sudden interest in him he might lost his much needed protection from his master and end up in the kennels. This is what it had always been about. Flirt with Wyll, manipulate him into delivering...That was it. While being the only object of his affection had its benefits, it didn't mean anything if there should be another, as long as he was more important, as long as- he cursed as he turned a corner, feeling the hilt of his sheathed dagger along his fingers.

  His first love? Ridiculous. 

He'd seen the picture wedged between the book though. Ulder hadn't been lying. 

He didn't care. He didn't.

When he managed to return to the grand home and its picture perfect garden, he caught the long wooden table under the canopy and Wyll's friends underneath. Karlach dropped her legs from a chair, eyes wide as she took him in.

"Ah, hey! We were just about to get a game of dead man in, wanna join?”

Astarion narrowed his gaze.

”Where is he?”

”Where is who?” Came Tav, not playing nonchalance well. He laughed as red eyes met his, and then slouched in his seat,” Oh, Wyll. He’s doing things. Not important things. He’s just around. You know Wyll, he’ll come out when he’s ready.”

  At least this lot was incapable of lying. He scanned the rest of the group, Shadowheart, who appeared disappointed by her man’s act and Gale, who had suddenly found something very interesting in a book of his. None of them had yet to touch the prepared meal in the center of the table. Ridiculous.

”Fine,” he said, brushing away invisible dirt from his sleeve with practiced ease,” I’ll find him myself.”

Gale raised a brow at Tav, who shrugged helplessly and looked at Shadowheart.

”Look Astarion,” she gave both of them glares before adjusting her attention to him,” Wyll had an unexpected guest. It’s nothing to worry yourself over, but I think privacy might be best.”

  Privacy… with his first love. 

Astarion pursed his lips, lifted his gaze to the draping fabric of the canopy and then huffed out a strained laugh. Wyll wasn’t the type of man to jump on a guest, but this was different. This woman, whomever the hell she was, was different. She’d somehow worked herself underneath his skin enough that he’d given himself to her once. She was a poison. She risked Astarion’s safety. She had to be dealt with as soon as possible, before Wyll-

“Astarion?” Karlach asked,” Would you like a seat?”

“No, I think I’m in need of a bath,” he said with a thin smile, unable to hide the bitterness in his tone. Ulder would somehow pay for the inconvenience of all this, making him run around to take care of another pointless issue before it became a real one. Maybe he could actually set a meeting with his siblings, get one of them to lure the woman off to Cazador. 

  No... that would only end up hurting Wyll. If he had trembled with the blood of a guilty man, how much more for a woman he believed to be innocent?

On his way up the stairs, after ignoring a warning from Karlach, he caught the scent of her, a slight whiff of perfume, foreign soil... the slightest trail of blood lingering in the air past Wyll's bedroom. He was silent like a thief, pressed open the door without knocking, and leaned against the doorway with a huff of feigned surprise when he was met with the scene. He caught only the long curls of red, the way she stood before Wyll who remained sitting on the mattress, eyes widening when he caught Astarion's gaze. 

"You're back," he said," I was beginning to worry."

"If I'd known you would have company over the moment I parted, I might have brought back my own," he mused, making a show of checking underneath his fingernails. The moment she turned her head to glance in his direction, he felt the undeniable competition being set in place.

"This is-"

"Oh, I know," Astarion said, stepping closer to examine her. She was fine, nothing too breathtaking. If anything he could very well take her by looks alone, should that be the case. She must have crawled through a forest to arrive in Wyll's bedroom," The ex, right?"

   The woman eyed him with furrowed brows, but an understanding came upon her face the moment Wyll stood to cross to his side. 

"No," she chuckled a little," You've never shown an interest in men before. What changed?"

"I'm a very pretty man," Astarion informed.

Wyll offered him a soft sigh, but there was no desire to berate, only a fondness that stretched through the fingers that found his side discreetly.

