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Chapter Text

Today marks three months since Vincent and Sebastian made their relationship official and so far, Seb can't say things are going badly. In fact, they're going surprisingly well. He's officially moved in with Vincent, though they quickly realized that Vincent's tiny hut was utterly unsuitable for two people—especially for an extended period of time. So, they upgraded. A bigger house, one that actually has enough space for both of them to breathe.

Vincent left all the interior decorating up to Seb, which means they now have an actual bedroom rather than a cramped sleeping space and a proper living room where they can entertain guests. His old roommates, his friends—even the other House Spawn. Their weekly meetings, which once rotated between six homes, now include theirs as well. It still catches Seb off guard sometimes, how Vincent has started opening up to the others, willingly hosting gatherings when before, he'd barely volunteered to participate.

Beyond that, Seb has been honing his battle prowess, dedicating himself to training. The battleaxe has become second nature in his hands and by now, he's skilled enough to be considered a first responder when a particularly nasty threat arises. Even so, his primary job remains the same—he is still a cook at the tavern, his skill in the kitchen just as sharp as the blade he wields in combat.

Right now, he's hunched over a cookbook that Astarion brought him from the surface, an effort to help him modernize his culinary skills. After all, he's been out of the loop for 170 years—what was considered fine cuisine back then is vastly different from what people desire now.

The tavern itself has flourished under new management. Astarion and his husband have invested more and more into it, to the point that they are now co-owners alongside Vincent and Seb. The profits they earn are, in part, payback for the sheer amount of resources Octavian has poured into their establishment over the last six months—barrels of blood, various donations and whatever else they've needed to stay afloat.

But right now, no matter how hard he tries, Seb can't focus on the words on the page. His mind keeps circling back to something Vincent said that morning—a single request that completely derailed his thoughts.

"I want to go on a proper date."

Sebastian's heart had dropped when he heard those words.

A proper date.

The problem is, even before he became a Spawn, he hadn't been on a date in... well, ever.

The Hells—Astarion had been his first everything. His first kiss. His first time. His first everything. And also his last for far too many years, trapped in the suffocating darkness of the Tourmaline Depths.

He has absolutely no idea how to plan a proper date. And yet, every fiber of his being wants to give Vincent a wonderful night—something special, something thoughtful. Vincent is always so patient with him—listening to him vent about rude customers, putting up with his bouts of jealousy, grounding him when his thoughts spiral into dark places. He deserves something more than just their usual routine. He deserves to be spoiled.

But what the hell is he even supposed to do?

The first idea that pops into his head is dinner, but he immediately discards it—what kind of romantic evening is that for two vampires who can't even eat solid food? He runs through other generic options in his mind. A play? A walk? Both sound excruciatingly dull and the more he tries to brainstorm, the more frustrated he becomes.

He hates himself for how much he's struggling with this.

For 170 years, he endured hell. He fought. He suffered. He survived. And now? Now, he's in his first real relationship—one where he is actually free to love and be loved in return. And the moment his boyfriend asks for something as simple as a date, he can't even deliver.

How do people do this? What are proper date activities for two people who already live together? Who usually express their affection through intimacy rather than grand gestures?

Not that they don't touch otherwise—Vincent has grown far more comfortable with casual affection over time. These days, he often seeks out Seb's touch, reaching for his hand, leaning into his embrace, melting into the security of his arm wrapped around his waist. And Seb lives for those moments. He thrives in them. But casual touches are one thing—a date is something different.

A date requires effort. And he has no clue where to even start.

In the end, he caved and sent a letter to Octavian. If anyone can help, it's him—Octavian regularly takes Astarion on dates, both on the surface and down here. He'll know what to do.

Octavian's reply came swiftly, promising that he'd drop by today to help.

He also promised not to bring Astarion along.

Seb insisted on that. The last thing he wants is for Astarion to find out he's struggling with something as simple as planning a date. Not only because it's embarrassing—but because Astarion and Vincent consider each other brothers.

And the last thing Seb wants is to be subjected to Astarion's teasing.

A sharp knock at the door jolts Sebastian from his thoughts, prompting him to lift his head. He exhales slowly before rising from his chair, his boots tapping lightly against the wooden floor as he strides over to open it. Standing on the other side is Octavian, answering his call with that ever-present, warm smile.

"Hey, thanks for coming." Seb musters a polite smile, stepping aside to let the Aasimar in.

Octavian steps through the threshold with the easy confidence of someone who belongs wherever he goes. "Astarion's busy shopping today, so I thought I'd pop down to help you with your problem", he remarks, a hint of amusement lacing his tone.

Sebastian shuts the door behind him, greeting Octavian with a brief hug and a firm clap on the back. There's a comfort in the casual camaraderie between them, the kind that only forms after months of countless late-night conversations.

"Come on, sit", Seb gestures, leading him toward the small but well-furnished dining area. He grabs a bottle of brandy, the deep amber liquid catching the candlelight as he pours Octavian a generous glass.

Octavian accepts it with a nod, swirling the drink in his hand before taking a slow sip. His mismatched eyes flick up, sharp with curiosity. "Alright then—what is it you need from me?"

Sebastian sits down across from him, resting his arms on the table. He doesn't hesitate—the words tumble from his mouth before he can second-guess himself.

"Vincent asked for a date", he blurts out, exhaling sharply, "And I've never been on a date, let alone planned one. I want it to be special for him. Hell, he deserves it, putting up with me every damn day." He sighs, running a hand through his hair, frustration bubbling under his skin. "But I have no idea what to do."

Octavian raises an eyebrow. "Putting up with you?" He leans back, swirling his drink again. "You two aren't fighting, are you?"

Sebastian shakes his head vehemently. "No! Of course not." He huffs out a small laugh, shaking his head. "But I vent to him all the time—about work, about annoying customers, about whatever's pissing me off that day. And he just... listens. He never complains. Just lets me go off about whatever's on my mind." He chuckles, shaking his head. "The guy has more patience than anyone I've ever met."

Octavian smirks, lifting his glass in a mock toast. "I know how that feels", he says, taking another sip. "Trust me, he probably enjoys watching you rant. Some people find it endearing."

"Yeah, yeah", Seb waves a hand, "That still doesn't answer my question about what to do for our date."

Octavian chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. "Oh, Seb", he grins, "I can't tell you what would be best for the two of you."

Sebastian scowls. "But you've taken Astarion on dates, haven't you?" There's a hint of desperation creeping into his voice, the irritation gnawing at him as his cheeks inevitably start to burn.

"Yes", Octavian concedes, swirling his glass, "But what works for us might be completely over-the-top for you." He downs the last of his drink, setting the empty glass down with a quiet clink.

Sebastian doesn't even hesitate—he immediately reaches for the bottle, refilling it.

"What if I want over-the-top?" he challenges, fixing Octavian with a determined stare. "I know you have more means than I do, but there's got to be a way Vincent and I can have one of those fancy-ass dates you and Astarion go on."

Octavian tilts his head, a slow grin spreading across his face. "Are you calling me a date snob?"

"Maybe." Seb shrugs. "And maybe I want to be one too."

The Aasimar lets out a laugh, shaking his head in amusement. "Sebastian", he says, eyes gleaming, "Have you actually asked Vincent what he'd like to do?"

Sebastian's mouth opens, then closes. His gaze shifts to the side.

"...No", he finally admits, the word barely above a grumble.

Octavian bursts into laughter. "Maybe start with that, then." He leans back, stretching his legs out beneath the table. "If you really want to go all out, though, we could invite you both to stay at our estate for a little vacation. Get you two out of the Underdark for a while, let you enjoy Baldur’s Gate's nightlife. And, you know, give you a taste of the luxuries that come with having an actual staff of servants." He shrugs, as if this is a completely casual offer. "You could stay at our city estate—get a real getaway."

Sebastian blinks. "You're serious?"

Octavian arches an eyebrow. "Of course. What are friends for?" He grins. "And Vincent is sort of my brother-in-law, so why wouldn't I have you over? I'm just sitting on all that coin, anyway."

Sebastian exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. "You do live in ridiculous luxury", he mutters.

"And now I'm offering you a chance to enjoy it", Tav quips.

Seb's gaze softens. "Vincent would love that... I think", he murmurs. His boyfriend worked himself to the bone—negotiating treaties with noble Drow houses and Duergar Strongholds, overseeing the city's defenses, ensuring the safety of their people. There were weeks where they barely saw each other outside of the hours they collapsed into bed, too exhausted from their respective duties to even really talk.

Octavian studies him, then nods. "Sounds like you both need a vacation."

Sebastian exhales slowly, nodding. "Yeah. I'll bring it up with him tonight." A small smile tugs at his lips. "Thanks, Tav."

"Anytime", Octavian says, leaning back with a satisfied grin. "My staff will know to let you in whenever you decide to visit."

Sebastian chuckles, shaking his head. "Seriously", he says, voice quieter now, more genuine. "I appreciate this. A lot."

Octavian waves him off, smiling. "Don't mention it. We're basically family."

That night, when Vincent finally steps through the door, the weight of the day's work still clinging to his shoulders, he immediately senses something different about Sebastian. His boyfriend's usual intensity is absent, replaced by an unmistakable excitement that thrums beneath his skin. His eyes are alight with something Vincent can't quite place, but whatever it is, it has him curious.

Sebastian wastes no time, striding toward him with an eager grin before pulling him in for a firm kiss. Vincent melts into the touch, savoring the quiet moment before pulling back just slightly, his brow quirking with interest.

"Alright", he chuckles, tilting his head, "What's got you so excited?"

Sebastian barely contains himself. "You remember telling me you wanted to go on a date?"

Vincent tilts his head, amused. "Yes..."

"Well", Seb starts, his grin widening, "I talked to Octavian today and he invited us to his estate in the city." His voice is tinged with satisfaction, clearly pleased with his own initiative. "We can have a double date with them, or just explore the city—do some window shopping, maybe go to a concert or something."

Vincent's expression shifts slightly, intrigue flickering across his face. "Oh?" He tilts his head, considering. "A little getaway for a day or two does sound... pretty damn amazing." His voice drops into a sigh, shoulders slumping. "I've been feeling so overworked lately."

Sebastian practically beams. "Then you agree? We go?" There's a rare, boyish eagerness in his voice, the kind Vincent doesn't see often and it's enough to make him pause, just for a second, to take in how genuinely excited Seb is about this.

And Vincent? He doesn't want to disappoint him.

Still, there's something lingering in the back of his mind, a small thread of unease he can't ignore. His smile falters just slightly, just enough for Seb to notice.

"Are you sure about the Surface though?", he asks carefully. "There will be a lot of people who aren't used to seeing my kind."

Sebastian frowns, narrowing his eyes slightly. "What do you mean?"

Vincent exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. "Half-Drow are... seen as exotic." His voice is even, but there's an undercurrent of something else there, something harder to place. "I attracted quite a lot of people for Cazador back in the day." His jaw tenses, fingers curling briefly at his sides. "Never really had trouble bringing in marks for him."

Sebastian's expression darkens. "Right..." He swallows. "I forgot for a second that you used to do that too." His voice is quieter now, more careful. "We don't have to go to the city if it makes you uncomfortable."

Vincent shakes his head. "That's not what I mean." He shrugs, casual—too casual. "I'm well over the fact that I was forced to offer up my body back then." His voice is matter-of-fact, but his gaze lingers elsewhere, as if looking too closely at the past would make it feel real again. "Hells, it was never really a big deal to me. My own mother was a pleasure slave, after all." The words slip out easily, without hesitation. "As fucked up as that is, I was pretty damn used to the idea of having to give your body away for whatever reason. I never minded it."

He pauses.

"I just felt... sorry for the people I lured in." His expression hardens slightly. "So I would usually only bring the ones that were... less than cordial." There's a weight behind his words, something unsaid but heavy nonetheless.

Sebastian clenches his jaw, the muscles twitching. "So this isn't about you being leered at? About people lusting after you, seeing you as just a night of fun?"

Vincent shakes his head. "No." He exhales, eyes flicking back to Seb's. "I'm just saying... it might be you who has to hold back from beating someone up if they look at me the wrong way."

Sebastian stills, processing that for a moment before sighing, rubbing a hand down his face. "Oh..."

He thinks about it—really thinks about it. He knows his temper. He knows how possessive he gets when someone so much as glances at Vincent the wrong way at the tavern. And up on the surface? Where half-Drow are rarer, exotic—where people might think they have the right to gawk at him?

Yeah. That might be a problem.

Seb lets out another sigh, this time more resigned. "You do make a very good point." His fingers tap against the table as he considers his options. "Maybe a date among the masses is a little too much, too soon for me, then." He looks back up at Vincent. "How about just the two of us? A walk on the beach?"

Vincent's lips curl into a small, genuine smile. "I would like that a lot." His voice is softer now, more real. "We can take a bottle of blood and have a little picnic."

Sebastian smirks, the spark of mischief returning to his eyes. "And for the walk there..." He reaches out, brushing his fingers against Vincent's, tracing the back of his hand before taking it fully into his own. "I'll just have to keep you close. Let everyone know you're unmistakably and irrefutably spoken for."

Vincent huffs out a quiet laugh, squeezing his hand in return. "Fine then", he murmurs, "Let's go."

A week later, Vincent finally carves out three uninterrupted days from his relentless schedule and now, at last, they are heading for the portal in the district hall. The anticipation thrums between them like an unspoken current, Sebastian visibly eager for their trip, though Vincent maintains his usual composed demeanor.

This portal will take them directly to Octavian and Astarion's estate—an arrangement made possible by one of the district's wizards who has recalibrated the coordinates for their arrival. Normally, the portals lead to designated locations within Baldur's Gate, but today, the swirling violet vortex will deposit them right at the entrance of Exeltis Manor.

With a steadying breath, they step through the shimmering portal. The world around them twists, the fabric of space folding in on itself in an instant and when they emerge on the other side, they are greeted not by the familiar bustle of the city but by the vast, immaculately kept front lawn of Octavian and Astarion's city estate.

The mansion looms before them, grand and regal in the moonlight, its high arching windows and elaborate stonework a testament to the wealth and power that rebuilt it after the fires of the past. Even now, with the crisp night air brushing against their skin, Sebastian can't help but stare, taking in the sight of the sprawling mansion. But unlike Szarr Palace, which had been an oppressive, lifeless mausoleum, Exeltis Manor feels lived in. It radiates warmth—luxury, yes, but not the kind that stifles or suffocates.

Vincent, having visited before, is unfazed by the grandeur. He strides up the steps with familiar ease, knocking briskly on the ornate wooden doors. It only takes a moment before they creak open, revealing a well-dressed woman with sharp eyes and an air of quiet efficiency.

"Oh, Master Vincent", she greets, bowing her head slightly. "Do come in." Then, her gaze flickers toward Sebastian, her expression softening into a polite smile. "The both of you."

Sebastian isn't used to being acknowledged with such deference and Vincent catches the way his boyfriend hesitates for just a second before stepping inside.

"Thanks, Nerida", Vincent says easily, returning her smile before leading the way into the estate.

Sebastian, however, remains momentarily transfixed. His eyes roam the grand foyer, taking in the towering marble pillars, the gilded railings of the grand staircase and the sheer opulence of the place. The polished floors gleam beneath the soft glow of enchanted lanterns, casting gentle golden hues along the walls. The sheer size of it all leaves him momentarily speechless.

"This place is huge", he mutters under his breath, finally pulling his gaze away from the towering ceilings.

Vincent chuckles, already knowing how overwhelming the estate can be for a first-time visitor. "It is", he agrees, a touch amused.

Sebastian has seen wealth before—has been surrounded by it during his brief visit to Cazador's guest room—but this is different. This isn't a prison masquerading as a palace. It is a home. A place rebuilt from ruin, its cold past erased and replaced with something new. Astarion has been renovating it ever since the fall of the Netherbrain and every time Vincent visits, there is something new—a painting, a sculpture, a piece of furniture that hadn't been there before.

"I take it Astarion and Tav aren't home?" Sebastian asks, still absorbing the overwhelming reality of their surroundings.

"Oh, they are, Master..." Nerida blinks for a moment, seemingly struggling with how to address him.

Vincent, anticipating the pause, supplies the answer. "Sebastian."

"Master Sebastian", she corrects herself gracefully. "They are having a snack in the morning room at the moment." She reaches out to take their coats, handling them with practiced ease. "Shall I escort you there?"

Vincent shakes his head, offering her a polite smile. "That won't be necessary, Nerida. I know the way. And they're expecting us—no need for formal announcements."

"As you wish, Master Vincent", she says, bowing once more before disappearing with their coats.

Sebastian lets out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief as he turns back to Vincent. "All of this feels so surreal", he admits, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. "Even when I was alive, I would've never dreamed of being called Master Sebastian. It's weird honestly."

Vincent hums in agreement. "I know what you mean. I've told her many times to drop the 'Master', but I suspect her training in etiquette is too deeply ingrained for that."

As they ascend the grand staircase, the air grows cooler, the lingering scent of incense and fresh-cut flowers trailing behind them. They move past the wide ballroom doors, which are propped open as usual, allowing the air to circulate freely through the estate.

Sebastian stops in his tracks, his breath hitching slightly as his gaze lands on the breathtaking sight before him.

Moonlight pours in through the tall windows, illuminating the grand chandelier overhead. The crystals hanging from it refract the silvery light into countless fragmented colors, scattering them across the polished marble floors and high arched ceilings. It is like stepping into a dream—iridescent hues of violet, blue and silver shimmering across the walls in a slow, ethereal dance.

Sebastian exhales, awed. "That looks amazing."

Vincent, lingering just beside him, allows himself a small smile. "I know", he admits. He, too, has never quite gotten used to the way the light transforms this room into something out of a fairytale. The way it shimmers—like the very air has been painted with magic.

There is a part of him that wonders what it might look like with sunlight streaming through instead, warming the marble with golden hues instead of cold silvers and blues.

But that is a sight he will never see.

So, instead, he stands there for a moment longer, watching the way the moonlight reflects in Sebastian's eyes—bright, like he is seeing something beautiful for the first time.

After a long moment of admiration, Sebastian finally turns to Vincent, his expression still touched by quiet wonder. "Shall we move on?", he asks, his voice softer than usual, as if reluctant to break the spell of the moonlit ballroom.

Vincent nods, tearing his gaze away from the scattered prisms of light and leads the way to the left, heading toward the morning room.

Of course, calling it a morning room is something of an irony. Neither Astarion nor Octavian actually spend their mornings here—after all, Astarion still can't stand the sun, much like the two of them. Yet, despite its name, it has become the place they always gather whenever Vincent visits. A space of familiarity, of quiet routine in the ever-shifting lives they lead.

As they step inside, Vincent's gaze drifts through the room, taking in the elegant but comfortable furnishings—the deep red velvet chairs, the dark mahogany table adorned with a decanter of wine and an artfully arranged platter of delicate snacks. His eyes finally settle on the familiar sight of Astarion and Octavian, engaged in a leisurely conversation, each holding a glass of wine.

Octavian is the first to notice them. He rises smoothly to his feet, his lips curling into an easy smile. "You made it", he greets, extending a hand toward them in welcome. "Nice to have you."

Astarion turns at the sound of his husband's voice, his expression instantly brightening when he sees them. He sets his wine glass down and crosses the room with graceful ease, wasting no time in pulling Vincent into a tight embrace.

"How have you been, brother?", he asks, his voice tinged with genuine warmth.

Vincent returns the embrace just as firmly. "Overall, good, I'd say." He pulls back slightly, his lips twitching in amusement. "We've had the occasional Drow raiders trying to snatch some of our people, but we usually send a pretty clear message and then they back off for a while."

Astarion raises an eyebrow, smirking. "Messages? What kind of messages?" He pauses, eyes glittering with mischief. "The headless kind?"

Vincent chuckles. "Yes, the headless kind."

Astarion releases a satisfied hum, clearly approving. Then, he turns his attention to Sebastian, his expression growing just a fraction more cautious. "Seb, how are you?" His voice carries a hint of careful neutrality—though things between them have mostly settled, there are still moments where he isn't sure if Sebastian harbors resentment for dragging him into vampirism all those years ago. Some wounds don't heal easily, even when both parties understand they were both just puppets in a grander scheme.

But tonight, Sebastian seems utterly unbothered, still riding the quiet thrill of their upcoming date. "I'm good", he answers easily, offering a rare, relaxed smile. "The tavern's doing well and my training's coming along nicely too."

Astarion studies him for a moment before allowing a pleased smile to grace his lips. "Glad to hear it." His curiosity quickly shifts. "So, what do you two have planned for your romantic little outing?"

"We're heading to the riverbank for a midnight picnic", Vincent replies.

Astarion's smirk widens. "Oh, that does sound lovely. You two enjoy yourselves."

Octavian nods in agreement. "Stay for however long you like", he adds, taking a leisurely sip from his glass.

Astarion tilts his head toward Vincent. "You remember where the guest rooms are?"

"I do", Vincent nods, already picturing the space.

"We had the one overlooking the hills prepared for you", Astarion continues. "That room gets the least sunlight, even in summer. And if you keep the drapes closed, you won't have to worry at all."

Vincent hums in approval. He remembers that room well—not only does it offer the best protection from the sun, but it also boasts the largest bathroom amongst the guest quarters. The thought of sinking into that enormous, lavish tub later after their beach outing is a tempting one. Their own bath back home is laughably small in comparison, a mere basin of water next to the literal pool that awaits them here.

Octavian pours them all a glass of wine, gesturing for them to sit before they head out. "Did you two prepare anything for the picnic, or were you just going to scavenge through my pantry like common thieves?", he teases with a knowing smirk.

Sebastian chuckles as he takes a seat. "More like scavenging, yeah", he admits. "We were just going to grab some bottled blood and call it a night."

Tav huffs a laugh, shaking his head. "How barbaric." He sets his glass down and rings a small silver bell on the side table. "Let the servants prepare you something real. I've had our cook experimenting quite a bit with vampire-friendly dishes lately."

Sebastian raises an eyebrow. "You've got a chef working on vampiric cuisine?"

Octavian grins. "Of course. Astarion grew tired of watching me indulge in all kinds of foods. So we remedied that by creating a few dishes he too could have."

A moment later, Nerida appears in the doorway, ever composed and attentive.

"Nerida", Octavian says smoothly, "Would you be so kind as to prepare a picnic basket for our guests? Blood-themed, of course. And include a bottle of the pomegranate month."

Nerida bows her head slightly. "Of course, Master Octavian." She departs as swiftly as she arrived, leaving Sebastian to shake his head in quiet amusement.

"This still feels surreal", he mutters.

Vincent smirks, nudging him playfully with his knee under the table. "You'll get used to it."

Sebastian exhales, watching as Octavian leisurely swirls the wine in his glass. "Somehow, I doubt that."

"I never thought I'd be able to eat solid food again", Astarion muses, gesturing toward the neatly arranged platters of food spread across the table. The assortment is carefully divided—one half containing elegant, ordinary delicacies, while the other consists of uniquely crafted snacks, so deeply infused with blood that they are not only digestible but nourishing for a vampire.

Sebastian's curiosity piques immediately. He leans in slightly, his keen gaze scanning the selection before him. As a cook, he has an instinctive need to analyze, to understand whatever is placed in front of him—especially now that he might actually be able to taste it.

"What's that?", he asks, pointing at a collection of bite-sized pastries, their crusts golden yet rich with an unusual reddish tint.

"Oh, those?" Astarion’s lips curl in satisfaction. "Little blood quiches. The dough and the filling both contain a hefty amount of blood—carefully balanced, of course. It took some trial and error, but I can confidently say they won't upset our systems."

Intrigued, Sebastian picks one up, turning it over in his fingers before taking a careful bite. The pastry crumbles delicately between his teeth, the filling velvety smooth with a subtle tang of rich, spiced blood cutting through the flavors. His brows lift in pleasant surprise as he chews, assessing every note that hits his tongue.

"Oh, this is nice", he murmurs appreciatively. He glances at Astarion, his expression shifting to something between admiration and envy. "You have to get your cook to give me the recipe for this." He takes another bite, still marveling at the fact that he is eating—truly eating—solid food. "Why the hell did I never think of this?"

Vincent chuckles beside him, shaking his head fondly. "It's a novel concept, Seb. You're still getting back into your old habits as a cook—I'm sure you would've thought of it sooner or later."

"Yeah, I guess." Sebastian pops the rest of the quiche into his mouth before reaching for what looks like a praline, the dark chocolate shell glistening under the warm candlelight. The moment he bites into it, his tongue is coated with the unmistakable richness of aged rum blended seamlessly with the most intoxicatingly spiced blood he has ever tasted. It burns pleasantly, a slow, decadent heat curling down his throat.

His eyes flick toward Astarion as he savors the sensation. "Whose blood is this?"

"A willing donor", Astarion replies smoothly, swirling the wine in his glass. "She makes an obscene amount of money by adhering strictly to a curated diet we designed. Every meal, every drink—it's all carefully planned to enhance the taste of her blood." He waves a hand dismissively. "She donates regularly, but never too much—just enough to keep a steady supply. We do have some of her blood bottled as well, but only certain flavor profiles pair well with the dishes our cook has created." He smirks. "If you're planning to experiment on your own, keep that in mind."

"Oh, believe me, I will", Sebastian nods, already filing away ideas in his head as he takes a spoonful of the blood pudding next. It is impossibly smooth, delicately sweet with hints of vanilla and dark cherries, the blood woven so seamlessly into the mixture that it feels entirely natural.

"This is delicious", he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment to relish the taste.

"I'm so glad you approve", Astarion grins, reclining slightly in his chair. "It took months of testing to get everything just right."

Before Sebastian can respond, a gentle throat-clearing sounds behind them. Nerida stands at the doorway, ever poised and efficient.

"The picnic basket for your guests is ready, Saer", she announces.

"Perfect. Leave it here. Thank you, Nerida", Octavian nods and with another graceful bow, the maid departs.

Vincent stretches, rolling his shoulders before rising from his seat. "Looks like it's time for us to get going, then." He glances at Astarion and Tav, offering a small smile. "We'll see you when we get back."

"Enjoy your night, you two", Astarion says with a knowing smirk.

Sebastian lifts the picnic basket effortlessly, the weight surprisingly substantial. Peeking inside, he finds it filled to the brim with an assortment of blood-infused delicacies—quiches, pralines, puddings and several other treats, all meticulously prepared to ensure they are digestible. Nestled among them is a large bottle of humanoid blood, enchanted to maintain its warmth so that it tastes fresh off the vein.

His eyes skim over the label.

Female Wood-Elf, Bard, Pomegranate Diet.

Sebastian lets out a low whistle. "The things these guys get their hands on are insane", he mutters.

Vincent chuckles as they make their way toward the exit. "I suppose now that people know vampires aren't just mindless monsters, a whole new market has opened up for these kinds of things."

Sebastian shrugs. "Makes sense."

The two of them step into the night, moving at a leisurely pace toward the river. The city hums with life, the streets filled with the quiet energy of nocturnal dwellers. The familiar buzz of the night owls awakening is something both of them have grown accustomed to. It reminds them of home—their own city, which was once nothing more than a ghost town, now pulsing with renewed vitality.

More and more mortals have settled in the Vampire City, mingling with their kind and forging an odd, yet functional, community. Some are exiles, others are runaways—Drow who have been cast out by their own houses, former pleasure servants, escaped slaves, all seeking refuge in the shadows.

And in the shadows, they have found safety.

Few dare to challenge a city of vampire spawn. Even if not every resident is a fighter, an army would be hard-pressed to survive the sheer numbers they could throw at them. Against a horde of ravenous spawn, even the most well-trained force would be reduced to nothing but bloodless corpses, piled high like discarded husks.

But tonight, such grim thoughts are far from Sebastian's mind.

Tonight is about fun. About pleasure. And about Vincent.

Even though he doesn't have the wealth for extravagant gestures, Tav has ensured their little vacation will be one they remember. Their time away from responsibility is long overdue and now that they are here, Sebastian is determined to make the most of it.

As they reach a secluded spot along the riverbank, Vincent unfolds the blanket and smooths it over the grass. The stars reflect in the gentle ripples of the water, casting a silver sheen over the landscape. The air is cool, crisp, carrying the faint scent of moss and the distant salt of the sea.

They sit together, fingers brushing as they dig through the basket, uncovering the carefully prepared feast.

And for the first time in a long while, Sebastian feels something close to peace.

Vincent watches the moonlight shimmer off the rippling river, the soft sounds of the night wrapping around them like a cocoon. The cool night air contrasts against the lingering warmth of Sebastian's presence beside him, grounding him in the moment. He exhales, turning to his lover, voice gentle, hesitant.

"How are you feeling about... us?", he asks, his gaze searching Sebastian's for any flicker of doubt. "I hope you're not regretting anything?"

Sebastian barely hesitates before shaking his head. "Never", he says, the sincerity in his voice unwavering. His fingers absentmindedly trace patterns on the back of Vincent’s hand. "By now, I know I wouldn't have been able to stay away from you, even if we had ended our... arrangement." His lips curve into something softer, more vulnerable. "This was always inevitable, wasn't it?"

Vincent's chest tightens with something dangerously close to happiness. Relief, maybe. He leans over, pressing a lingering kiss to Sebastian's cheek before taking the bite Sebastian offers him—a spoonful of the blood mousse from their picnic basket.

The moment it touches his tongue, Vincent sighs, nearly moaning as the flavors melt in his mouth like silk. The rich bitterness of dark chocolate blends seamlessly with the underlying metallic tang of blood, creating a harmony that coats his senses. It is sweet yet bold, delicate yet decadent.

Sebastian watches his reaction with amusement before picking up one of the blood-infused biscuits, holding it up to Vincent's lips. Smiling, Vincent takes the offering, humming in contentment as they indulge in the carefully curated delicacies.

"This was a really good idea", Sebastian admits, reaching for the bottle of blood they had brought along. He uncorks it, the scent immediately wafting between them—rich, sweet and layered with the unmistakable aroma of ripe pomegranates.

Vincent lifts his goblet with a smile. "To us, I suppose."

Sebastian chuckles, raising his own. "Yes. To us."

They clink their glasses together, the sound delicate in the quiet of the night. The river murmurs beside them as they settle into a rhythm—talking, feeding each other, indulging in stolen touches and quiet laughter. The world beyond them fades into insignificance as they sink deeper into the pleasure of simply being together.

Eventually, the food is forgotten, abandoned in favor of something far more intoxicating.

Vincent barely notices when their hands stop reaching for the basket and start reaching for each other instead. When the playful touches shift into something slower, something heated.

He is on his back before he even registers how it happened, Sebastian leaning over him, his hands weaving through Vincent's hair as their tongues tangle, as their bodies press together with unspoken hunger. He moans softly, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, already drunk on the taste of blood and chocolate lingering in Sebastian's mouth.

The slow burn of desire flares hotter when Sebastian's leg slides between his, pinning him to the blanket. Instinctively, Vincent tries to grind against him, but Sebastian holds him firm, controlling the pace, drawing out every bit of Vincent's impatience with frustrating ease.

A whimper escapes his lips when Sebastian's mouth leaves his, trailing a slow, teasing path along his cheekbone, his jaw, before inevitably finding its way to his neck. Vincent shudders, pressing up against him, hands clinging to Sebastian's shoulders as soft lips brush over sensitive skin.

Then—Sebastian moves higher, his lips ghosting over the delicate point of Vincent's tipped ear.

Vincent barely has time to process before sharp teeth graze the tip, before Sebastian bites—just lightly, just enough for Vincent's breath to hitch and his back to arch ever so slightly.

Sebastian hums in amusement, his thumbs caressing Vincent's cheeks as he nips at his ear again, reveling in the way Vincent reacts so beautifully to the stimulation.

"D-Damn..." Vincent breathes, barely able to think, his voice breaking on a soft moan. "I—I love it when you do that..."

Sebastian smirks against his skin. "Mmm... I always wonder if I could make you come undone just from teasing your ears alone..." His voice is silk and sin, teasing yet deliberate. "You wouldn't mind if I tested that, would you?"

Vincent doesn't even register the question, too lost in the slow, torturous sensation of Sebastian's tongue tracing along the shell of his ear, too overwhelmed by the deliberate nibbles that send lightning down his spine.

"W-What?", he gasps, his fingers curling against Sebastian's arms, his body already thrumming with need.

Sebastian chuckles, pleased by the way Vincent is unraveling beneath him. "I'll take that as a 'go ahead'."

One hand tangles deeper into Vincent's hair, holding him steady, while the other moves to his neglected ear, pinching and rolling the sensitive tip between his fingers. Vincent's body reacts instantly, a sharp, desperate moan escaping his lips as his thighs tighten around Sebastian's hips.

He needs more.

Lifting his hips, he presses himself against the hardness growing in Sebastian's pants, seeking friction, seeking relief from the heat pooling deep inside him.

Sebastian groans, his control slipping slightly as Vincent writhes beneath him, panting, clawing at his clothes, offering himself in the way he always does—with unguarded, raw desire.

"S-Sebastian~" Vincent whimpers, barely able to breathe as the slow torment continues.

Sebastian's claws tease against the tip of one ear while his tongue flicks against the other, never ceasing, never relenting, until Vincent is trembling beneath him, his body taut with pleasure. Then, at the perfect moment, Sebastian rolls his hips, pressing into the very spot he knows will drive Vincent over the edge.

Vincent wails, his entire body arching as the sensation overtakes him, as he claws at Sebastian's shoulders, shaking from the force of his release.

Sebastian stills, watching him with quiet reverence as Vincent's chest rises and falls rapidly, as his lips part in dazed pleasure, his crimson eyes hazy and unfocused.

"You look stunning, sugar", Sebastian murmurs, leaning down to kiss him gently, almost tenderly, as Vincent struggles to recover.

Vincent wants more. Gods, he wants more.

But—this is still a public place.

Not completely open, but open enough that if they aren't careful, someone could stumble upon them. Unlike a dark alley where shadows offer cover, this riverside is bathed in starlight and the nearby walkway is still occasionally traversed by wandering mortals.

If they aren't quiet. If they don't pay attention.

Vincent swallows hard, his face burning.

Sebastian, of course, notices. Smirks.

"You want more?", he teases, brushing his nose against Vincent's in a way that is both unbearably sweet and infuriatingly smug.

Vincent flushes, averting his gaze. "I... I mean, yes, but..." He swallows. "This spot is way too open."

Sebastian only grins. "So?" He lowers his voice to a sultry whisper. "Doesn't that make it more exciting?"

Vincent sucks in a breath. He's tempted. Gods, he's tempted.

But he also knows that Sebastian would never push him if he truly wasn't comfortable.

Sebastian tilts his head, waiting. "Do you want to head back to the estate instead?"

Vincent hesitates, then shakes his head. "N-No." His voice is barely audible. "Maybe... just a little will be fine...?"

Sebastian's smirk deepens. "That's all I needed to hear."

Vincent exhales shakily, pressing up into another kiss.

"Have your way with me, Sebastian", he whispers against his lips.

And then, words no longer matter.

Sebastian doesn't hesitate. His lips find Vincent's skin with reverence, trailing downward with slow, deliberate kisses. His hands follow the path of his mouth, pushing up Vincent's shirt to reveal more of that soft, inviting flesh beneath.

"You taste intoxicating", he murmurs against his skin, letting his teeth graze over his ribs before pressing open-mouthed kisses lower and lower, his breath hot against Vincent's stomach.

"O-Only to you though", Vincent manages, his voice already trembling, anticipation curling in his gut. He arches slightly as Sebastian's fingers work at the fastening of his trousers, teasingly slow.

Sebastian's lips follow his hands as he eases the fabric down, inch by inch, kissing every newly exposed patch of skin as if worshiping it. The night air feels cool against Vincent's flushed skin, contrasting the heat Sebastian's touch causes him to feel.

By the time his trousers are pooled around his ankle, Vincent already knows what's coming next. Knows it, yet still isn't ready for it.

Sebastian's palms glide up the length of his legs, from his calves to his thighs, slow, steady, savoring every inch of him. His touch is firm yet careful, reverent yet possessive. Vincent shivers at the way his fingers tease over his inner thighs, hovering just close enough to drive him mad.

A moan catches in Vincent's throat when Sebastian dips his head, pressing a lingering kiss just above his knee. His tongue flicks out, tracing a slow path upward, lips dragging over sensitive skin—so close to where Vincent aches for him most. But then, just when Vincent thinks he's about to get what he needs, Sebastian shifts, moving to the other leg, beginning the agonizingly slow process all over again.

"S-Sebastian..." Vincent's voice is a quiet, desperate whimper, his hands gripping at the blanket beneath him. He bites his lip, trying to contain his frustration, but the need bubbling inside him is quickly unraveling his restraint.

Sebastian hums against his skin, the sound vibrating through Vincent's already sensitive body. "Hm?", he muses, his tone infuriatingly teasing. "What is it, love?"

Vincent grits his teeth, fingers twitching where they rest. "Y-You know what I want... you know very well..."

Sebastian chuckles, pressing another infuriatingly slow kiss to Vincent’s thigh. "I do", he admits, voice silk and sin. "But I still need you to say it." His lips brush against skin as he speaks, sending sparks of pleasure through Vincent's nerves. "Tell me what you desire, Vincent."

A flush spreads across Vincent's face, hotter than before, all thanks to the bottle of blood they shared earlier. He struggles to find his voice, the heat of Sebastian's presence overwhelming.

"...Lick me..." he finally breathes out, barely above a whisper. "Taste me... Please."

Sebastian grins against his skin, satisfaction rolling through him at Vincent's surrender. "As you wish, handsome", he purrs.

He parts Vincent's thighs further, his hands steady as he tilts his head, lips ghosting over sensitive skin before finally, finally giving Vincent what he craves.

Vincent gasps, his body reacting instantly, a sharp cry escaping him before he catches himself. His back arches, fingers flying to Sebastian's hair, gripping tightly as pleasure washes over him in a slow, delicious wave. Every nerve is alight, every inch of his body alive under Sebastian's touch.

He bites his lip, tries to keep quiet, but it's a losing battle. He squirms, unable to stay still, chasing every movement of Sebastian's tongue, his hips shifting on instinct.

And then—Sebastian's fingers join in, firm and knowing, curling exactly where Vincent needs.

A sharp gasp rips from Vincent's throat, his head thrown back, eyes fluttering shut. It's too much, yet not enough and he is quickly unraveling, his body trembling under the force of sensation.

"S-Seb—" He barely gets the warning out, his voice a breathy plea, his hips twitching uncontrollably.

Sebastian only tightens his hold, keeping him exactly where he wants him, determined to wring every last bit of pleasure from him before allowing him to fall over the edge.

Vincent barely registers that he's clapping a hand over his own mouth, muffling the desperate moans threatening to spill out. His body quivers, his senses burning as he tumbles headfirst into pleasure, stars bursting behind his eyes as he comes undone beneath Seb's touch.

The world blurs for a moment, his body floating somewhere between euphoria and exhaustion, his breath coming in slow, shaky gasps.

When his mind finally begins to clear, he feels Sebastian pressing soft, lingering kisses along his stomach, working his way up his chest, leaving a path of warmth in his wake. The gentleness of it contrasts the intensity of what just transpired, grounding Vincent in the aftermath.

By the time Sebastian reaches his lips, Vincent is already seeking him out, kissing him lazily, drinking in the taste of himself on Sebastian's tongue.

"Beautiful", Sebastian whispers against his lips, voice rich with adoration. He pushes Vincent's shirt higher, his hands gliding over soft skin before pulling it over his head entirely.

Then, with slow, deliberate movements, he begins stripping himself as well, his eyes never leaving Vincent's.

Overhead, the sounds of people walking along the riverside drift through the night air—soft footsteps, hushed conversations. They are distant enough to not see them, but if Vincent makes another sound like before...

Sebastian grins, clearly entertained by the thought.

Vincent swallows hard, watching him, already anticipating what's to come.

Once Seb is fully naked, his hands are back on Vin's body, stroking, teasing, feeling. Vin barely registers the change in position until he feels himself being turned, his body instinctively following Sebastian's guidance.

Strong hands grip his hips, propping him up on all fours and then—gods—Sebastian fills him, answering the aching need that had been building inside him.

A low, breathless moan escapes Vincent's lips as he sinks down onto his forearms, his fingers twisting into the fabric of the picnic blanket beneath them. Sebastian moves with slow, deliberate precision, each roll of his hips measured, controlled, a stark contrast to some of the wild, frenzied encounters they've had in the past.

Those other times had been desperate—frantic—an unspoken claiming whenever Vincent had been on the receiving end of wandering hands and drunken propositions from patrons at the tavern. The moments where Sebastian had needed to prove something, had needed to mark Vincent as his—fast, rough, stolen moments in the shadows of alleyways or hidden behind crates in the stockroom.

But this?

This was different.

There was no rush. No fear of being interrupted. No urgency clawing at them.

Only the night, the moonlight and the river whispering in the distance.

Vincent sighs, letting his body sink into the rhythm, losing himself in the steady motion of Sebastian rocking into him. His lashes flutter as pleasure unfurls deep in his core, radiating outward like heat from a fire.