"Alex, this is Astarion," his lips twitched with a grin, and for a moment Astarion was almost convinced there wasn't any reason to worry after all, but then the man continued speaking," Alex will be staying with us for the time being."

"Oh," he really tried sounding casual, but he'd never had to share, not unless it was demanded of him, and especially not someone like Wyll," Lovely. Should I find someone to make up the guest room? It's nearly sunrise, and she appears to have had a very... long and arduous trip." 

"No worries," she said," I know my way around."

Astarion was certain she did. 

~.~

  The night gave way to the sun, though not before a very long and tension filled dinner. Gale had occasional notes on certain spices that Wyll tried to use as a means to fill the silence, but Astarion's energy was like a plummet within itself. He was too easy with his replies, fingers too curious along Wyll's thigh underneath the table as the group kept questions for Alex short and simple. They already knew who she was, no need to interrogate her. 

  She mentioned Astarion must be watching his figure when she noticed he refused to eat, and the man only smirked before suggesting she do the same. There was a dangerous energy about him, like he veiled himself the way he'd once done when they'd only just met at the tavern. It irked Wyll, who knew well enough what might be lying in that head of his. 

  Alex didn't ask why they had their last meal so close to sunrise. She seemed exhausted enough that she didn't read too much into anything, at least she kept quiet if she did. He offered her a polite goodnight, and when the others had ventured home, he closed the door to his bedroom and let out a breath he'd been holding.

Astarion was at the bookcase, skimming a finger along the same book Alex had reached for earlier. Of course he'd seen it. He'd been left alone long enough in this room and he had enough curiosity in his hands that he was bound to find something that upset him.

Wyll found he only wanted to chase these worries away with truth.

   "You haven't heard from Cazador, I presume."

Wyll raised a brow as the man turned to eye him.

"No... uh, he did say he would give me some time beforehand."

Astarion hummed," Expect it soon. Cazador never waits long."

  He was beautiful, that he'd noticed more than enough times, but tonight he wore one of Wyll's shirts, tops buttons undone, revealing parts of his pale collarbone. He took the few steps across the room to stand before Wyll, reaching for him, the fabric along his waist being tugged playfully. Astarion appeared much like a predator hunting his prey, precise, with a carnal desire to feast.

"We should make the most of our time while we have it," he mused, fingers trailing lower to his belt," We could continue where we left off on our drunken escapade. You know," he leaned into his space, eyeing his lips," the part where it got exciting."

  Wyll very carefully took his searching hand in his. He was resorting to old habits, when there was something he didn’t wish to think about, either including Cazador or Alex’s sudden presence. It wouldn’t be right to indulge, not when he knew the truth, how he’d trembled being touched, how he’d looked when-

Wyll couldn’t think of such things now.

”Astarion… are you worried because I’ve allowed her to stay here?”

The man pried his hand away with a huff of impatience.

”Me? Worried?” He laughed,” Don’t be ridiculous.”

"You don't have to sleep with me to keep my affections," Wyll said, which might not have been what the man wanted to hear, but it was what needed to be said. He wasn't an idiot. Regardless of how Astarion felt, he very clearly desired it, for one reason or another... it didn't matter in the end. 

  The man pulled away completely, even taking a step back as if he'd been slapped, only to parade around with that grin again. Wyll wished he'd stop trying so hard to push him away.

"I know," he informed, with force, and then with a soft sigh of frustration," Listen, this isn't easy for me, alright? You're so willing to protect whatever damsel in distress calls your name. What am I to think? When is enough, enough? When will you realize that fighting Cazador risks more than your life? And for what? For me?" He scowled, something dark in his gaze," If you were like the others, then I wouldn't be so damn concerned all the time."

"Like the others..." Wyll mulled on the thought.

"Just fuck me," he said more pointedly," at least then I'll know you're getting something from all this."

  Now it was Wyll's turn to feel as if he'd been hit. Getting something from this? Like it was some mere transaction, like Astarion hadn't already given him more than enough. He was certain his face twisted in pain, but not for himself, who hardly deserved even this, to be this close to the man, to see the vulnerability leaking from his veil.