Then, Sebastian's voice—low and commanding—breaks through the haze. "Lift your head, gorgeous."

Vincent whines softly, his limbs already feeling like liquid, but he obeys, shifting his weight onto his arms. His muscles tremble slightly from exertion, but he manages to lift himself up.

"Look at me", Sebastian orders next.

With effort, Vincent turns his head, red eyes meeting red as he glances over his shoulder.

Sebastian's smirk is slow, lazy, utterly enthralled by the sight before him. He's completely bare now, his body bathed in silver moonlight, muscles taut with exertion. His damp hair clings to his forehead, and gods, Vincent is entranced. The sight of Sebastian moving behind him, the way his body shifts and flexes with every thrust—it's enough to make Vincent's core clench around him, his entire body tightening in anticipation.

Sebastian notices. He always notices.

"Never gonna tire of watching you f-fuck me", Vincent breathes out, his voice barely more than a whisper, his head tilting back further in pleasure.

Sebastian chuckles, leaning in—somehow, impossibly—closing the space between them until their lips meet. Their bodies twist, straining against the unnatural angle, but for a moment, none of it matters. Their tongues dance in slow, sensual strokes, their shared breaths mingling between moans.

Eventually, the angle grows uncomfortable, forcing them to break apart. Vincent collapses forward once more, burying his face in the blanket, muffling the desperate noises spilling from his lips as Sebastian picks up the pace.

His hands tighten on Vincent's hips, fingers digging into soft flesh, keeping him steady, guiding him in perfect rhythm.

"You need help keeping quiet, handsome?" Sebastian's voice is husky, dripping with amusement.

Vincent nods quickly, barely able to form words, his body burning under Seb's touch. "P-Please..."

His lover hums, considering. "As you wish, sugar."

Without warning, he pulls out of Vincent entirely, flipping him onto his back before Vincent even has a chance to complain about the sudden emptiness.

The protest barely forms before it dies on his lips, because before he can breathe, Sebastian is filling him again, sending a fresh wave of pleasure rolling through his limbs.

Vincent cries out, hands flying up to grip at Sebastian's arms, nails digging into his biceps, but his lover pins his wrists above his head with one firm hand.

Sebastian's left hand drifts up to Vincent's lips, pressing two fingers against them. Vin immediately parts them, his tongue flicking over the digits—tasting himself, tasting them, heat surging through his veins all over again.

He sucks slowly, teasingly, his lips wrapping around the fingers that had coaxed moans from him only moments ago. His hips lift instinctively, meeting each of Sebastian's thrusts, their bodies locked in perfect sync.

I'm going to unravel again soon...

He knows it, can feel it, but something else—someone else—pulls his attention.

Above them, along the walkway overlooking the river, voices drift through the air. The lively nighttime chatter of strangers wandering past, oblivious to what's happening just below them.

Vincent should care. Should worry.

But he just doesn't.

Because this city's nightlife has always been a cesspool of vice and indulgence, a place where people come to forget, to escape, to feel.

And even if someone does hear them? Even if they know what's happening below the bridge?

What does it matter?

Sebastian steals his focus before he can think about it further, leaning down—pressing his lips to Vincent's neck, fangs ghosting over his skin.

Vincent gasps, barely able to register the sensation before Sebastian bites.

The moment his fangs sink into the sensitive spot just beneath Vincent's ear, the world explodes.

Vincent arches violently, his lips parting in a silent cry as white-hot pleasure obliterates him. His body trembles beneath Sebastian's, his nails digging helplessly into his palms as he shatters, the intensity making his vision blur, his mind go blank.

Above them, the voices falter—pausing, murmuring. Did they hear him?

He doesn't know.

He doesn't care.

Because Sebastian isn't stopping.

Even as Vincent's body convulses beneath him, even as he moans helplessly around the fingers still in his mouth, Sebastian keeps moving, keeps taking, his pace rougher, more erratic. His own release is close—Vincent can feel it in the way his lover shudders, in the quiet, bitten-off moans escaping his throat.

Vincent doesn't hesitate. He twists, tilting his head, sinking his fangs into the warm skin of Sebastian's shoulder.

Sebastian groans, low and needy, his entire body stiffening as the sensation pushes him over the edge.

He buries himself deep one last time, grinding against Vincent's heat, fingers tightening around his wrists as he spills into him, gasping out Vincent's name against his skin.

For a moment, neither of them move, their bodies locked together in the aftermath, their breaths uneven, shuddering.

Then, finally, Sebastian collapses on top of him, wrapping Vincent in his arms, holding him close as the cool night air kisses their sweat-dampened skin.

"I love you", Sebastian breathes, his fingers tracing lazy patterns over Vincent's ribs, his voice soft—raw in a way that has nothing to do with lust.

Vincent exhales slowly, still floating somewhere between pleasure and reality. He can't find words yet, but he doesn't need them. Instead, he simply smiles, pressing a lingering kiss to Sebastian's shoulder, letting the moment wrap around them like a blanket.

Sebastian pulls back just slightly, brushing damp strands of Vincent's hair from his forehead, his gaze impossibly tender.

After a long moment, he stays, then he sighs softly, finally slipping out of him and grabbing his discarded jacket, draping it over them for at least some modesty.

Then, instead of rolling away, he simply stays, gathering Vincent into his arms, holding him tightly, yet gently.

"We nearly got caught", Vincent finally manages to sigh out, his breath still uneven as the cool night air washes over them. His body is spent, glowing with residual heat, but his mind is still racing—flitting between exhilaration and disbelief.

Sebastian only chuckles, utterly unbothered. "But we didn't", he counters, his smirk positively wicked as he presses a slow, soft kiss to Vincent's temple. "And... you enjoyed it, didn't you?"

Vincent opens his mouth to protest, to come up with some sort of witty retort, but instead, his face betrays him first—warming instantly, his cheeks dusting a lovely shade of purple. He groans softly, burying his face against Sebastian's bare chest as if that could somehow shield him from the truth.

"I... I did", he admits, muffled against the other man's skin.

Sebastian grins, far too pleased with himself. "Then I'd say this was a very successful date", he muses, amusement thick in his voice.

Vincent doesn't respond with words. Instead, he simply smiles, a dopey, unguarded grin that spreads across his face as he presses himself closer, his arms curling around Sebastian in a loose, lazy embrace.

"The best", he murmurs against his lover's chest.

They remain like that for a long while—wrapped up in each other, basking in the warmth of the night, their bodies entwined beneath the stars. The river whispers beside them, carrying the hushed conversations of distant passersby, but none of it matters.

Eventually, they pull themselves together, reluctantly slipping back into their clothes, though neither of them is in any particular hurry. They share soft kisses between getting dressed, lingering touches between adjusting buttons and tying laces. And when they are settled again, they return to their feast, nibbling at the remains of their decadent picnic while stretched out on the blanket, watching the sky.

The conversation flows as effortlessly as the river beside them, meandering between topics—some serious, some nonsensical, all of it easy. They talk about their city, the ever-growing, ever-changing home they've built together. They talk about their friends, their responsibilities, the unexpected warmth of found family. They talk about the future, their words weaving soft promises between bites of pastry and stolen kisses.

Vincent soaks in every second of it, cherishing not just the night itself, but the certainty in Sebastian's voice whenever he speaks of their future.

Our future.

It fills Vincent with a quiet, profound confidence—an assurance that this, them, is something real. Something solid.

Something forever.

A smile tugs at his lips as he picks up a delicate pastry from the basket, holding it up to Sebastian's lips. "I love you", he says simply, warmth flooding his voice.

Sebastian grins before taking the offered bite, chewing thoughtfully. "We should definitely do this more often", he decides with a satisfied hum. "Go on more dates up here, I mean."

Vincent chuckles. "I'm sure Tav would have us over anytime we want."

Vince smiles, wiping a stray crumb from the corner of Seb's mouth before stealing another kiss. "Then let's make good use of that standing offer", Sebastian murmurs, pressing their foreheads together.

Vincent closes his eyes, basking in the moment, in the feel of Sebastian's lips brushing lightly against his.

Yes.

They absolutely should.

Chapter Text

They take their time on the way back, wandering through the twisting streets of Baldur's Gate, following no particular route as they let the city's pulse guide them. The night air is thick with the scent of wet stone and burning oil, laced with the faint tang of spilled ale and unwashed bodies. The murmur of voices spills out from dimly lit taverns, some raised in boisterous laughter, others slurred in drunken aggression, the occasional crash of breaking glass punctuating the atmosphere.

This city, sprawling and ever-moving, is both beautiful and ugly, a place where wealth and ruin exist on the same cobbled streets, where a man might lose his fortune at a dice table and, just a few blocks away, another might cut a purse open with a well-placed flick of a dagger.

On their way back to Octavian's estate, they pass by more than one tavern, the wooden doors swinging open and vomiting out drunken patrons into the cool night air. Some barely manage to keep their footing, stumbling forward before catching themselves with a mumbled curse, while others aren't so lucky, their boots sliding on the slick stone as they crash unceremoniously to the ground.

A few times, one of these swaying drunks nearly collides into them, pausing just long enough to mumble an apology, the stench of ale and cheap whiskey clinging to them like a second skin before they stagger off in search of their next drink.

Other times, the evidence of the city's hedonistic nature is less obvious, but no less palpable. Their sharpened senses pick up the unmistakable sounds of pleasure drifting from shadowed alleyways, hushed whispers mingling with soft gasped moans and the distinct, heady scent of arousal carries toward them like a subtle invitation.

Seb smirks to himself but says nothing. Vin simply huffs in amusement, shaking his head. But for the most part, they are left alone.

The red glow of their eyes, the effortless grace in their movements, the way they carry themselves—it is enough to make the more cautious citizens avert their gazes and hurry past, unwilling to linger in the presence of creatures who should not exist, but do.

Because despite everything—despite the fact that they have worked to civilize themselves, despite the fact that they have built a life beyond the hunger—there are some things that mortals will never truly forget.

Predators, no matter how well they mask themselves, will always be feared.

It is then that Sebastian breaks the silence, his voice touched with an easy, lopsided smirk. "Did I ever tell you how I broke my nose?"

Vincent turns his head slightly, brows arching. "I don't think you did."

As they pass a particularly rowdy section of the city, where the clientele of one particularly seedy establishment seems a little too interested in the color of their eyes, Vincent instinctively leans closer to Sebastian, pressing himself into his side just slightly, allowing his presence to anchor him. Sebastian notices, but he doesn't comment on it. Instead, his grin widens. "It was actually on the night that Astarion snatched me up."

Vincent tenses as his head snaps up, red eyes sharp, searching Sebastian's face for any sign of what prompted him to bring this up now, after all this time.

They had both been careful to steer clear of topics that were too dark, avoiding the pieces of their pasts that still ached when touched. And as a result, there were things Seb still didn't know—like why Vince had never let himself be consumed by rage the way some of their other kind had, why he had accepted things with an ease that would have shattered others.

Just as, in turn, there were things Vincent had never asked—things Seb had never offered to explain.

And yet, here they were.

"You... you don't have to talk about it, Seb." Vincent's voice is quiet, almost hesitant, as if he is uncertain whether this is something Sebastian truly wants to share.

Sebastian laughs, the sound lighter than Vincent expected, as if his mind isn't buried in the weight of old wounds but rather amused by Vincent's hesitance.

"Oh, hush, you", he says, grinning, "Why would I bring it up if I didn't want to tell you?"

Vincent opens his mouth to protest but stops, lips pressing together as he considers the simple truth of that statement. Sebastian isn't someone who shares things lightly. If he's saying this now, then that means he wants Vincent to hear it.

So, instead, Vincent nods, offering a silent go-ahead.

Sebastian smirks, his tone shifting, taking on a mockingly casual air that Vincent knows is meant to mask something deeper. "I've always been a bit possessive, I guess."

Vincent snorts, rolling his eyes. "A bit?" he echoes, his tone laced with amusement. "Well, I knew that", Vincent adds, grinning, "Even if I'm sometimes slow to catch onto things, after the third time you dragged me out of the bar to stake your claim, I couldn't help but notice."

Sebastian laughs, the sound rich and unrestrained. "Stake my claim!?" He barks out another chuckle, shaking his head. "What a nice way of saying 'I shoved your pants down and fucked you until you screamed.'"

Vincent's face burns, a deep purple blush spreading across his cheeks. "Sebastian!"

Sebastian merely grins, clearly pleased with the reaction, before he leans in to press a lingering kiss against Vincent's temple, the affection in the gesture contrasting sharply with the wicked amusement in his voice. "Thanks for putting up with my shit."

Vincent smiles, pressing a quick kiss to Sebastian's jaw in return. "Anytime", he murmurs, then nudges him playfully. "Now... the nose?"

Sebastian sighs, shaking his head. "Right. The nose." His expression shifts, the humor fading just slightly as he takes a slow, deliberate breath before continuing.

"It was one of my nights off, but I still went to the tavern to hang out with my friends. I wasn't in the habit of getting drunk, but... I noticed this gorgeous elf just lingering there and, well, I guess I've always had a thing for you pointy-eared folk."

He smirks and to prove his point, he leans down, trailing his lips slowly over the curve of Vincent's ear, lingering at the sensitive tip just long enough to make Vince shudder. He clutches the fabric of Sebastian's shirt, his fingers tightening.

Sebastian chuckles, clearly pleased before continuing. "Anyway... I was terrible at flirting, but I offered to buy him a drink. He accepted. And thus began my doom."

He chuckles, but this time, the humor is bitter, hollow in a way that makes Vincent's chest tighten. "The night went on and I got more and more drunk and then, well... I managed to stutter out that I wanted to kiss this man. It was... going to be my first kiss."

Vincent's stomach tightens.

"And Gods, it was awkward and messy at first. The drinks didn't help, but Astarion kind of... roped me in, showed me how."

He lets out a breath that isn't quite a laugh, isn't quite a sigh, something stuck between the two. Then, his expression shifts. "And then someone else laid eyes on him."

Vincent doesn't move. He barely breathes.

Sebastian continues, his voice steady, but Vincent can hear the way it hardens, just slightly.

"Some bold-faced drunkard. Said something about how Astarion would have more fun with him than with a virgin like me." His jaw twitches, his fingers subtly flexing at his sides. "I punched him in the gut, and he punched me in the face. Guess rage was always an issue for me too."

Vincent feels something cold settle in his chest.

All this time, he had never known—had never even suspected—that Sebastian's first time, the first brush of lips that had ever ignited a spark in him, had been with Astarion. The revelation sinks into his stomach like heavy stones, each piece of the truth dragging him further down into a sea of conflicted emotions. He frowns, his mind working quickly to untangle the mess of understanding, sympathy and something unnameable that tugs at the edges of his heart.

He knows, of course, that his brother hadn't had a choice. That Astarion's entire existence, his every movement, had been dictated by Cazador's will, by the need to lure unsuspecting souls into the darkness of Szarr Palace. He understands the cold, brutal reality of it—knows it so well that the knowledge has long since settled into his bones, an inescapable truth that will never be anything less than awful. But still, still, he knows that Astarion, when given even the smallest amount of room to maneuver, would have normally redirected his attention elsewhere. Would have let a drunk, bold-faced bastard take the lead, deflecting the interest away from the nervous, wide-eyed human sitting before him. Astarion was pragmatic, skilled in the delicate art of manipulation, in the art of choosing the right prey—those who wouldn't be missed. Those who deserved it a little more than others.

And yet, that hadn't happened here.

Sebastian had been chosen. And Vincent knows exactly what that means.

Because every so often, in the endless cycle of seduction and betrayal, of whispered lies and carefully placed smiles, Astarion would take someone who made him feel good. Not just good in the physical sense, not just a means to an end, but something real—something that made him feel, for even a brief moment, like he wasn't drowning in an existence that had long since stopped feeling like his own.

They had all done it, every single one of them who had been forced into that wretched cycle.

Astarion. Vincent himself. The others, the seven Spawn whose only reprieve came in the form of stolen, fleeting moments where they were more than just monsters playing the part of men.

A beacon of light in an endless, suffocating sea of meaningless encounters, a single point of warmth in the otherwise unrelenting cold of their existence.

A soothing balm against the brutal reality that so many had treated them as less than human—as objects, as playthings, as something to be used and discarded at will.

A moment of levity—however brief, however fragile—where they weren't being forced to endure someone's barely restrained depravity, where they could simply exist in a space that wasn't tainted by malice or cruelty.

Astarion had taken Sebastian because, in that moment—perhaps for the first time in too many years to count—he must have felt like something real.

Not a mark, not prey, not just another body to be dragged back to the chamber of horrors that was Szarr Palace.

Sebastian, young and awkward, nervous and sincere, had been something different from the parade of drunken fools and arrogant nobles that Astarion had played along with over the centuries. He had been authentic, his emotions unfiltered, his attraction genuine. He had been sweet, tentative and more importantly—willing.

And Vincent… Vincent doesn't quite know what to do with that realization.

He could be jealous, but the feeling never comes. Not even the barest trace of it.

How could he be, when he has seen the way Astarion looks at Octavian? When he has felt the weight of his brother's love for the Aasimar who saved him?

They are like stars caught in each other's gravity, two celestial bodies revolving endlessly around one another, their orbits so tightly wound that there is no room for doubt, no space for anyone else to pull them apart.

No. There is no jealousy in him.

Instead, something else stirs deep in his chest—a thought, a desire to tell Sebastian the truth, to help him understand.

To tell him why Astarion had chosen him that night.

To let him know that amidst all the shadows and suffering, amidst all the forced smiles and the thousands of nights spent enduring the touch of monsters, he had been a balm to Astarion's weary, tattered soul.

But he hesitates. Would Sebastian even believe him? Would he accept that?

Or would he laugh, shake his head and brush it off as another cruel trick of fate, another cosmic joke at his expense?

"He helped set my nose, terribly as you can see." Sebastian's voice pulls Vincent from his thoughts, his chuckle light but carrying the faintest edge of something else, something melancholy. He stares ahead, his expression unreadable, pointedly avoiding Vincent's gaze, as if doing so might make the words hurt less. "Then we went to Szarr Palace. I was so fucking enchanted by the riches... and so very clumsy as we did it."

Another chuckle—this one tinged with something different, something almost amused at the sheer naivety of his younger self.

"When I woke up, Astarion was gone and Cazador was already fangs deep in my neck."

Vincent grimaces, his stomach twisting as the imagery settles heavily into his mind.

Sebastian sighs, his voice growing quieter, words spoken more to the night air than to Vincent himself. "I don't remember much after that. I woke up again in a cage in the Tourmaline Depths." The weight of those words settles like a stone between them, the quiet stretch of the city suddenly feeling too large, too hollow.

Vincent watches him carefully, his own lips parting slightly, as if searching for something to say—something to soften the blow, something to take away the ache in Sebastian's voice.

But before he can find the words, Sebastian sighs again, running a hand through his disheveled brown hair, his fingers tugging at the strands in that absent-minded way he does when he's trying to keep himself from feeling too much at once.

"Right after I got out... after we settled in the Underdark and once Astarion and Octavian came to visit, I would sometimes ask myself..."

Vincent stills. There is something in Sebastian’s tone—something raw, something vulnerable that he has never heard before.

"Why him? Why not me?" Sebastian’s voice is barely above a whisper now, a quiet, painful confession spoken into the dim glow of Baldur's Gate's streets. "Why Octavian?"

Vincent's breath catches in his throat.

"Why didn't he rebel against Cazador for me?" The words hit like a thunderclap, reverberating through Vincent's skull, through his very being, turning his world on its axis in a way he hadn't expected.

He knows that he cannot let this question go unanswered. He cannot let Sebastian drown in this thought, cannot let him believe that it was simply fate that had left him behind. He has to tell him.

Has to tell him of the year Astarion spent in his tomb, the endless days of torment and suffering, the way Cazador shattered his mind so thoroughly that by the time he emerged, all that was left of him was a man who had no room for rebellion, no space for anything but survival.

Ordinarily, Vincent would never speak of it. Would never offer the knowledge so freely, because it is not his story to tell.

But this... This is different.

If knowing the truth can help Sebastian, if it can ease even a fraction of the weight that has been constricting his chest for centuries, then Vincent will tell him. He owes him that much.

"I..." His voice falters, the gravity of what he is about to say settling over him. He steadies himself. "I might have an answer for you."

Sebastian finally turns his head, his red eyes locking onto Vincent's face for the first time since he started speaking and fuck—the moment he sees the way Vincent is looking at him, his heart sinks.

His lover's face is tight, his expression carefully neutral, but his eyes—his eyes—are filled with something heavy, something that twists in the depths of that crimson gaze, something Sebastian hadn't meant to put there.

A deep frown knits between his brows, a frustrated sigh escaping from between his lips.

Godsdamn it. He could kick himself for this.

Why the fuck had he thought this was a good idea?

Why—on a night that was supposed to be good, a night that had started with laughter, pleasure, warmth—had he chosen to dump this on Vincent?

Why had he thought that now was the right time to tell his boyfriend—the man he loves—that his own brother had been Sebastian's first kiss, first touch, first everything? That Astarion had been the last person to hold him before he was shoved into a cage and left to rot in the darkness for one hundred and seventy years? Why did he have to ruin what had been a perfectly good night?

But it's not as if he had planned this. The words had simply spilled out, slipping past his lips before he could think better of them, before he could remind himself that some things are better left unsaid.

He had felt safe. Safe enough to finally speak it.

To admit—for the first time—to anyone why he had been so angry at Astarion in the beginning, why the sight of him flourishing in his newfound freedom had left Sebastian with a bitter, choking kind of resentment.

Why he had seethed at the way Astarion had carved out a beautiful life for himself, had fallen in love with a man who worshipped the ground he walked on, had found happiness in a way that had felt so impossible for the rest of them.

He had been angry—so angry—not because he hated Astarion, but because he had wanted it to be him. He had wanted to be the one who had been saved, wanted to be the one who had escaped into a life where love and warmth were things he could actually hold in his hands rather than just dream about in the dead of night.

He had been angry because, for the longest time, he had felt forgotten.

And now? Now he wants to shove the words back in, as if swallowing them whole would make them disappear, as if taking them back would erase the way Vincent is looking at him right now.

But unfortunately, it's never that fucking easy.

"I... I might have an answer for you." Vincent’s voice is so quiet, so soft and yet it lands between them like a thunderclap, heavy and inevitable.

Sebastian hates it when Vincent gets like this—when his voice shrinks into something too small, when his shoulders seem to fold inward as if trying to disappear into himself. His fingers twitch at his sides, an instinctual urge to shake Vincent out of it, to force him back to the present. But he resists, his hands clenching into fists, his focus shifting instead to Vincent's words.

"You... you do?" The question leaves him carefully measured, but something about the way it lingers in the air—unspoken desperation beneath the surface—makes it sound more like a plea.

Sebastian goes still, his entire body tense, his breathing slow and controlled, like a predator waiting in the dark, waiting for Vincent to continue.

Vincent doesn't look at him when he nods, his gaze dropping to the cobblestones beneath their feet, his fingers twitching slightly where they hang at his sides.

"Usually, it wouldn't be my place to tell," Vincent murmurs, voice distant, like he’s already being pulled backward into the past, "but I feel like you need this. You deserve to know."

Sebastian swallows thickly, a knot forming in his throat, his entire body locked up as if bracing for a punch he can't see coming.

"Go ahead," he manages, forcing the words out.

Vincent inhales, a slow, steadying breath. "In the first decade after Astarion was turned, he rebelled quite often."

The words spill out of Vincent like an unleashed river, his usual hesitations gone, swept away by the force of something old and deeply buried. "He'd get people so drunk that they wouldn't sleep with him, but instead just pass out—to spare him the humiliation. Cazador... he 'fixed' that quite thoroughly."

Sebastian's jaw locks, his teeth grinding together as rage floods his veins, hot and violent, surging up inside him like an unstoppable tide. He had suffered his own share under that bastard, but for the most part, Cazador had been content to let him and the others rot in the depths of his palace, treating them like discarded relics rather than playthings.

But for the seven House Spawn—

They had been different.

They had been his favorites.

And they had been tortured for it.

Sebastian sometimes forgets that fact—forgets that the pain he endured was nothing compared to the centuries of agony Astarion and Vincent had suffered.

But now—now, as the embers of his anger ignite into an inferno, he finds himself yearning for something impossible, something futile.

He wants to raise Cazador from the dead just to kill him again. Wants to take his head and bash it in until it is nothing but splintered bone and pulp, until there is nothing left of the monster who had done this to them.

But Vincent isn't finished. "But when he was tasked with bringing someone back that reminded him of someone from his past... he refused. Instead, he ran." Vincent shudders, his breath hitching slightly, his voice lowering into something quieter. "I've never seen the master so angry."

Sebastian's fingers curl into his palms so tightly that his nails threaten to pierce his skin. Something inside him clenches, a slow, horrible realization creeping over him as he listens to Vincent speak, his tone shifting, slipping into something eerily familiar.

Not just recounting. Reliving. Vincent is caught up in the past, the words slipping from his lips as if he is still there, as if, in his mind, he never truly left.

And Sebastian sees it—notices it—the way Vincent's entire body sometimes pauses before certain words, the way he chooses them with deliberation, as if correcting himself before he even speaks.

As if there are other words, old words, ingrained in his very bones and he has to actively fight to use something different.

Sebastian feels sick. What the fuck happened to him? What kind of life did he live before Cazador, that servitude seems so deeply woven into his very existence—as if it is the only thing keeping his world upright?

"He locked him up in a tomb", Vincent continues, his voice laced with something old and aching, something Sebastian recognizes all too well—because he knows that ache, has lived in it, has let it wrap around his ribs like chains for centuries. "For thirteen months. I know it's not long in the great scheme of two centuries, but still... it broke him. He was quiet. Like me. For a while after that."

Vincent's face snaps up then, crimson eyes locking onto Sebastian's with an intensity that sends a shiver down his spine.

"Punishment", Vincent breathes, "just because he refused to bring someone back that he had felt was too nice to be dragged into the same hell he was forced to exist in."

Sebastian can barely breathe. Vincent is still speaking, the words pouring out faster, as if he has held them in for too long, as if stopping now might drown him.

"Usually", he continues, "usually he would've switched his attention from you to that drunkard that punched your nose. Because to him, that guy deserved it more than you."

Sebastian swallows hard, his throat tight, his rage clenching around his heart.

"But sometimes... sometimes we would take a mark that made us feel nice, that made us feel like we weren't just a piece of meat, weren't just a hole for someone to rut into, or a body for someone to lash out upon."

His voice is raw, shaking, but he doesn't stop. "There were so many painful things, hurtful things done to us already. Torture for the sake of it. Cazador never raped us, no. He got his pleasure from seeing us break under his lash, under his knife."

Sebastian's stomach turns, nausea clawing at him, but Vincent isn't finished. "He was always disgustingly creative. He even rejoiced in the fact that some of the people we were forced to sleep with lived out their darkest, most sadistic fantasies on our bodies. Why would he care? We'd just heal, anyway."

Vincent gasps, his eyes wide, as if he himself is only just realizing what he's said. As if the weight of it is crushing him. "He never cared much for me in that way because I was already so broken before my family even sold me to him."

Seb feels like he's going to be sick.

"I just... took it. Like the obedient slave I grew up as." The words spill from Vincent's lips in a flood, as though something inside him has finally broken open, an unstoppable tide of grief and confession that he has no control over.

"My mother tried to kill me more than once." The words hit like a punch to the gut and yet Vincent doesn't pause, doesn't stop, as though speaking now is the only thing keeping him upright.

"She was forced to have me. Forced to serve. And it broke her. It broke her." His breath hitches, his voice growing more fragile, trembling like something frayed and close to snapping.

"She couldn't love me, because every time she looked at me, she saw my father... hovering over her, pinning her down, forcing himself on her."

Sebastian feels his fingernails bite into his palms. His entire body goes tight, his muscles locked in useless fury, because what is he supposed to do with this?

What is he supposed to say to something like this? How is he supposed to erase that kind of pain when it has already been carved into Vincent's bones, when it has already shaped the way he sees himself?

"And so Astarion... Astarion was the first person to ever love me in the sense of family." Vincent gasps again, clutching at his chest as though his very heart might shatter in his hands. His entire body is shaking now, trembling from the sheer weight of what he is admitting, as though he is peeling open old wounds that have never truly healed.

"I was raised to become just like her. A pleasure slave. A fuck-hole. A pretty thing to look at. A bargaining chip to keep at hand." His voice is breaking, cracking under the sheer force of his own words. "When I... when I finally began to transition into the body I actually felt I had, I became less valuable."

Sebastian clenches his teeth so hard that his jaw aches.

"Men aren't held in high regard in Drow society." Vincent chuckles, but the sound is so hollow, so detached, that it makes Sebastian's stomach twist. "They traded me off. To Cazador."

Sebastian's vision tunnels. The words slam into him, slamming into his bones, into the very foundation of his mind and something red-hot and lethal coils inside his gut, a rage so pure that it makes his breath stagger in his throat.

"And he gave them access to the topside world through his tunnels. I was a transaction. A trade. A deal. Just another fucking commodity to be used and discarded." Vincent is panting now, his breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps, as if his own words are physically suffocating him.

"H-Hells... I... I even saw the deed of ownership with my name on it once. Like I was just cattle to be used. By them. By the whole damn world."

Sebastian can't wait any longer. Not with the way Vincent's voice trembles, not with the way he looks, his body held together by sheer will alone, as though he might collapse under the weight of his own suffering. Sebastian grabs him, pulling him into his arms, crushing him against his chest, holding him so tightly that it's as if he's trying to shield him from everything that has already happened, from every wound that has already been carved into him.

"You are not a thing. You are not a bargaining chip. You are not what they tried to make you, Vincent." His voice shakes, thick with rage he can barely contain, but he forces himself to keep his grip steady, forces himself to keep his touch gentle even as his very soul screams for vengeance. "Fuck, Vin..."

Sebastian barely contains the violent anger that churns inside him, an uncontrollable, useless wrath that has nowhere to go.

Because the monsters in Vincent's past—the people who broke him, who traded him, who sold him off like property—are long since dead and buried...

Or are they? Sebastian's thoughts snarl in his head, a fire igniting within him.

Full-blooded Drow live for centuries, some of them stretching up to seven hundred years.

His sperm donor. The people who raised him.

The ones who saw him as nothing more than a commodity, a piece of flesh to be bought and sold like livestock—

They could still be out there.

Living. Breathing. Walking free.

Sebastian shoves the thought down, forces it into the back of his mind, knowing that if he lets it fester now, if he lets it consume him, then he won't be able to focus on what actually matters: Vincent.

His lover, who is shaking in his arms, who is barely holding himself together, whose breath is still uneven, his fingers clutching at Sebastian's coat as if afraid he might disappear.

Seb tightens his grip, burying one hand in Vincent’s silken hair, holding him close, so close, so that he knows he is here, that he is safe, that he will never be discarded again.

"Let it out, Sugar", he murmurs, pressing his lips softly to the top of Vincent's head, a contrast to the storm of rage thrashing in his veins. "Let it all out."

He holds him tighter, soothing circles tracing along Vincent's back, willing him to break if he needs to, to let go of whatever has been choking him for so long.

"Rage. Cry. Anything." His voice lowers, soft, steady, his breath warm against Vincent's ear. "No one will punish you for feeling your emotions."

And that's when he feels it. The sharp, wet sensation of tears sinking into the fabric of his shirt, damp against his skin, proof that the dam has finally broken.

Sebastian says nothing. He just holds him. And for a while, they simply stand there, Vincent crying into his chest, his body trembling with the force of finally letting go, while Sebastian bites back his rage and forces himself to stay still, to be here, to be something steady in the storm.

Vincent had never truly understood the sheer weight of the suffering inside him—not until now, not until it was pouring out of him in an unrelenting flood of grief and confession.

The dam had broken and every ounce of darkness, every pain he had kept tucked away, was now laid bare between them. And yet, as soon as it spilled forth, as soon as the last ragged sob left his lips and the tears began to slow, a wave of regret followed, cold and suffocating.

Sebastian had finally opened up to him tonight. Had given him a piece of his own darkness, a wound that should have been seen and soothed, not overshadowed by Vincent's own endless well of pain. This should have been his moment. A chance for Vincent to be the listening ear, to hold Sebastian's burdens the way he had so often held Vincent's. Instead, it had turned into this.

A trauma-dump. A selfish, messy outpouring of everything he had suffered, when that had never been his intention. He had made it all about himself.

"I'm sorry..." The words come out hoarse, barely above a whisper, his voice raw from his confessions, from the tears that had soaked into Sebastian's shirt.

His fingers tighten against the fabric, as if willing himself to anchor back into the present, to fix what he has ruined. "I... I shouldn't have told you all that... not right now, anyway."

Sebastian doesn't immediately respond, doesn't fill the lingering silence with easy reassurances. Instead, he simply shrugs, the movement gentle, his arms still firm around Vincent's waist. Then, he pulls back slightly, just enough to lift Vin's face by his chin, tilting it up so their eyes meet.

"Maybe", he says, his tone even, calm, thoughtful. For a split second, Vincent braces himself for something more—something like disappointment, or a quiet weariness, but instead Sebastian just smiles.

"For what it's worth I'm glad we both know those things about each other now", he continues, his thumb brushing softly over Vincent's cheekbone, grounding him in the warmth of his touch. "It certainly helps me understand you better, Sugar."

Vin's breath catches slightly and the tension in his shoulders finally unwinds, just a little.

The smile that tugs at his lips is shaky, but it feels real, feels good—like a fragile ember reigniting after nearly being snuffed out.

"You're the first person to ever love me in a romantic sense", Vincent breathes, his voice still soft, his hands loosening where they clutch Sebastian's coat, only to slide up, clinging to his shoulders instead, as if trying to pull him closer. "The first person I've ever loved in a romantic sense."

Sebastian's smile deepens, something fond and genuine shining in his red eyes and the warmth of it spreads through Vincent like sunlight finally breaking through the storm.

"I do love you, Vince", Sebastian murmurs, his voice carrying a depth of sincerity so profound that it settles into Vincent's very bones, twisting something deep inside him until his heart aches with the sheer weight of it. His breath catches, his fingers tightening slightly against Sebastian's shoulders as if holding on to that moment, as if grounding himself in the warmth of those words.

"My gorgeous mess of a boyfriend", Sebastian adds, his lips curling into a soft chuckle, the sound low and warm. There is something in his expression—a quiet reverence, a look that speaks of fondness so deep it seems to settle into his very features, softening the hard lines of his face, the fierce intensity of his usual smirks giving way to something gentler, something that makes Vin feel cherished in a way he has never known before.

His fingers slip into Vincent's hair, idly combing through the silken strands, his touch absentminded yet deliberate, as though he simply enjoys the feeling of it beneath his hands.

And for a long, quiet moment, they simply stand there. No words. No need for them.

The aftermath of all that has passed—the pain, the anger, the grief—now settling into something softer, something that no longer threatens to consume them, but instead holds them together in the quiet, steadfast certainty that neither of them is alone anymore.

Then, almost absentmindedly, as though the thought has escaped before he could stop it, Sebastian mutters—"Why do you never braid it?"

Vincent blinks. "My hair, you mean?"

"Yeah", Seb nods, his eyes locking onto Vincent's as though searching for something.

Vincent hesitates, as if the answer should be obvious, but then—

"I... I used to", he admits, his fingers lightly toying with the fabric of Seb's collar, tracing the seam as he thinks. "Before I got locked up by Thorm. But after being rescued... I don't know how to anymore. Even the muscle memory was lost in the void of my existence. And I don't have a mirror image to practice."

Sebastian frowns, but only for a second. His expression shifts quickly, morphing into something stubborn—something that Vincent recognizes all too well, because it usually means Sebastian is about to do something ridiculous.

"Right", Seb mutters, then, without hesitation, "I'll braid it for you."

Vincent blinks again, staring at him as if he's just grown a second head. "You... are going to braid my hair?"

The image of his feral, rage-prone boyfriend—his berserker, all rough hands and calloused fingers—trying to braid his hair suddenly flits into his mind and before he can stop himself, a giggle escapes him.

And gods, after all the heaviness, after the cold, empty weight of their confessions, that small sound of laughter feels like light breaking through the cracks.

Sebastian's expression immediately narrows, his brows drawing together as he glares at him. "Don't you giggle at me!", he scolds, but the words hold no real bite, only the quiet affection that so often hides behind his gruff demeanor.

"I'll learn it. I'll have—" Sebastian pauses, then his lips curl into a smirk. "I'll have Astarion teach me."

Vincent's mouth gapes open in shock, eyes going wide. "Astarion?"

"Yeah", Sebastian nods, his smirk widening. "That guy has stupidly perfect hair for someone without a mirror image."

Vincent's giggles turn into outright laughter, the levity of the night seeping back into his bones, replacing the ache that had settled so deeply there just moments before.

Sebastian has heard his boyfriend giggle before—a soft, fleeting sound, barely there, so quiet that it almost gets carried away by the breeze if he isn't paying close attention. But this—this is different. This isn't just a giggle, a shy little noise that slips out before Vincent can smother it down.

This is laughter. Real, unrestrained laughter, spilling from Vincent's lips like sunlight breaking through storm clouds.

And the fact that he did that—he made Vincent laugh with something as stupid as offering to learn how to braid his hair—it settles deep within Sebastian's soul, anchoring itself somewhere inside his chest, filling him with a kind of pride that is both fierce and quiet all at once.

It is a beautiful sound. A sound so rare that it humbles him to hear it.

He knows why Vincent is laughing. Hells, even he finds the picture he just painted to be completely ridiculous. His big, calloused hands, rough from months of hard training, trying to braid something as delicate as Vincent's silken hair? Gods, he can barely tie his own boots half the time without cursing under his breath. The idea of gently weaving those strands together into something elegant and neat is nothing short of absurd.

And yet—

Fuck it.

If it gives Vincent back a piece of himself, even something as small as remembering how to care for his own hair, then Sebastian will learn.

He will try.

And he will damn well do it.

Sebastian lets himself drink in the moment, watching Vincent's laughter wash over the night, watching the way his red eyes shimmer with something lighter, something warmer, a kind of joy that Sebastian is desperate to see more of.

"Gorgeous." The word slips out before he even realizes it, a whisper carried on the tail end of his breath and fuck it, he refuses to fight the instinct that pulls him forward, refuses to ignore the hunger to feel more of this—to feel Vincent in all the ways that matter.

He leans in, capturing Vincent's lips in a kiss that is sweeter than the ones they usually share, a touch that is less frantic and more reverent, softer, like he's memorizing the feel of it against his own.

Vincent makes a pleased little noise and his fingers immediately tangle in Sebastian's messy hair, tugging him closer as he tries to kiss back.

But... Sebastian feels the way his lips keep twitching, the way small little giggles continue to spill out between their kisses, bubbling up unstoppable like a wellspring of pure joy.

Sebastian smirks against his lips, a slow, wicked little thing and lets his hands wander lower, traveling down the curve of Vincent’s waist, down to the swell of his ass, where he gives a firm squeeze.

The giggles cut off instantly. A moan replaces them.

Sebastian pulls back, grinning in satisfaction, knowing exactly what he just did, knowing that Vincent knows he did it on purpose.

His gaze stays locked onto Vincent's flushed face, the way his purple-tinged blush deepens, the way his red eyes widen slightly in the realization of what just happened.

Fucking adorable.

"Let's head back", Sebastian murmurs, his voice dipping into something lower, something thicker with intent, the words laced with promise. "Take a nice, hot bath in that ridiculously luxurious bathroom we've been bestowed upon."

He watches Vincent swallow, watches the way his lips part slightly, how his breath hitches just the tiniest bit.

Sebastian's smirk widens.

Then, he leans in closer, his breath warm against the shell of Vincent’s pointed ear and his tone slips into something darker, something possessive, something that holds a different kind of hunger—not for blood, but for him.

"Make you squeal my name a few more times." And just to drive the point home, he gives another squeeze, fingers pressing firmly into Vincent's flesh.

Vincent gasps, his entire body melting into him, a quiet, needy little whimper escaping from somewhere deep in his throat.

Sebastian grins, feeling the satisfaction of knowing that, despite everything—despite the pain, despite the weight of their pasts—he can still do this to Vincent.

He can still pull him back into the present.

He can still make him feel good.

And fuck, does he love that.

Sliding his arm firmly around Vincent's waist, he guides them forward, leading them back through the city's streets, back toward Exeltis Manor, back toward the security of walls, the comfort of their chosen family and the lingering promise of a scalding hot bath shared between them.

Chapter Text

When they step through the grand entryway of Exeltis Manor, the house is silent, save for the soft creak of the polished wooden floor beneath their feet. The sprawling estate, usually brimming with life in the evenings, now rests in a state of comfortable stillness, the echoes of its inhabitants tucked away behind gilded doors and velvet-draped corridors.

Neither Octavian nor Astarion are anywhere to be seen and Sebastian can only assume that the couple has already retreated to their own bedchambers—undoubtedly wrapped around each other in the same indulgent and shameless way they always are. He can't blame them, really. If he didn't have work to worry about, if Vincent wasn't overseeing an entire damn district, the two of them would probably never leave their bedroom either. At least not for the next century or two.