Wyll couldn't stand it.

"Astarion," he said, and his tone must have surprised him, the way he blinked and lifted his gaze with wide eyes, unable to hide the sudden distraught. Wyll took a tentative step forward to the man, refusing to look away. "I care about you."

"Don't-"

"I need nothing from you," Wyll continued," If you no longer wish to be in my presence the moment you're freed, I have no inclination to stop you from leaving."

The man's jaw clenched.

"But... you once asked me to stay by your side," he risked it, moving his hand to take his again and was relieved when the man didn't tense from the touch. His shoulders dropped in defeat, though his gaze lowered to the ground as his brows furrowed in thought," If you'd allow me, after all this, I'd like to court you the right way."

   Astarion was silent for a long moment. His lips twitched, though the coy grin didn't resurface. He seemed too tired to attempt anymore of his facade, to hide the ache within himself, the confusion these words built. After a while, he squeezed Wyll's hand.

"I've never been courted," he admitted, sounding amused.

Wyll smiled gently," You'd be my first."

  The man finally lifted his head up, the red of his eyes were almost black when they met his. He searched for something within Wyll's face.

"You have no intention then... of reuniting with that woman?"

Wyll let out a laugh," Gods no. None of it was done in the right way, and even if it had, my affections are with another."

"She doesn't seem to believe that," Astarion pointed out.

   Wyll felt so fond of the man before him, that it swelled with such warm within his chest that he had to reach out to release some tension before it started a fire. His hand cupped Astarion's cheek, thumb running gently across the smooth skin of his face. How could he feel so deeply for a man he'd met not too long ago? If he didn't know any better he'd think himself under a spell, but he'd read books, believed in the tales his mother had once spoken of love. He wouldn't utter the word aloud anytime soon, of course. That would only scare the man away, and there was still so much he desired to know. 

"Doesn't matter, as long as you do."

Astarion bit the edge of his lip and lifted a hand to the fabric of Wyll's chest. He made a show of thinking it over, but in the end, a soft smile played at the edge of his lips.

"I could be convinced."

~.~

  Astarion didn't remember all the times he'd been touched, but he was certain to never forget the way Wyll did it. They spent the morning, hidden away behind the thick curtains, twisted in sheets against another's body in careful devotion. Wyll never pushed too far, guided his lips across the nape of his neck, not to devour, but as if to worship him. Warmth spread. Fingers found his hair, brushing it back gently as if to soothe him as their lips found one another's again. 

   It was slow, guided by a sturdy hand against the bare of his hips, across his stomach. Muffled noises of pleasure escaped Astarion, not like the one's he'd tried hiding with others, but with a delighted surprise when each touch only further enticed him to reach for more. 

The man's body was like an anchor, deep waves of euphoria climbed him like a high, but he was safe there. He only needed to feel the warmth between Wyll's shoulder blades, chase his tongue against the bottom of his lip.

And then the man was pulling away too soon. He turned away, just as Astarion lifted his head for another kiss.

   "Sorry," he whispered, a half breath escaping," I uh-"

He didn't have to explain. Astarion raised his knee, feeling the desire consume him with the evidence of his delight. He laughed, but not in the way he might before an insult. This felt lighter, spreading in his body like a drug as he wrapped his arms around Wyll's neck. He was safe.

"Just hold me then," Astarion offered," If you'd like."

Wyll bit back a grin and fell into him, face nestling in the nape of his neck.

"If I like?"

   Astarion's fingers traced patterns into his shoulder blade, and without thinking he placed a kiss to the side of his head.

"One day..." he hadn't even realized he'd began to speak aloud," I want to be able to give it all to you."

Wyll lifted his head and beamed down at him. His lips pressed a soft kiss to his own, whispers warm against his skin.

"I am fully content with holding you like this."

"I know," he said, fingers played with edges of his braids in thought, and then after a while, so quietly, part of him hoped Wyll did not hear it, he whispered," I care about you too."