They slip inside with quiet precision, careful not to disturb the manor's staff, though Sebastian wouldn't be surprised if the maid and butler were well-accustomed to receiving guests at odd hours of the night. One of their employers is a vampire, after all.

But still, it's not like they need anyone to take off their coats for them.

Instead, they simply shrug out of them, leaving them behind in the entry hall, draped over the ornate coat rack before making their way down the dimly lit corridor, their footsteps hushed against the plush runner leading toward their suite.

When they step inside, Sebastian bites back a gasp. The room is beautiful. Luxurious, yes, but not in the stifling, ostentatious way of the noble estates he used to visit in his former life, applying as a cook to maybe step up the social ladder a little. No, this space is warm, inviting, crafted with the kind of wealth that understands comfort rather than smothers in excess.

The canopy bed—large enough to fit three people comfortably—is draped in plush silks and velvets, the deep crimson fabric cascading down the intricately carved posts. The doors leading to the balcony are shut, but the heavy drapes remain open, allowing the moonlight to spill across the wooden floorboards, bathing the room in a soft silver glow that dances over the textured rug spread beneath their feet.

In the fireplace, the embers of dying flames still glow faintly, their warmth lingering in the air, keeping the chill of the night at bay. Someone—likely one of the house staff—had stoked the fire before they arrived, ensuring that the room remained comfortably heated for their return.

Sebastian doesn't hesitate, kicking off his boots with clumsy urgency, only to nearly trip over himself as he hops around on one foot, yanking off his socks one by one, desperate to bury his toes in the softness of the rug.

Vincent watches him with an amused little giggle, shaking his head as he finally tears his gaze away from Seb's antics just long enough to grab a fresh log from the pile beside the fireplace. With practiced ease, he places it onto the glowing embers, using the wrought iron poker to nudge the wood into place. Within seconds, the flames catch, licking up hungrily, crackling and snapping as they breathe renewed life into the fire.

"I'll go draw us a bath", Vincent murmurs, his voice soft, his expression fond as he pushes himself upright and makes his way toward the ensuite, disappearing through the adjoining door.

Sebastian, still grinning from ear to ear, wiggles his toes into the cushioned fibers of the rug with a pleased hum.

"Thanks, Sugar!", he calls after him, his voice filled with warmth and ease, feeling utterly content in the simple pleasure of being here—being with Vincent, in a place where they could finally exist without the weight of the world pressing down on them.

The enchanted faucet sputters to life with a quick twist and within seconds, steam begins to rise in the air, curling around the grand marble walls of the ensuite as the ginormous tub fills with piping hot water. The faint scent of lavender and chamomile drifts through the room, remnants of past indulgences.

Vincent moves leisurely, padding over to the ornate counter where bottles of luxurious bath oils and salts are neatly arranged. He rummages through them, fingers brushing against glass vials and delicate stoppers, selecting the ones he knows they both enjoy—the soothing warmth of sandalwood, the spiced bite of clove, the subtle hint of citrus that lingers on the skin long after the bath has ended.

He uncorks one bottle, pouring its contents into the still-filling tub, watching as wisps of fragrant oil swirl into the water, mixing with the steam, thickening the air with its intoxicating blend.

But just as he reaches to return the bottles to their place, he hears the rustle of fabric behind him—the unmistakable sound of clothes slipping from skin. He knows Sebastian is undressing, expects him to step into the tub first, to sink into the steaming water and wait for him to join.

But instead, he feels him. A solid body presses against his back, caging him in, Sebastian's arms bracing against the counter on either side of his hips, effectively trapping him in place.

Vincent's breath hitches, his fingers going still against the bottle he had returned to the countertop, his body already reacting before he even fully processes what's happening.

Sebastian leans in, his left hand gently brushing aside the strands of Vincent's hair, exposing the vulnerable curve of his neck.

A kiss. Soft. Lingering. Pressing against the sensitive skin at the nape of his neck.

A shudder rips through him, unbidden and before he can stop it, a moan slips past his lips, quiet but unmistakable. "Seb...", he breathes, voice already trembling, already carrying the weight of what's to come.

Seb's free arm tightens around him, one hand staying firmly around his waist while the other slides downward, fingers easing their way beneath the waistband of his pants, seeking, finding.

Vincent gasps, his back arching as Sebastian's fingers slip through his folds, meeting him with a fresh wave of wetness, a clear testament to how easily he is unraveled.

"Just one kiss to your nape and you're already this wet?" Sebastian's voice is low, smug, his breath hot against Vincent's ear as his middle finger drags over the apex of his pleasure. The movement is slow, excruciating, the teasing flick of his finger against that pulsing bundle of nerves sending sparks of pleasure shooting through Vincent's entire body.

Vin's hands snap forward, gripping the only thing within reach—Sebastian's forearm, nails digging into his skin, his breath coming in short, uneven pants.

The pace is agonizing, each drag of Sebastian's finger deliberate, torturous, winding him up inch by inch with no hope of relief.

His breath hitches. His hips buck involuntarily, chasing after more friction, more pressure, more of anything that will push him over the edge of this burning ache.

The pleasure builds, climbing, tension coiling tighter and tighter in his core—

Sebastian stops. His fingers still against him, hovering just shy of where Vincent desperately needs him most.

The sensation is gone, stolen in an instant, leaving Vincent's body thrumming with need, a frustrated wail ripping from his throat before he can stop it.

"Oh, please, Sebastian—please, please—S-Seb, please!" The words spill out of him without hesitation, his voice hitching, breath ragged as he bucks his hips against the lack of touch, his mind already hazy with need.

Sebastian hums in approval, savoring the way Vincent begs for him, the way his body trembles, the way his voice breaks into such beautiful, pleading desperation.

"Your voice is so pretty when you beg for it like that."

His lips brush softly over Vincent's bare shoulder, peppering slow kisses along the curve of it.

But then—

Sebastian pauses. His grip tightens just slightly, holding Vincent still, keeping him from moving, keeping him pinned against the counter.

His voice dips into something quieter, something more introspective, something that makes Vincent's blood go cold.

"But knowing what I know now..." Sebastian's breath ghosts against his skin. "I begin to wonder... how much of what you like—what you crave—is truly yours? And how much of it was taught to you?"

For a moment, Vincent's mind short-circuits.

The words don't fully register, not at first, lost in the haze of pleasure and desperation, but then—

Then they do. And it hits him like a blade to the gut. "I-I don't know." His voice wobbles, the confession spilling out fragile, uncertain.

Because it's true. He doesn't know. How could he? How could he possibly separate what was his from what was forced upon him? How could he untangle desire from conditioning, pleasure from obedience?

How does he differentiate between the things that make him feel good and the things that were drilled into him—the things that were expected of him, the things he had to enjoy in order to survive?

"I just... p-please, Sebastian... It f-feels good... Let me just... feel good..." He hates how small he sounds. He hates the way his voice shakes. But gods, he just wants to feel. He just wants to exist in his pleasure, wants to let himself drown in it without questioning whether it is truly his own.

Sebastian's arms tighten around him. "Alright, Sugar." Seb's voice is gentle, barely a breath against Vincent's ear. "Since you asked so nicely."

A flick of his tongue against Vincent's pointed ear, slow and deliberate, his fingers returning without warning, pressing against that aching spot at the apex of his thighs—

And Vincent's entire world shatters.

A cry rips from his throat, guttural and desperate, his body jerking as pleasure detonates through him in a flash of white-hot ecstasy. His hands scramble for purchase, fingers digging into the muscles on Seb's forearm as his knees threaten to give out, his hips trembling as he rides the waves of his release.

It's only thanks to Seb holding him steady, that his knees don't hit the ground.

Whispering praise into his skin, pressing kisses to his neck, shoulders and ears, grounding him as his world tilts and spins, as the heat cascades through every nerve in his body.

Sebastian can do nothing but hold Vincent steady as he comes apart in his arms, his body shivering, his breathless moans spilling out of his mouth, his fingers gripping at his forearm as though he needs something to anchor him to reality. The sheer intensity of Vincent's pleasure unravels him completely, leaving him soft, pliable, his body trembling in the aftershocks of his release.

Sebastian smiles softly, pressing lingering kisses to his damp skin, whispering sweet praises into his ear, his voice a low, affectionate murmur between each gentle touch of his lips.

"Beautiful, Sugar", he murmurs, his hands already moving, deftly working to undress Vincent completely, slipping off the remaining fabric that clings to his heated skin.

He doesn't even think about it—it's second nature to him now, the instinct to take care of Vincent after he falls apart like this. And as soon as he's got him free of his clothes, Sebastian shifts, his arms securing around Vince as he lifts him with effortless ease, carrying him toward the waiting bath.

The water is hot, steam still rising from the surface, the scent of sandalwood, clove and citrus thick in the air.

Sebastian steps in, settling slowly into the oversized tub, making sure the temperature isn't too much for their naturally cooler bodies. The moment the warm water envelops them, Vincent sighs softly, a pleased hum vibrating in his chest, so close to a purr that it makes him smirk despite himself.

Reaching out, Sebastian turns the faucet off, the last trickles of water fading into stillness, leaving only the gentle sound of water lapping around them.

Vincent melts against him, utterly boneless, his head tilting forward to rest against Sebastian's shoulder, his arms loosely draped around his waist. The soft rise and fall of his breathing is slow, content and for a moment, Sebastian lets himself relax, lets himself sink into the warmth of Vincent's body curled against him.

And yet, his thoughts are anything but content.

After what Vincent had told him, after learning the depravity of the world in which his lover had been forced to grow up in, Sebastian can't stop the way his mind spins, reassessing everything.

Not because he feels like they need to break up—never that.

But because it puts a damper on the pleasures they shared, puts a sharp, biting edge on what had once been effortless intimacy.

It makes him question himself in a way that unsettles him down to his bones.

How many times had Vincent been grabbed like that before? Ripped away from whatever task he was doing and used until the person taking from him had finished, until they were done, until he was left with nothing but bruises and the expectation to obey?

Fuck.

Sebastian clenches his jaw, his grip on Vincent tightening just slightly, not enough to alert him, but enough to anchor himself in the moment.

He himself had done it too. Hadn't he?

Whenever jealousy had gripped him, whenever he had seen someone look at Vincent the wrong way, he had sought to brand his claim into Vincent's skin, to make sure everyone knew that he was his and his alone. He had pulled him away, taken him, left his marks in places where they could not be ignored.

At least he had taken care of him after those times. At least he had held him after, had kissed his sweat-damp skin, had whispered soft praises into his hair, had made sure Vincent was sated and safe and whole before helping him back to whatever he had been doing before. But still... hadn't he just done it again right now, too?

He had come into the bathroom with nothing more than the more or less innocent intention of sharing a hot soak with his boyfriend, only to catch sight of Vincent reaching for a bottle of bath oil, his fingers ghosting over the glass. It was such a simple thing, such a mindless action. And yet, that had been all it took.

His desire had spiked instantly. And before he had even thought, before he had considered, he had trapped Vincent against the counter, had coaxed those sweet sounds from him, had teased him, touched him, brought him right to the edge—

Because to him, it was the most natural thing in the world.

He loves Vincent. Wants to please him. Wants to see him shudder and gasp and moan.

But when Vince had begged. Something inside Sebastian had snapped. Something in him had cracked open and he had finally realized a very profound, very ugly truth.

He had never once stopped to think about why Vincent liked what he liked. He had never once questioned it. Had never once considered whether Vin had been given a choice in the kind of pleasure he craved, in the things he enjoyed.

And now it makes him question everything. Every single interaction. Every touch. Every moan that spilled past Vincent's lips. Every time he had pushed him up against walls or into plush pillows, had dragged him close, had played with him, had teased him to the point of desperation.

How much of it was real? How much of it was truly Vincent? And how much of it was conditioning—a learned response, an automatic submission born from years of obedience, from the expectation that his pleasure was never his own to control?

Sebastian swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry, a lump forming that he can't quite dislodge.

He himself had been a blank slate when it came to pleasure. After his humiliatingly awkward first time with Astarion, he hadn't indulged in anything for over 170 years.

And even after their freedom, after they had built their city, his experiences had been quick, dirty encounters, fleeting things meant only to satisfy an urge.

There had been no emotions. No connection. Just skin against skin, rough hands, sharp teeth, pleasure for the sake of it—a mutual agreement to take what they needed without complication.

It had been fun. Fuck, he had loved it. And so had the other vampires he had indulged in—because they were like him.

Starved for touch. Desperate for any kind of intimacy. For them, it had never been about ownership, never about submission or power imbalances—it had been about letting go, about letting someone else take the edge off.

And then had come Vincent. And suddenly, everything was different.

Sebastian sees it now, sees the stark contrast between them with a clarity that makes his stomach churn.

Whereas he is a blank canvas, untouched and bare, with nothing written on him but instinct, Vincent's own image of pleasure has been rewritten a hundred times over. Diluted. Painted over. Edited and corrected, crossed out and rewritten like an old manuscript, passed through too many hands, smudged and torn, until even Vincent himself doesn't seem to know which parts of him belong to him, and which parts were imposed upon him.

His body had been studied, corrected, trained. Made into something that would please others.

And Sebastian is ashamed to admit that he might have added his own revisions to the text. Might have left his own mark on something that was already so heavily altered.

Fuck.

The thought burns like acid in his gut, a deep, aching shame that he doesn't know how to fix.

He tightens his arms around Vincent, as if shielding him from something that has already happened, something that Sebastian himself has unknowingly contributed to.

Because now... Now, he doesn't just want to love Vincent.

He wants to unravel him. He wants to strip away every expectation that was forced upon him. He wants to find the real Vincent underneath all the layers of obedience and training and survival tactics.

But the real question is: How the fuck am I supposed to figure out a safe way to love this man?

Because if Sebastian gets this wrong, if he pushes too far, then he's no better than the ones who came before him.

Vincent's voice is soft, barely above a whisper as he tilts his head up, fingers reaching out to brush against Sebastian's cheek. "Seb?" His touch is warm thanks to the bathwater, a grounding presence against the storm brewing beneath Sebastian's skin.

Seb doesn't react immediately, his gaze locked on a distant point beyond the walls of the lavish ensuite, his expression drawn tight with a frown so deep it creases the space between his brows. His body is tense, rigid and Vincent shifts slightly, realizing just how tightly he's being held.

"You're kinda squeezing me", Vincent admits, his voice laced with something between amusement and concern.

It takes a second, but then Sebastian blinks as if snapping out of some unseen thought, his grip loosening instantly as a string of curses falls from his lips. "Fuck, shit—sorry." His voice is rough, unsteady, the usual casual confidence giving way to something heavier, something guilt-ridden. "I didn't mean to. I just... I got so lost in thought", he exhales, pulling back slightly, allowing Vincent more room to breathe.

Vincent watches him carefully, studying the furrow of his brows, the way his fingers rake through his damp curls, water droplets catching against the dark strands and glistening in the dim candlelight.

"What kind of thought?", he presses, his own brows knitting together.

Sebastian sighs, his mouth tightening as he debates whether to voice what's gnawing at him. Eventually, he runs a hand down his face before meeting Vincent's gaze. "About how to proceed... with us." His voice is slow, deliberate, as if he's still trying to piece it together himself.

Vincent's stomach clenches, panic rising. "What do you mean?" There's something unsettling in the way Sebastian says it, something that makes him want to reach out and hold onto him, to keep him from slipping away into his own mind.

Sebastian hesitates for a second before pushing forward. "I want you to be able to figure out what you want... in bed, I mean." His lips press together in an awkward smile, but it's tight, forced. "I've been reassessing everything since what you told me tonight, and it's making me feel pretty fucking shitty about some of the things I've done to you."

A frown tugs at Vincent's mouth, confusion settling in. "Like what?"

Sebastian's laugh is short, bitter. "Like dragging you between the wine barrels in the stock room and just going at it like some feral ape?" His smirk barely lasts before it falters, the memory no longer carrying the same thrill it once did. "Hells, even just now... I didn't stop to think if you wanted to get fondled. I just did it, like it was my right to do."

Vincent doesn't hesitate. "It is your right to do." The words spill out without thought, an automatic response etched into his very being.

Sebastian's expression darkens instantly, his nostrils flaring as his frustration rises. "No, the fuck it ain't." His voice is low, almost a growl, a raw edge of anger slicing through it. "Just because we're a couple doesn't mean your body is mine to possess. It doesn't mean I can do whatever I want with it, doesn't mean I can just yank you away from whatever you were doing just because I feel the need to show some drunk bastard that's been ogling you that you're taken."

Vincent freezes, his breath catching, any words he might have had vanishing before he can even grasp them.

He never thought about it that way. Not once.

Not when Sebastian had claimed him in the dark corners of the tavern, not when he had pushed him up against walls, not when his hands had gripped him like a lifeline, not when he had staked his claim over and over again. It had never occurred to him that this, too, could be a kind of possession, a kind of taking—because wasn't it always his job to be taken?

"I... I never... I never thought about that", he admits, voice smaller than he'd like.

Sebastian exhales, his anger shifting into something quieter, something wounded. "I know", he murmurs. "And now I know why." He shakes his head, his fingers twitching against the surface of the water. "And damn... it makes me feel extra shitty."

Vincent doesn't want Sebastian to carry the weight of his past like this. His hand emerges from the water, fingers tracing over the tight creases of Sebastian's brow, smoothing over the lines of his frustration.

"Don't", he whispers. "You had no idea. Hells... I had no idea. All that mattered in those moments was that I felt... wanted." His thumb brushes gently over Sebastian's cheekbone. "Desired. Loved. Alive." His breath is slow, careful, as if pleading with Sebastian to understand. "Don't let my past taint our present. Please?"

Sebastian stares at him for a moment, searching his face for something Vincent isn't sure he'll find. He wants to believe him, Vin can see that much. He wants to take comfort in the fact that Vincent felt safe with him, that what they shared wasn't tainted, but there's still something doubtful in his eyes, something troubled.

He takes a deliberate breath, his shoulders rising before slowly sinking back down, trying to reign in the storm inside him. He gives a short nod, but the frown remains as he runs a hand through his hair.

"Alright", he says, though he doesn't sound entirely convinced.

But then his voice drops, quieter, more hesitant. "I still want things to change, though." His fingers skim over the water's surface, tracing invisible shapes. "I want us to figure out what you really enjoy. What's yours, what's not. But... I have no idea how to go about it." His lips purse, his frustration evident. "I mean, not even you know what lies beneath all the conditioning that was forced on you."

Vincent swallows, his throat tight. Because Sebastian is right. And for the first time, the truth hits him in full force.

He doesn't know.

He doesn't know what is his and what isn't.

And fuck, that terrifies him.

Vincent pauses, his gaze flickering with contemplation, as if turning the question over in his mind, examining it from every possible angle before deciding how to proceed.

"There are... people I can ask about this", he says at last, his voice thoughtful, measured.

Sebastian tilts his head, watching him closely. "The healer that helped pull you out of your worst patch of silence?"

"Yes", Vincent confirms, shifting slightly against him in the warm water. "But also... Astarion."

As he says it, he lifts his head, his crimson eyes carefully studying Sebastian's reaction, searching for any flicker of discomfort, any tightening of his jaw, any shift in his expression that might betray his feelings on the matter.

Sebastian doesn't flinch, doesn't react the way Vincent expected him to. Instead, his brows knit together, thoughtful, though his lips press into a tight line, as if considering the implications.

"He's been through something similar", Vincent continues, choosing his words carefully. "Though he had about forty years of regular, free life before Cazador snatched him up. But from what he's told me, he had to re-discover his own pleasure as well." His fingers drift absentmindedly over Sebastian's forearm, tracing over faint scars, as if grounding himself in something tangible. "But whereas I seem hyper-sensitive, he was so desensitized that it needed pushes from more than one source to even get him close to unraveling."

Sebastian is quiet for a long moment, letting that sink in.

"You think this hyper-sensitivity was trained into you?" His voice is quiet, but there's a tension in it, something he doesn't quite know how to place yet.

"I... I'm not sure", Vincent admits, exhaling slowly. His gaze drops to the rippling water around them, watching the way the candlelight catches on the shifting surface, casting warm golden patterns over their skin. "I've been without any kind of intimate touch, forced or otherwise, for 130 years before I met you. That sensitivity might just be a side effect of my nerves reacting to everything a lot more because of that."

Sebastian hesitates, his teeth catching his bottom lip in a silent war with himself, debating whether or not to voice the question that has already lodged itself in his mind like a thorn. "Do you remember the time before you became a vampire?"

Vincent blinks, the question unexpected. "With surprising clarity", he nods, though his voice is quieter now.

Sebastian shifts, reaching for the bottle of soap Vincent had set aside on the edge of the tub, uncorking it with a soft pop. The scent of honey and almond lingers in the air, mixing with the already fragrant steam surrounding them.

"Then tell me..." Sebastian murmurs, pouring a generous amount into his palm before working it into a gentle lather between his fingers. "What was it like?" His tone is softer now, less probing, more curious. Vincent wets his hair in anticipation, allowing himself to settle against Seb's chest. His lover slides his hands into Vincent's long, teal hair, massaging the soap into his scalp with slow, careful movements, fingertips pressing into the roots in soothing little circles.

"I'll wash your hair while we talk", he adds, his voice a low hum against Vincent's ear, an offer wrapped in the kind of tenderness Vincent hadn't even realized he needed until now.

Vince inhales, deeply, leaning into the touch, his eyes fluttering half-closed as he lets himself settle into the warmth of the water, into the comfort of Sebastian's hands working through his hair, into the weight of the question hanging between them.

The memories are there, just beneath the surface, waiting to be pulled into the light.

The warmth of the bathwater is soothing, a stark contrast to the coldness that lingers in Vincent's bones, not from temperature but from the weight of his past, from the words spilling out of his mouth before he even fully processes them.

Sebastian's fingers move carefully through his hair, massaging the fragrant oil into his scalp with a gentleness that Vincent isn't sure he's ever known before, something so intimate yet so mundane, so tender that it makes his throat tighten. He should feel comforted, should sink into the moment, but instead, there is an ache building beneath his skin, a pressure inside his chest that he doesn’t know how to hold in anymore.

"It wasn't as excessive as you might think", he murmurs, his voice even, though it feels detached, like he's reciting a story that happened to someone else. "As a child, my duties were simple—cleaning, fetching things, making sure I was useful." His fingers drift along the surface of the water, idly tracing meaningless patterns as he speaks. "It wasn't... constant suffering. Not unless someone decided I'd done something wrong. Then there was punishment."

Sebastian says nothing, but Vincent feels the subtle shift in his breathing, the way his fingers still for just a second before continuing their slow movements.

"But the worst part wasn't the adults", Vincent continues, his voice quiet but steady, as if reciting something long buried, long accepted. He exhales slowly, the sound almost lost beneath the gentle sloshing of water. "It was the noble children."

He pauses, fingers tracing idle patters over the water, his gaze unfocused, staring past the room, past the present—past everything. "They were bored, spoiled brats who saw us as toys, as entertainment. Playthings to torment when their gilded world became too dull."

His lips press together, but the words still come, flowing out like something spilled and long overdue. "They'd spill their food onto floors we'd just polished, shove our faces into it and expect us to lick it up like starving dogs. Laughing the whole time." Then he chuckles—a dry, brittle sound, utterly devoid of humor yet carrying something sharp beneath the emptiness. Something almost... defiant. "And I did."

Sebastian tenses.

Vincent doesn't need to look at him to feel the change, to sense the rigid coil of rage twisting beneath his lover's skin. He knows the look that must be spreading across Sebastian's face right about now, knows the storm that must be gathering behind those crimson eyes—dark and dangerous and barely contained.

He exhales again, softer this time. "I knew how clean the floors were", he murmurs, as if that somehow justifies it. As if the logic of it makes it any less wrong. "And the food was going to be wasted anyway. We were only given scraps, so what did it matter if those scraps came from a plate or the floor?" His jaw clenches slightly, but the words don't falter. "I wasn't going to give those brats the satisfaction of seeing me punished for defying them. Not when I could choose to obey on my own terms."

Sebastian's breath hitches—a sharp, barely controlled inhale that Vincent feels more than hears. His fingers tighten slightly against Vincent's scalp, like he wants to hold onto something, like he needs an anchor to keep himself from breaking something. But then, just as quickly, he forces himself to relax, though the tension still thrums beneath his touch like a tightly wound wire.

"So you did hold onto your defiance, then", Sebastian murmurs, his voice softer now, though no less intense. "In whatever twisted way you had to." He exhales, shaking his head, as if trying to calm the wildfire roaring inside his chest. "But still..." His fingers twitch in Vincent's hair. "I might just want to hunt down those little shits and murder them."

Vincent finally tilts his head back, looking up at him upside-down, studying the tension in his jaw, the way his nostrils flare, the way his fingers have stopped moving entirely in his hair.

"Nothing good would come of that", Vincent says, keeping his voice firm, steady. "We're trying to build allegiances within the Underdark, not start a war."

"At your expense", Sebastian bites back, his grip tightening in Vince's hair before he forces himself to ease his hold. "Those fucking bastards still call you Iblith, still spit half-breed and all those other ugly things at you whenever you show your face near them."

Vincent sighs, his eyes slipping closed again. "It's too exhausting to deal with prejudices that would take centuries to change."

Sebastian lets out a slow, measured breath, clearly not satisfied with that answer. "But what if that old family of yours suddenly gets the stupid idea to drag you back?" His voice is sharper now, edged with something dangerous, something possessive. "You'd let me kill them then, wouldn't you?"

Vincent smirks, because of course Sebastian would go there. He always does.

"If they attempt to take any of our people—me or otherwise—then yes", he admits easily. "I'd give you the go-ahead." He shifts slightly in the water, stretching, rolling his shoulders back. "But they don't have any grounds to ask for me back."

He opens his eyes, something dark flickering behind them, something satisfied.

"That deed of ownership I told you about?" His lips curl into a slow, wicked smirk. "It burned alongside the Crimson Palace." He exhales through his nose, closing his eyes again as the memory settles inside of him, weightless for the first time in his life. "It's gone. I'm a fully free man now."

Sebastian doesn't speak for a moment, but Vincent feels the breath he lets out, the subtle ease of his grip as his fingers resume their soothing motion through his hair.

"Good", Sebastian murmurs at last, the word laced with something almost relieved.

A moment passes before Sebastian gently cups water into his hands, slowly pouring it over Vincent’s hair, rinsing out the soap and replacing it with the fragrant oil Vincent had chosen earlier. He works it in gently, fingers combing through the strands with almost reverent care.

"When I came of age", Vincent continues, as if he never paused, as if he isn't about to delve into the deepest darkness of his past, "I was trained in etiquette. How to behave, what to do, what not to do." His voice is lighter now, almost detached. "By the time I was about twenty, my education was complete." A beat of silence. "And then my virginity was auctioned off."

Sebastian's fingers still. Completely. The silence that follows is thick, suffocating.

Vincent feels the sharp inhale Sebastian takes, feels the way his body tenses behind him, the way the heat of his anger radiates through the water, crackling like static in the air. "Auctioned... off?" The words come out slowly, carefully measured, but Vincent knows that tone—the danger lurking beneath it, the barely restrained fury.

He doesn't flinch, doesn't waver. It somehow feels good to have Seb furious for him when he himself has detached himself from all the tragedies of his mortal life so very thoroughly. "It's not as big of an event as you might think", he says, his voice calm, distant. "But it brings coin into the house's coffers all the same." His fingers drift lazily along the surface of the water. "My first time was with the daughter of another house." He pauses, tilting his head slightly as if recalling a memory he'd rather leave behind. "She was... condescending", he chuckles, though it lacks any real humor. "I think she expected me to fight her more, to make it feel like more of a challenge. But even back then, I barely had any fight in me for such things."

Sebastian swallows audibly, his jaw so tight Vincent can hear the way his teeth grind together. "And the men?"

Vincent shakes his head slightly. "Men weren't often allowed to indulge in pleasure slaves", he explains. "So my only potential male customer would have been the house patron—but seeing as he fathered me, they opted to use me as a reward for their soldiers instead. But only if they did exceptionally well on a mission", Vincent adds. "Which didn't happen often. The Matron's standards were too high."

Sebastian's grip tightens around a strand of Vin's hair before he forces himself to breathe to release it without so much as a tug.

"So... you weren't like..." Seb waves his free hand slightly, struggling to grasp the words, his frustration evident. "You weren't repeatedly dragged away for some debauched reason?"

"No", Vincent answers simply. "The fact that I was so compliant turned the cruel ones off. The ones who revel in horror, who thrive on pain, who enjoy the sadistic pleasure of taking someone by force—they found me boring." He smirks, but it's a hollow, detached thing. "So they mostly left me alone."

His gaze flickers upward again, locking onto Sebastian's as he continues his story.

"It changed a little after I transitioned", Vincent muses. "I became a rarity, an exotic thing that people wanted to see, to gawk at, to talk about." He tilts his head. "But they lost interest just as quickly." He takes a deep breath. "And then I was sold off to Cazador."

Vincent exhales a slow breath, his head tilting slightly as he allows himself to sink into the memories, letting them surface one by one, not running from them this time.

"The clientele there was... more diverse", he murmurs, his fingers ghosting over the surface of the bathwater, watching the way ripples spread outward, a quiet reflection of the chaos within his mind. "Way more demanding." He pauses, brows furrowing slightly as a thought unearths itself, something unexpected rising from the tangled mess of his past. "And knowing that whoever I brought back was facing their doom... I tried to pick the ones that were...", he hesitates, searching for the right words, "...mean. The drunk ones. The ones with darker desires."

His fingers flex against Sebastian's thigh, his touch featherlight yet deliberate, as if grounding himself against something solid amidst the shifting tide of his thoughts.

And then, a realization comes, something that feels like truth in a way he isn't used to. "I..." His breath catches slightly. "I don't enjoy pain during sex."

Sebastian's entire body stills, as if those words have physically struck him. His grip in Vincent's hair slackens slightly, his eyes snapping to Vincent's with raw intensity, lips parting as if to protest, as if to immediately promise that he will never bite him again.

But before he can say a single word, Vincent is already shaking his head, already cutting off the thought before it can fully form.

"Except for your bites", he adds quickly, a soft, knowing smile curling at the edges of his lips. "Those are exquisite." His voice dips slightly, something warm threading through the words, something that makes Sebastian's tension ease, if only slightly.

Sebastian exhales slowly, his shoulders loosening as he continues to work the oil into Vincent’s teal strands, his fingers careful, reverent in the way they move.

"What I mean are things that really hurt", Vincent continues, his voice steady now, certain in a way that surprises even himself. "Whips. Clamps in odd places. Being hit or forcefully spread too far..." His nose wrinkles slightly in distaste, his hands curling into loose fists beneath the water. "I don't enjoy that."

His chest tightens as another memory surfaces, this one carrying something lighter, something that doesn't taste of obligation or detachment but of clarity. "I remember that", he whispers, eyes finding Sebastian's again as his lover works the oil down the length of his hair, fingers moving in slow, careful strokes. There is a weight to this moment, a kind of soft revelation that settles in his chest like a missing puzzle piece finally clicking into place.

Sebastian watches him carefully, his eyes searching, as if memorizing this moment, as if committing every tiny shift in Vincent's expression to memory. And then, after a long moment, he asks, "And dominance?"

The question unearths something deeper, something Vincent hasn't thought about in years, perhaps ever. The memories come flooding back now, not just in fragments but in waves, carrying him back to a past where his own pleasure had been something distant, something that belonged to others before it ever belonged to him. He remembers nights upon nights where his body had moved as if on autopilot, going through the motions, reacting the way his partners expected him to react.

A sharp inhale leaves his lips as the truth hits him like a crashing wave.

"I was so... indifferent to it all", he gasps, as if the revelation physically startles him. He sits up abruptly, the water sloshing slightly with the motion, his hair still coated in the rich oil he had chosen for them. His hands reach instinctively for Sebastian, one palm pressing lightly against his chest, feeling the solid weight of him, the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath his fingertips.

Sebastian doesn't flinch away, doesn't interrupt—he simply watches, waiting.

Vincent feels excitement bubbling inside of him, his crimson eyes flickering with something alive, something real in a way it hasn't been before.

"I didn't care what I wanted", he breathes, almost laughing now, the sound edged with something strange—not quite joy, not quite grief, but liberation. "I just... did what others wanted. I went through the motions. Made my body react the way they thought I should. I faked it." His lips part, his breath coming shakier now. "Most of the time, I faked it."

Sebastian's brows shoot up, his grip on Vincent's waist tightening slightly, his expression a mix of shock and intrigue.

Vincent chuckles, shaking his head, his damp hair cascading over his shoulders. A strange levity is settling inside of him, replacing the heaviness that had always lingered in the corners of his thoughts. "It's easier for someone with my equipment to do that", he smirks. "Especially with partners who are flat-out drunk. They never noticed—they were just happy they got to have a good time."

"So... what are you saying?" Seb's voice is low, probing, but there's something beneath it, something that holds more weight than simple amusement at Vincent's sudden excitement.

Vincent inhales, and for the first time, the words feel right—not forced, not recited, but truly his own.

"The way I enjoy it when you tease me", he murmurs, his voice dipping into something softer, something that carries the weight of truth, "when you do things like that. When you make me feel so very there, so very alive." He swallows, his fingers pressing a little harder against Sebastian's chest, feeling his skin beneath the water. "That's real." His breath hitches, his smile growing wider, his crimson eyes flickering with something unshakable. "I'm not faking anything then. That's just... me."

Sebastian stares at him, something warm flickering across his expression, something like awe, something deeply, profoundly relieved.

"No detachment", Vincent continues, shaking his head with something like wonder, something that makes his heart ache in the best way possible. "No acting. It never was."

Sebastian laughs, shaking his head, clearly pleased, clearly proud, as he reaches up, tangling his fingers in Vincent's damp strands, cupping the back of his head.

"And for the record", Vincent adds, his smirk returning, a little wicked now, a little cocky, "I've never been dragged away from a task just to be fucked up against a wall." He tilts his head, watching the way Sebastian's eyes darken instantly at the memory. "You were the first to do that."

A slow grin spreads across Sebastian's lips, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

"And gods below..." Vincent exhales, leaning in, his voice dipping into something that sends a shiver down Sebastian’s spine, "...it's intoxicating every damn time."

Chapter Text

Sebastian chuckles, shaking his head as he watches Vincent practically buzz with excitement, his crimson eyes gleaming as though he's just uncovered some great revelation. It's an odd thing, really, seeing his boyfriend so thrilled over something as twisted as realizing he had detached himself from intimacy for most of his life. And yet, if that realization is what allows Vincent to finally pinpoint himself, to truly claim his own desires instead of simply going through the motions, then fuck, Seb is all for it.

"Come here", he chuckles, reaching out and gently tugging Vincent toward him by the arm. "You still got oil all over your hair."

Vincent follows without hesitation, letting himself settle back against Sebastian's broad chest as his boyfriend carefully rakes his fingers through his oil-coated hair, washing it out with slow, soothing motions beneath the water.

The bath is still warm, steam curling around them, the scent of sandalwood and citrus lingering in the air, but Sebastian's mind is elsewhere, rolling over a thought he's never spoken out loud before.

"You know", he murmurs, his voice softer now, quieter, as if the words taste foreign on his tongue. "Back when I was still unsure about this—about us—I used to think you should be with someone like Octavian."

Vincent tilts his head slightly, peering up at him through the loose strands of his damp teal hair, curiosity flickering in his gaze.

Seb chuckles, a little rueful, a little self-deprecating. "Someone who'd give you endless patience to figure out your shit", he continues, his fingers still working through Vincent's hair, rinsing out the last traces of oil.

Vincent doesn't interrupt, just watches him, waiting expectantly to see where this is going.

"Someone who'd wait for you", Sebastian explains, "Who'd let you come to him on your own terms, giving you love and grace and all that other shit." He lets out a breathy chuckle. "I mean, I'm impatient, I'm rude, I'm rowdy, and I sometimes—okay, I always act before I think."

Vincent smiles, a small, knowing curve of his lips.

"I like that about you", he says simply.

Sebastian blinks, caught off guard by the certainty in Vincent's voice. "You can't be serious..."

Vincent turns in his hold, shifting so he's facing him now, the water sloshing softly around them. His glowing red eyes—the ones that had always intrigued Sebastian, the ones that he once thought looked so different from every other vampire he had met—lock onto his own.

Seb had asked him once if they had always been red. If they were a trait from his drow heritage or something that had changed with vampirism. And Vincent had told him that, yes, his eyes had always been red. But he had been told that since becoming a vampire, there was a new depth to them, a certain crimson undertone right around the pupils, like the rich color of dark wine.

Right now, those eyes are gazing right into Seb's soul.

"I don't want someone like Octavian", Vincent says, his voice steady, filled with conviction. "He's too gentle. He'd give me so much patience that I'd end up falling back into silence again. He wouldn't pull me out—he'd just wait for me. And that's not what I need."

Sebastian's breath catches slightly, his fingers still tangled in Vincent's hair, just holding onto him now.

"You're not like that", Vincent continues, his voice growing warmer, his hands settling on Seb's chest. "You drag me out of my self-made hell. Your impatience, your rage, your recklessness—the things that make you you." He tilts his head slightly. "You get angry about day-to-day things. A dispute with a friend, a drunken customer, a clumsy waitress. It's who you are. Maybe it's who you've always been. And I wouldn't have you any other way."

Sebastian stills. It's odd, trying to remember who he was before he was turned. Was he always like this? Always so quick to anger, so hot-blooded in every emotion? Or was it something that came with vampirism, something that boiled in his veins after centuries of bitterness and survival?

He can't fucking remember. And ironically, it's making him angry.

Vincent, ever perceptive, picks up on it instantly. His gentle voice cuts through the haze of Sebastian's thoughts.

"I've told you so many times", he murmurs, his fingers tracing slow, lazy circles over Sebastian's chest, "that your rage, your passion keeps me grounded. It keeps me here. It makes me feel alive."

Sebastian lets out a slow breath, but before he can respond, Vincent shifts, his hand trailing lower, further down his chest, his touch becoming more deliberate.

Seb's breath catches. Vincent's fingers wrap around his already half-hard cock, stroking slowly, teasingly, each motion fanning the fire that had already been simmering beneath his skin since their earlier encounter against the counter.

Sebastian gasps, his head tilting back, his grip flying to the edge of the tub.

"I want to have fun with you", Vincent whispers, his voice slipping into something silky, something wicked. "I want to explore with you. I want to feel things with you." His grip tightens just slightly, his thumb teasing over the sensitive tip, making Sebastian's hips jerk instinctively. "And most of all..." Vincent breathes against his skin, his lips brushing the side of his jaw, "...I want to chase that intoxicating sensation of just being with the person I love."

Sebastian groans, his entire body tensing, his control fraying.

"Fuck", he breathes, gritting his teeth as Vincent's strokes become more deliberate, calculated, pushing him right to the edge without even trying.

Vincent smirks, clearly enjoying the way he's unraveling him piece by piece.

Sebastian finally snaps, his hand shooting into the water, gripping Vincent's wrist, halting his movements just enough to regain some semblance of control.

"You wicked little shit", he growls, his crimson eyes darkening, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smirk.

Vincent grins, completely unapologetic, eyes gleaming with something utterly devious.

Sebastian exhales sharply, his free hand gripping the edge of the tub again, his chest heaving as he tries to steady himself.

Then, with a smirk of his own, he loosens his grip on Vincent’s wrist.

"Have your way then, Sugar", he rasps, his voice low, filled with heat. "Explore."

Sebastian sucks in a sharp breath, his fingers gripping the edge of the tub as he watches Vincent lower himself beneath the water, the smooth movement sending ripples outward. For a moment, Seb is too stunned to react, too entranced by the way Vincent disappears beneath the surface, his crimson eyes flickering before being swallowed by the water.

And then he feels it.

A sudden coolness wraps around his rigid cock, the unmistakable sensation of Vincent's mouth inching downward, his soft lips parting, his tongue tracing deliberate, teasing circles as he sinks lower.

"Fuck", Seb growls, his head tilting back, crimson eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment as pleasure crashes through him like a tidal wave. His hand instinctively shoots down, fingers tangling into Vincent's silken, water-slicked hair, gripping tight.

Seb pushes him down further, unable to stop himself. He knows Vincent is choking on his length, knows he's pressing too deep—but Vincent has never complained about it before and he doesn't now. If anything, the tight convulsions of his throat around him only send another shockwave of pleasure through Seb's body.

His grip loosens slightly, just enough to let Vincent set his own pace and he watches as his lover's head bobs up and down beneath the water, lips wrapped so perfectly around him. The distortion of the water is casting an otherworldly glow over the scene before him. Vincent's long hair moves like seaweed, floating around him, ethereal and dreamlike, as if he's some mythical creature working him over with sinful intent.

Sebastian lets out a low, guttural moan, fingers tightening in Vincent's wet strands as his hips involuntarily jerk forward, seeking more of that delicious sensation.

He groans his pleasure building higher, hotter, coiling tightly in the pit of his stomach, threatening to snap. Vince must sense it, must know exactly how close he is, because his movements become even more deliberate, his mouth hollowing around him, his tongue working him in ways that make Seb's thighs tense, his breath hitch.

He's right there—right on the edge—

Sebastian's grip tightens once more, but this time, he pulls Vincent back, tilting his head just enough to ensure he doesn't choke on what comes next.

Vincent understands immediately, his crimson eyes flickering up through the water, watching him as he swirls his tongue around Seb's sensitive tip, teasing, coaxing, pushing him right over the edge.

Sebastian comes undone, his body shuddering, his release spilling onto Vincent's tongue as he lets out a deep, satisfied groan, his head falling back against the tub's edge.

Vincent swallows without hesitation, savoring every drop before finally rising from the water, his face glistening, strands of dark teal hair sticking to his forehead, covering his eyes and cheeks in a way that makes Seb chuckle.

"How do you always end up with your hair all over the place?" Seb smirks, reaching out to brush a few strands behind Vincent's ear, his fingers purposefully grazing the sensitive tips.

Vincent lets out a soft whimper, his breath catching ever so slightly. Like a cat, he leans into the touch, pressing his head closer to Seb's hand, silently begging for more. Sebastian takes the hint, his fingers shifting to massage the delicate tips of Vincent's ears, watching in amusement and satisfaction as his lover shudders, his lips parting in a breathy sigh.

"Seems I can't stop myself from toying with these gorgeous little ears of yours", Seb murmurs, his voice dipping into something low and smug, something that promises more.

Vincent lets out a contented sigh, his hands sliding up Sebastian's chest before he shifts, straddling his lap, pressing their bodies together, his own arousal now very apparent against Seb's stomach.

"I approve", Vincent breathes, his fingers tracing slow, tantalizing patterns along Seb's skin.

And then, with a whispered spell of Lesser Restoration, the fatigue from Seb's spent climax vanishes and with it, his cock hardens once more, thick and ready beneath Vincent's shifting hips.

Sebastian groans, tipping his head back slightly, a smirk playing at the edges of his lips.

"Naughty little ranger", he murmurs, his hands sliding down Vincent's wet, heated skin, gripping his hips, holding him still.

Vincent grins, mischief sparking in his deep crimson eyes. "Just for you", he whispers, lifting himself slightly, positioning Seb's aching length at his entrance and sinking down with an exquisite slowness that makes them both gasp.

Sebastian smirks as he feels Vincent's wet heat enveloping him, the tightness around his cock making his breath hitch as he sinks in deep. The hot water does little to soothe the feeling of Vincent's body clenching around him, gripping him like a vice. He barely has a second to adjust before his lover starts moving, rolling his hips in slow, deliberate motions, riding him with a rhythm that's meant to tease them both.

"Sucking me off turned you on, didn't it?" Seb growls softly, his voice thick with satisfaction as he feels Vincent squeeze around him, the deliberate clench of his muscles sending another shudder of pleasure through him.

"A-As always", Vincent whispers, his breath ragged, his hands pressing against Seb's shoulders for balance as he moves. His thighs flex as he lifts himself, then sinks down again, rolling his hips in a way that makes Sebastian groan deep in his throat.

He's playing with him, teasing and Sebastian is more than happy to reciprocate.

His hands roam, sliding up Vincent's sides before traveling higher, his fingers seeking out the pointed tips of his ears. He knows very well how sensitive they are, how every touch sends shockwaves of pleasure through his lover's body. And gods, does he enjoy using that knowledge against him.

Sebastian leans in, his lips grazing the delicate point of Vincent's ear before his tongue flicks over it teasingly.

"Ah—!" Vincent gasps, his hips jerking instinctively, his grip tightening in Sebastian's hair as his fingers tangle in the damp strands. He doesn't push him away—no, quite the opposite. He pulls him in, urging him closer, his nails scraping lightly against Seb's scalp as if begging for more.

Sebastian takes the opportunity, his teeth nipping at the tip of Vincent's ear, just enough to let him feel it.

Vince cries out, his entire body tensing as the sudden shock of pleasure rips through him. His thighs tremble, his walls clamping down around Seb's cock in a way that nearly makes him lose control.

Sebastian grins—predatory, triumphant—because fuck, that was a reaction. But he wasn't expecting just how hard Vincent would unravel from that one bite.

Vincent's body shudders, his breath catching as a desperate moan spills from his lips and suddenly, he's coming, just like that, his entire body trembling as he collapses against Sebastian's chest.

Sebastian lets out a low, approving growl, barely giving him time to recover before he moves, shifting their positions in an instant.

He pulls out, ignoring Vincent's breathy, whimpering protest as he maneuvers him forward, pressing him against the edge of the tub. His grip is firm, his hands gripping Vincent's hips as he spreads him slightly, adjusting his position before sliding back inside.

The sensation makes Vincent gasp, his fingers clutching at the bath's edge, his back arching as Sebastian leans over him, his chest pressing against his spine.

Sebastian smirks, letting his lips graze Vincent's ear again, reveling in the way the other man shivers at the contact. "You're really sensitive right here, aren't you?", he teases, his voice husky as he nips the tip of Vincent's ear again, his teeth barely scraping against the delicate flesh.

"Y-Yes—!" Vincent whimpers, his voice high and breathless, his entire body tensing as pleasure arcs through him. He grips the edge of the tub helplessly, his nails digging in, his hips pushing back against Seb's in silent, desperate pleading.

Sebastian groans, his fingers sliding up Vincent's waist, over his ribs, toward his chest. He finds one of Vincent's already hardened nipples and rolls it between his fingers, giving it a teasing pinch. Vin moans, his hips jerking as he grinds back against him, his words coming in shaky, desperate gasps. "F-Faster Seb! P-Please!"

"You want it faster now, huh?" Sebastian grins, his hips slowing, teasing him with a deliberate grind.

Vincent wails, his thighs trembling, his body aching for friction.

"But you usually want it deep and hard", Sebastian muses, dragging his tongue along the curve of Vincent's neck, his grip tightening on his hips. "I can only do two things, Handsome. Choose."

For a moment, Vincent is silent, his body writhing, his breath coming in ragged pants as Sebastian stills inside him, holding him in place, refusing to let him chase his own pleasure.

Vincent bucks his hips, trying to fuck himself on Seb's cock, but Sebastian stops him, his grip unrelenting. "Nuh-uh", he scolds, his voice dripping with amusement. "Behave."

Vincent whimpers, his hands fisting against the tub, his entire body tensed with need. "H-Hard and f-fast—!", he gasps, his voice cracking slightly, "Please—please, Sebastian—!"

Sebastian chuckles, the sound low and pleased, before tightening his grip on Vincent's hips.

"As you wish", he purrs, his voice dark with promise.

And then—he snaps his hips forward, thrusting into Vincent fast and hard, setting a brutal, punishing pace that rocks the other man forward, causing water to spill over the tub's edge.

Vincent wails, his body jerking with each thrust, his breath ragged, his walls clamping down around Sebastian's cock, drawing him deeper. As always it doesn't take long for Vincent to topple over the edge again, his body convulsing, his hair sticking to his face in damp, messy strands as Sebastian drives into him, chasing his own pleasure.

"Fuck—" Sebastian groans, his rhythm stuttering, his hands gripping Vincent tightly as he bottoms out, burying himself deep before he finally lets go, spilling his release inside his lover's trembling body.

The aftershocks leave them both breathless, Sebastian grinding slowly, milking every last wave of pleasure before he finally stills. Vincent lets out a soft moan, his body limp, his arms trembling from holding himself up. Sebastian slowly pulls out, watching as Vin shudders, the water lapping at their skin.

Sebastian grins, satisfied, as he pulls Vincent into his chest, their slick bodies settling back into the warm embrace of the bath. The water laps at their skin, steam curling around them like a soft veil, thick with the scent of oils and the aftermath of indulgence. With slow, deliberate fingers, Sebastian brushes Vincent's damp hair back, tucking the stray strands behind his pointed ears, the motion both tender and possessive. His fingertips linger just a second longer than necessary, tracing the delicate curve of cartilage, reveling in the way Vincent's breath hitches ever so slightly.

"You're so beautiful when you're all tuckered out like this", Sebastian murmurs, his voice husky, laced with quiet reverence.

Vincent's lips curl into a lazy, satisfied smile, his red eyes half-lidded and glowing softly in the dim light. His body is still thrumming with pleasure, the exhaustion of it settling into his limbs, making him feel boneless in Sebastian's arms. He tilts his head just enough to peer up at him, a knowing gleam flickering in his gaze.

"I love your smug little smirk after you make me come several times in a row", he teases, his voice warm, sleepily affectionate as his fingers trace idle patterns over Sebastian's chest, trailing through the droplets of water still clinging to his skin.

Sebastian chuckles, leaning down to press a slow, lingering kiss to Vincent's lips. It's not demanding this time, not driven by hunger or urgency—just soft, a breath of warmth exchanged between them, a silent promise whispered through the way their lips mold together.

"And I love the way you scream my name when you do", Sebastian purrs against his mouth, his smirk deepening as he pulls back just enough to watch Vincent's expression shift. His thumb ghosts over Vincent’s cheekbone, marveling at the faint flush that still lingers there. "Now, how about we actually finish washing up? And then..." His lips quirk up in that same signature smirk, mischief dancing behind his eyes. "Then I give you my undivided attention."

Vincent hums, tilting his head, curiosity flickering through the haze of contentment. "What do you mean exactly?"

Sebastian's fingers continue their lazy exploration, brushing over Vincent's shoulders, down his back, absently mapping the contours of his lover's body as he considers his words.

"Well", he begins, his voice slow, thoughtful, "I'd say we've developed a bit of a pattern, wouldn't you agree?"

Vincent raises a brow but says nothing, waiting for Sebastian to elaborate.

Seb smirks. "I rile you up, tease you, make you come once or twice before we actually fuck. But then, the second I'm inside you, I lose myself in it. I chase my own orgasm—hard—and I mean, obviously you enjoy it too, but I never really stop to ask if you like it when I keep going, when I push you past that point."

Vincent blinks, his blush deepening just slightly, spreading like a soft lilac bloom across his cheeks. "Well, first of all," he admits, voice dropping just enough to make Sebastian's stomach tighten, "I do like it when you do that. With my hypersensitivity, it gets me to the highest peaks. I like that my body makes you lose control like that—that you forget yourself when we make love."

Sebastian exhales through his nose, a warm and fond smile tugging at his lips at Vincent's confession. He cups his lover's cheek, brushing the pad of his thumb gently over the smooth skin. "Still", he murmurs, "tonight, I want things to be different. I want to focus on you—just you. No chasing, no rush. You'll be the main focus and I'll cater to your every whim. Whatever you want."

Vincent's smile stretches just a little wider, his lips curving into something that teeters between amusement and intrigue. The idea—the offer—settles into his mind like the warmth of the bathwater enveloping his skin, sinking deep, unfurling into something he never would have considered on his own.

For so long, pleasure had been something he gave, something he facilitated, a performance meant to satisfy the desires of others. Even now, despite the intimacy and trust that had grown between him and Sebastian, he had still always framed their moments together through the lens of giving, of pleasing, of being wanted rather than taking for himself.

But this? This was different. Sebastian wasn't asking him to perform, wasn't setting the stage for a mutual exchange. He was offering something else entirely—something selfless.

The idea of being the sole focus of someone's undivided attention, of Sebastian's undivided attention, without expectation, without obligation, makes something stir deep in Vin's chest, something warm and unfamiliar. A quiet sort of thrill, an anticipation that prickles along his spine, sending a pleasant shiver through him.

Of course, he's never had a problem with the way things are now. Not with Sebastian. Because Seb's pleasure has always meant his pleasure in return—there's never been a moment when he's felt neglected or unsatisfied in their time together. But this... This was different. This was new.

The thought of being catered to, of being worshiped in the way Sebastian intended, of being the one who receives without the need to give back—it makes something unfurl inside of him, something he didn't even realize was tightly wound.

For the first time, he lets himself wonder—what would it feel like to simply take? To allow himself to be taken care of, without guilt, without expectation?

The heat in his stomach coils tighter, anticipation licking at the edges of his senses.

Yes... Yes, this was definitely something he could get behind.

"Then", he whispers, voice velvet-smooth, coaxing, as he presses himself closer, letting the warmth of their bodies melt together, "I want you to lick me until I can no longer lift a finger."

Sebastian's responding chuckle is deep, a low, dark rumble that vibrates against Vincent's skin, sending a shiver down his spine. The sound is promising, filled with amusement and something ravenous beneath it.

"You got it, sugar", he purrs and captures Vincent's lips in another searing kiss.

The fire crackles softly, its golden glow painting lazy, flickering shadows across the walls, the only sound in the quiet room aside from his own ragged breathing. Vincent lies there, utterly spent, sprawled out on the plush rug, his chest rising and falling in shallow, unsteady breaths. The weight of the moment presses down on him in the best way possible, his body still tingling, still trembling, still sensitive beyond reason.

It feels like he's been unraveling for hours. And maybe he has.

Sebastian had devoured him—worshiped him, touched him like he was something divine, something that deserved to be adored rather than used. He hadn't even taken anything for himself, hadn't acted on his own need once. Instead, he'd drowned in Vincent's pleasure, consumed by the sheer act of bringing him to the edge, pushing him over, again and again and again, until his entire body had been reduced to nothing but heat and sensation, an endless, blissful cycle of pleasure that had him shaking, gasping, begging.

His fingers twitch uselessly against the rug, too weak to even lift them, too wrung out to do anything but lie there, helpless and shattered in the most exquisite way.

And yet, even now, he still doesn't want it to stop.

To be touched like this, worshiped like this... It's intoxicating.

He's never felt this free before.

Like a king upon his throne, basking in the reverence of the only person who has ever truly made him feel like he was worth it.

Another shuddering tremor rolls through him as Sebastian nips at his still-sensitive flesh before diving in once more, his mouth insatiable, his hands relentless. A gasp punches from Vincent's lips, his fingers curling into the rug in a futile attempt to ground himself, to anchor his body against the overwhelming sensations crashing through him like a violent storm.

How many times had he nearly blacked out, only to be dragged back into awareness by another cresting wave of pleasure? He doesn't know and he doesn't care. It's too much and yet still not enough.

He feels like he's on the verge of breaking, his body strung so taut that he can barely breathe, barely think, barely exist beyond the raw, all-consuming heat curling tighter and tighter inside him. He knows he's reaching his limit—knows he should stop—and yet he still wants more. Needs more.

His voice is nothing but a wrecked, trembling string of whimpers and broken pleas, each syllable barely coherent between gasping, breathless moans. But Vincent knows—knows—that Sebastian understands exactly what he's asking for.

"O-One m-more..." Vincent gasps, his head tipping back, lips parting in a silent cry as his entire body shudders, his thighs trembling where they're spread open beneath Sebastian's grasp. "J-Just... Oh! More—" His words crack, breaking apart as his spine arches, his voice thin and wrecked with desperate need. "Th-Then th-think... sleep."

Sebastian smirks against his lover's quivering flesh, utterly delighted—thrilled—by how far he's unraveled him. His hand tightens around Vincent's thigh, holding him open, holding him still, his thumb finding that swollen, aching bundle of nerves and rubbing.

The reaction is instantaneous.

Vincent screams. His body bows sharply off the rug, his back arching so hard it feels like he might snap in half. His hands claw at the fabric beneath him, searching for purchase but finding none, finding only the deliciously merciless pleasure Sebastian is drowning him in.

His mouth falls open in a shuddering, silent cry, his breath stolen as ecstasy crashes over him in violent, uncontrollable waves.

His lover's name spills from his lips—loud, desperate, raw—with no regard for who might hear, no care for who might know exactly what they are doing in the dead of night.

Only when the last tremors of pleasure fade into slow, aftershocks does Sebastian finally relent.

He pulls back, his tongue lazily flicking against Vincent's entrance one final time, savoring the last taste of his lover's release before withdrawing completely. Reluctantly.

The loss of warmth is immediate, the absence of his mouth palpable, and Vincent whines—a soft, desperate sound that only makes Sebastian chuckle, the deep rumble of it sending another delicious shiver down his spine.

His limbs are too heavy, his head too foggy with bliss to fully register the way his lover moves until he feels lips, hot and needy, pressing against his own.

Sebastian's mouth is hungry, triumphant, lips swollen from the hours he's spent between Vincent's thighs and fuck, Vin is too spent to truly kiss back, but he tries.

He lifts his arms—barely—his fingers trembling as they cup Sebastian's face, pulling him closer, deeper, until their tongues tangle and their teeth scrape, drawing tiny droplets of blood where their kisses turn desperate, needy.

The taste of iron lingers on his tongue, sharp and familiar, and it only adds to the dizziness of it all.

Sebastian smirks against his lips, clearly pleased with himself.

Vincent huffs, the sound barely a breath, a half-laugh if he could even muster one, his lips curving into a lazy, exhausted smile.

When Seb pulls back, his breathing's ragged and the evidence of his own desire pushes into Vincent's abdomen. But Seb makes no move to act upon it, not tonight.

"I don't want to move a single muscle", Vincent breathes out, simply lying where he is, the soft glow of the fire drying off his sweat.

"You want to sleep here or on the bed?", Seb asks.

"Don't care", Vincent mutters, his eyes already closing, already drifting off to sleep.

Seb chuckles softly, picking him up and tucking him in bed, sliding in beside him. He pulls him to his chest, spooning Vincent's smaller statue into his big and brutish one.

"Sleep, Love", he whispers gently, his lips brushing against the shell of Vincent's overly sensitive ears once more.

Vincent shivers, a little moan escaping him but soon settles into a quiet, exhausting, dreamless sleep.

Sebastian wakes slowly, the weight of deep, satisfied exhaustion pressing down on his limbs, his body still thrumming with the remnants of last night. His first conscious sensation is the body pressed against him—Vincent's slender frame tucked securely in his arms, his breath soft and steady against Seb's arm. His long teal hair spills across the pillows and over Sebastian's bare skin, silken strands tangled between his fingers, the faintest scent of honey and almond still clinging to them.

A lazy, contented smile tugs at Sebastian's lips as he inhales deeply, breathing in the remnants of their night together. The bath oil Vincent had used still lingers on his skin—sandalwood, clove, citrus—a rich, warm scent that now mingles with something even sweeter, something unmistakably Vincent. A hint of sweat, the faint musk of pleasure well-earned and thoroughly explored, a reminder of just how thoroughly Seb had worshiped him.

The memory alone stirs something deep inside him, sends a fresh wave of hunger curling low in his belly. He smirks, the temptation almost too much to resist, his fingers twitching with the urge to slide lower, to map out the curve of Vincent's hip, the dip of his waist, the soft, spent heat between his thighs. He wonders if Vincent is still sensitive, still sore from the sheer amount of pleasure Sebastian had dragged him through, if his body would shudder and clench the moment Seb traced his fingers through the aftermath.

But he stops himself, forces his hand to still against Vincent's side. Not now. He has other plans.

Exhaling through his nose, he redirects his focus, letting his hand drift up instead, burying his fingers in Vincent's thick, unbound waves. After last night's bath, after his meticulous care, the strands still hold the faintest curl from drying naturally, still gleam in the dim candlelight. It's soft—softer than it has any right to be—and Sebastian finds himself idly combing through it, his touch instinctively gentle.

And yet, something nags at him.

Vincent takes such good care of his hair, but there's still something missing, something unspoken, something Sebastian can help with.

Braiding it.

He remembers Vincent's quiet confession and the promise Seb followed up with, how Vin had once braided it before his imprisonment, how he had forgotten how. How he had lost that simple piece of himself along with so much else.

Sebastian can fix that. But he'll need help.

And for that, he's going to have to find Astarion.

Sebastian moves carefully, as if any sudden shift in weight might disturb the delicate balance of Vincent's exhaustion. He presses a lingering kiss to the nape of his lover's neck, letting his lips linger against the cool skin for just a moment too long, feeling the softest shiver ripple through Vincent's spent body. A sharp wave of satisfaction curls through him at the reaction, an unspoken promise that even in his sleep, Vincent responds to him, craves him. The temptation to stay, to trail his mouth lower, to coax another shudder from him, nearly makes Seb abandon his resolve entirely.

But he forces himself to pull away, though his fingers instinctively brush over Vincent's shoulder one last time before he carefully begins untangling himself from their entwined limbs. His movements are slow, deliberate, his hands gliding over Vincent's body with reverence, ensuring that he doesn't wake him. When he finally slips from the bed, the absence of his body makes Vincent instinctively curl tighter into the mattress, reaching out in his sleep and pulling a pillow against his chest instead.

Seb watches for a long moment, his chest tightening in a way he doesn't quite have words for. His lover looks beautiful like this. Completely at ease. Completely his.

The sight alone makes him want to crawl back into bed, tuck Vincent against him once more and let himself get lost in the quiet intimacy of simply existing beside him.

But he has other things to do.

Seb pads silently into the ensuite, the tiles cold against his bare feet. The air still carries the faintest traces of last night— the lingering scent of clove and citrus, the steam that had once clung to their bodies like a second skin, the ghost of Vincent's moans reverberating off the marble walls.

Sebastian bites back a groan, gripping the edges of the basin as flashes of the night before play vividly in his mind. The heat of the water, the soft flicker of candlelight reflecting off damp skin, the sheer confidence in Vincent's gaze as he lowered himself beneath the surface.

It had been a turning point, a shift in the delicate balance between them.

For so long, Vincent had been passive—willing, eager even, but always reacting, always letting Seb take the lead, always surrendering to whatever pleasure Sebastian chose to give him. It had never been a bad thing; Vin had never complained, had never even hesitated to let Seb claim him in whatever way he pleased. But last night had been different. Last night, Vincent had taken charge.

The memory is intoxicating.

That wicked little smirk, the glint of mischief in his crimson eyes, the deliberate, teasing way his fingers had ghosted lower, wrapping around Sebastian with a confidence that sent a shiver down his spine.

He had wanted it. Had acted on his own desires.

Not because Sebastian had coaxed him into it. Not because he thought it was expected. But because Vincent had wanted it.

That realization alone nearly undoes him.

Seb lets out a slow breath, shaking his head as he turns on the faucet, splashing cold water over his face in a futile attempt to cool the fire still burning low in his stomach. Hells, he loves it. Loves seeing Vincent shed the remnants of his past, loves watching him rediscover himself, his own wants, his own pleasure.

For the first time, it had felt entirely real.

More real than any of their previous encounters, more real than all the times Sebastian had pulled Vincent into darkened corners and claimed him against walls and behind locked doors.

Because last night, Vincent had wanted him just as much as Sebastian had always wanted him.

The realization settles in his chest like a warm ember, easing something deep inside him that he hadn't even realized needed tending to.

He moves quickly, washing up and dressing in a fresh set of clothes, though the lingering heat still hums beneath his skin. Before leaving, he returns to the bed, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to Vincent's temple. His lover stirs at the touch, a quiet sigh escaping his lips as he curls in tighter, pulling the pillow closer in lieu of Sebastian's presence.

Seb smiles, brushing a strand of teal hair behind Vin's pointed ear, forcing himself not to touch the sensitive tip. He looks so peaceful like this, so completely relaxed, so entirely his own person.

"I love you, sugar", he murmurs against his skin, the words slipping out as effortlessly as breathing.

Vincent shifts slightly, but he doesn't wake and Sebastian lets himself linger for just a second longer before finally pulling away, stepping out of the room and heading down the hall.

Time to find Astarion.

Chapter Text

It isn't hard to find Astarion at this time of day. Even though Sebastian has never visited the elegant city estate that Astarion and Octavian call home, he knows all it takes is asking one of the ever-busy servants.

He stops by a maid dusting off a marble bust—vaguely reminiscent of Tav, though clearly depicting a human ancestor. She pauses immediately, dipping her head in a polite bow. "Good day, Master Sebastian."

He chuckles. It still feels strange—absurd, even—that anyone would call him Master. He, who spent most of his life on the serving end of refinement. As a cook, he used to dream of working for a grand house like this, crafting meals worthy of noble praise.

Funny how things change.

"I'm looking for Astarion", he says.

"Master Astarion typically spends his daylight hours in his personal office. Would you like me to show you the way?", she offers, tone perfectly polite.

"Just tell me where it is", Sebastian replies.

She nods once, then gives him clear directions.

"Thanks", he says with a brief smile and sets off.

It doesn't take him long. The instructions—where to turn, which staircase to descend—are as precise and pristine as the manor itself.

He vaguely remembers the opulence of Szarr Palace, recalled through a haze of awe and wine when Astarion had brought him there before his death. Yet even then, something about that place had felt wrong—oppressive and menacing.

Exeltis Manor is different. Despite the thick drapes shielding every window from sunlight, the estate carries a strange kind of lightness. Warmth, even.

The walls are a pristine white, accented with elegant gold stucco—refined without tipping into ostentation. A few unusual art pieces are displayed on pedestals or mounted between archways, each one tastefully chosen—undoubtedly by Astarion.

As Sebastian descends the stairs, more servants pass by, each greeting him with the same warm courtesy. It's only Nerida who pauses to speak.

"Would you like an assortment of blood-themed dishes sent to your room, Saer?", she asks.

"No need just yet", he replies with a grin. "Vincent's still asleep and I'd rather not disturb him."

"Understood." Nerida nods. "I'll instruct the others to avoid your quarters for now."

"Thanks", he says, then turns down the corridor lined with the manor's offices.

He passes a set of double doors—Octavian's voice, deep and deliberate, filters through alongside someone else's—but he doesn't stop. Just a few more steps and he finds the door he's been looking for.

He raises his hand and knocks firmly.

"Come in!" Astarion calls, his voice slightly distracted.

Sebastian steps inside.

Astarion's face brightens the moment he sees him. He sets down the quill he'd been using, papers still scattered across the desk.

"Seb! How was your date night with Vincent?", he asks, rising gracefully and motioning toward one of the plush armchairs near the door.

The room's layout makes it clear this corner is meant more for comfort than business—bookshelves line the walls and the grand desk contrasts the soft seating and low table nearby.

Sebastian sinks into one of the chairs as Astarion pours him a goblet of blood. He takes it, swirling it once before sipping, letting the flavor settle before he answers.

"Oh, it was perfect", he says. "It got a little heavy—we shared some stories from the past—but we ended on a good note."

Astarion exhales softly. "Ah yes. Darkness always finds a way through the cracks, doesn't it?" He takes a sip from his own glass, gaze briefly distant.

"It sure does", Seb agrees, then leans forward a little. "Which brings me to something else... something I need your help with."

Astarion perks up. "Straight to the point as always", he chuckles. "Tell me what you need. If I can help, I will."

Sebastian grins. "Vincent told me he used to braid his hair. Now that it's grown out again, it's getting in the way."

Astarion nods, smiling fondly at the memory. "Yes, I remember. He used to do the most intricate, ridiculous braids. I was always impressed he could manage them without a mirror. He even taught me how to care for my own hair without a reflection as well."

"He says he's forgotten how", Sebastian explains. "So I offered to braid it for him... but I need someone to teach me first."

Astarion blinks, then grins. "Of course! I'd be delighted."

Seb's smile widens. "Great! So... shall we start now?"

The other vampire chuckles. "I would—if either of us had hair long enough to practice on."

Seb tilts his head. "Then what do you suggest?"

"We'll borrow someone with long hair", Astarion replies breezily, tugging a silk cord near his desk—a summons for one of the staff.

"You sure that's alright?" Seb frowns. "I don't want anyone feeling obligated just because you're the boss..."

Astarion laughs softly. "Oh, don't worry. They're well aware they can say no to anything we ask. Tav's very particular about that—he believes loyalty comes from being treated properly. So far, it's worked."

Moments later, Nerida steps into the room and bows slightly. "You called, Master Astarion?"

"Yes", he smiles. "Who among the maids has worked the longest today and also has long hair?"

"Carla", she replies immediately. As the head maid, she knows everyone's schedule by heart.

"Could you ask her to take a break and stop in here for a moment? And make sure the others who've worked just as long get a break too", he adds.

"Certainly, Saer." Nerida bows again and turns to leave.

"That includes you, Nerida", Astarion adds with a playful smile.

She pauses, just for a heartbeat, her professional mask slipping into the faintest smile. "As you wish, Saer."

Then she's gone.

"She never takes breaks", Astarion sighs, shaking his head. "Too much discipline in her training, I suppose."

Sebastian only nods, sipping his blood once more in companionable silence.

When Vincent wakes, he realizes he's alone in bed. Sitting up with a yawn, he glances around—no sign of Sebastian.

He stretches, the motion stirring a delicious ache from last night's indulgences. A slow smirk curves across his lips.

He'd finally followed his own desire—taken control, acted on what he wanted instead of simply surrendering to Sebastian's guidance. And Sebastian had loved every second of it, lavishing him with attention, worshipping him for hours with lips, tongue and fingers until Vincent had been undone again and again.

Even now, the soreness lingers—a dull ache that only sweetens the memory of everything they shared.

He lets himself fall back into the pillows, gazing up at the royal blue canopy overhead, stitched with gold thread and miraculously dust-free. How many canopy beds had he seen that rained dust at the slightest movement? But Octavian and Astarion's household is always immaculate. Every visit tempts him to let go and simply be pampered.

Today is no different. He already feels like requesting breakfast—or lunch, depending on the hour—in bed. But first, a wash. He'd worked up quite a sweat last night, even after their shared bath.

Decision made, he slips out of bed and pads across the room, not bothering with clothes. On the way to the ensuite, he pauses at the magical intercom Tav had installed during renovations—a variation of sending stones, though far simpler in execution, as it only has to work within the house.

"Hello?", he calls gently.

It doesn't take long for a response. "Master Vincent", comes a male voice—Hugo, if he's placing it right. "Good day. What can I do for you?"

"Please have some of those delicious foods from last night sent to our room. I'll be in the bathroom", Vincent replies.

"Certainly, Master Vincent", Hugo answers and the magic hums away.

Vincent smiles, stepping into the bathroom and closing the door behind him, secure in the knowledge that by the time he returns, something delicious and nourishing will be waiting.

But when Vincent steps out of the bathroom—skin still warm from the steam, wrapped in a silken robe—it's not just a tray of blood-themed delicacies waiting for him.

"Sebastian", he beams, catching sight of his boyfriend standing there, hands behind his back, grinning from ear to ear.

He pads over and rises onto his toes, pressing a kiss to Sebastian's lips.

"Morning, Sugar", Seb murmurs, one hand slipping into Vincent's damp hair. He grips it gently, tilting his head back.

It's a simple gesture—one Sebastian's done countless times—but just like always, it shoots a bolt of want straight through Vincent's spine. His breath hitches, hands bracing against Seb's chest, his parted lips betraying his need as he gazes up at him.

"Morning", he breathes, pressing their bodies together.

"You look delicious", Sebastian chuckles and then obliges with a kiss that melts Vincent's thoughts into nothing but sensation—a searing press of lips that short-circuits everything else.

Vin's eyes flutter shut. Just like that, he's ready to drop the robe and spend the entire day tangled up with Sebastian beneath the sheets. But Seb pulls back—though not without a playful nip to Vincent's lower lip.

"I have a surprise for you."

It takes a second for the words to register through the pleasure-induced haze clouding Vincent's brain. He blinks his eyes open. "Hmm? A surprise?"

As Sebastian shifts, Vincent catches sight of what he's holding: a comb, a couple of brushes and a small satchel filled with hairpins dangling from his wrist.

Vincent chuckles, warmth blooming in his chest. "So that's why you were gone when I woke up?"

"I did promise to do your hair", Seb says with a shrug. "Astarion had me practice on one of the maids. Poor girl had no idea what she was getting into."

Vincent laughs and wraps his arms around him. "I can imagine."

Seb pulls him closer with one arm, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head.

"I figured out how to do a basic braid", he says. "Give me time and I'll manage the intricate ones too."

Vincent's heart swells. He knows this isn't exactly Sebastian's comfort zone—patience and precision aren't his strong suits. But he's learning. For him. For Vincent. And it means the world.

"Food first", Vincent decides, glancing toward the waiting tray. "You haven't eaten yet, have you?"

"Nope", Seb replies, nuzzling his temple. "Now get that sexy butt over to the bed so we can fix that."

Vincent chuckles and obeys, turning toward the massive bed where the tray waits, already feeling more spoiled than he knows what to do with.

Seeing Vincent—skin still flushed from his bath, wrapped in a robe that just begs to be slipped off his shoulders—is almost too much for Sebastian to bear.

He wants this man with every fiber of his being and he gave up pretending otherwise a long time ago.

But he reins himself in. For now. Food first. Then maybe a little indulgence—just enough to let Vincent's hair dry. And afterward, he'll give Vincent back a part of himself he'd lost: the one who loved elaborate braids and fancy hairdos.

Vincent drops onto the mattress, folding one leg under the other as he reaches for one of those flaky pastries he'd adored last night. He takes a bite—and lets out a soft, delighted moan.

The sound alone nearly derails every ounce of Sebastian's self-control.

He sets the brushes and combs on the bedside table and climbs into bed beside him.

"If you keep making noises like that", he warns, "we're not leaving this bed until it's time to head home."

He grabs the coffee mug—black, laced with blood, still steaming faintly. The scent is rich and bitter, tinged with magic to keep the blood from clotting. A gift of luxury and consideration.

Vincent, more relaxed than Sebastian has seen him in weeks, smiles lazily. "Wouldn't be the worst outcome, if you ask me."

And then—he winks. Sebastian stares for a beat. Vincent just winked.

He's never seen that before. Whatever wall they shattered last night must've released something deeper—a teasing side of Vincent he's only now beginning to glimpse. Sebastian's not entirely sure how to handle it, but fuck, does he want to learn.

This trip—away from the city, away from their jobs, from duty and expectations—was long overdue. They'd shared their darkness, opened up their wounds. And now, everything between them feels clearer. Closer.

With a smile, Sebastian leans in and steals a kiss. "I love you and I love your smile, Vince", he murmurs against his lips.

Immediately, that telltale purple blush spreads across Vincent's cheeks—so very him, so unmistakably half-drow.

"I love you too, Seb", Vincent replies softly, then shoves a piece of pastry into his hand. "Now eat. You burned so much energy last night that I'm surprised you're not ravenous."

Sebastian grins. "And what if I am ravenous? Just of a different kind?" He arches a brow, wiggling it suggestively. Vincent's blush deepens, but his grin only widens.

Gods, it's good to see him smile, Sebastian thinks. But he decides to behave—at least for now.

He takes a bite of the pastry, chewing slowly. It's light, perfectly flaky, with just enough fruity blood flavor to resemble a regular treat.

"Delicious", he sighs, chasing it with a sip of coffee.

They fall into an easy silence, working their way through the tray of baked goods. And for the first time in what feels like forever, Sebastian feels light—utterly, beautifully weightless.

Once all that remains of the food are scattered crumbs, Sebastian abandons the last of his restraint. Judging by the hungry look in Vincent's eyes, he's not the only one ready to give in.

With a smirk, he clears the tray from the bed, setting it on a nearby table before turning back.

"You have two options", he begins, coming to stand beside the mattress. He reaches out, catching a damp strand of Vincent's hair between his fingers—cool and silky against his skin.

"We either fool around a bit—just enough for your hair to dry so I can braid it... or I braid it now and we spend the rest of the day in bed testing how well it holds up."

Vincent stares up at him. His pupils dilate, his lips parting on a slow, shuddering inhale. But this time, he's not the passive lover Sebastian first fell into bed with. Something's changed. Vincent is learning how to want things for himself—and ask for them without shame.

"Counter offer", he murmurs, lips curling into a teasing smirk—subtle, but there. "I get to have my way with your gorgeous, tasty cock for a while... then you braid my hair... then we see how firm it holds up."

If Sebastian had a heartbeat, he's sure it would've skipped. That quiet confidence, that smirk, that delicious suggestion—it's doing something to him. Something dangerous and yet utterly perfect.

He's always loved giving Vincent pleasure, loved having him soft and pliant beneath his hands. But this version—the bold, commanding Vincent—might just unravel him.

"You know what, Sugar", Sebastian says, mirroring that smirk, "you've got yourself a deal."

Vincent can't deny it—something in him shifted last night.

He's asked for what he wanted before. But it was always tentative, shy, blushing requests made to a partner who usually held the reins. This time, though, it's different.

This time, he knows what he wants. And he's ready to ask for it—not as a plea, but as a declaration. He's ready to explore.

He knows Sebastian will never be the kind of partner who yields completely—and truthfully, he wouldn't want him to be. But seeing Seb try, seeing him offer Vincent the space to take control?

It means more than Vincent could ever hope to put into words.

He shifts forward, curling his fingers around Sebastian's hips and tugging him closer. Slowly, he pushes up Seb's shirt and presses open-mouthed kisses along his chest, his abs—leisurely, reverent. Beneath his lips, Sebastian's muscles tense and flutter.

Vincent knows exactly how hard it must be for him to hold back. And the effort makes his heart squeeze tight and grow three sizes at the same time.

"You'll let me know if it gets to be too much, right?", he asks quietly, looking up, voice softer now.

Sebastian's eyes are fire—hungry, blazing—but his smirk is full of heat and reassurance. "Don't you worry, Sugar", he drawls, voice low and rough, "I intend to quite enjoy letting you explore."

Vincent blushes, but his smile only grows.

"Well then", he says, voice dipping into something teasing and tentatively firm, "off with your clothes—and on the bed with you."

Sebastian laughs, fingers fisting Vincent's damp hair once more as he leans down and steals a kiss. It's deep, making his toes curl and stealing breath he doesn't even need.

The amused "Aye, sir", barely registers in Vincent's ears, still ringing with the aftershocks of that one kiss and the fire it's lit in his blood.

Seeing his lover step naked into view snaps Vincent partway out of the haze that kiss left him in—but not entirely.

Sebastian pulls his shirt over his head, then shoves down his trousers and briefs in one smooth motion and Vincent's mouth waters instantly.

Seb's body has changed over the past few months. Training seriously as a berserker, eating like it matters—he's been putting on muscle in all the right places.

Oh, he was always handsome. But now? Now, Vincent can only describe him as drop-dead gorgeous.

He watches, transfixed, as Sebastian climbs onto the bed with easy confidence, settling into the center like he owns it—like he knows exactly what he does to Vincent. That certainty sends a flurry of butterflies through Vincent's chest and down into his stomach.

For now, he keeps the robe on—though he has no illusions about how long it'll stay that way.

"You look delicious", he murmurs, leaning over Sebastian, fingers ghosting over the defined ridges of his chest and stomach.

Seb, lounging with his head propped on his folded arms, smirks up at him. "Go on, Sugar. I'm at your mercy."

Vincent laughs—caught off guard, delighted. "You're sweeter than you let on."

He leans down, claiming his lips in a kiss that's both soft and sinful, indulgent and affectionate.

One of Sebastian's hands slips free and tangles in Vincent's hair again, stroking through the damp strands. "Just for you, Sugar", he breathes. "I love your hair. It's so soft. And it smells way too nice for its own damn good."

Another giggle escapes Vincent's lips, light and warm. The ease between them is a welcome relief after the heaviness of last night.

It feels like something's shifted—like they've passed one of the biggest hurdles in their relationship. They were in love before. They were close before. But now? Now they understand each other's pain in a way that runs bone-deep. And because of that, Vincent finally feels close enough—safe enough—to believe in forever.

To say with quiet certainty: there will be no other. No one else. Just him.

He kisses Sebastian again, slower this time. His lips trail from his lover's mouth to the sharp lines of his cheekbones, down the strong jaw, then lower—along the muscled column of his neck.

He takes his time. Tasting, breathing him in.

His robe slips from one shoulder, unnoticed, uncared for.

Sebastian groans low in his throat, watching him through half-lidded eyes, that familiar hunger simmering just beneath the surface. The kind that hums in the air like a summer storm about to break.

Vincent meets his gaze with matching heat—and then lowers his head and drags his tongue, slow and deliberate, over the sharp curve of Sebastian's hipbone.

Seb is trying—really trying—to give Vincent the space to explore. And while it was hard as hells at first, not knowing just how much control he could actually maintain, it's becoming... easier. Even relaxing.

Vincent takes his time—just as Sebastian usually would—kissing, licking and nipping his way across Seb's skin, tasting him with purpose, with care, with want.

And Seb realizes—this is the first time he's been on the receiving end of such tenderness.

His first time with Astarion had been clumsy, drunken, over far too soon and only half remembered. Every time after that, it was with vampire spawn just as touch-starved and frustrated as he was—quick, messy, hungry encounters. No bedrooms. No intention of gentleness. Just raw, volatile energy, burned off in hallways and back rooms. Bites, growls, hair-pulling, rough fucks against whatever surface was closest.

Because they all knew: their bodies could take it, and if not, they'd heal.

But now... now he has someone he loves. Someone he's spent so many nights unraveling until Vincent shattered with pleasure.

And now, for the first time, he's the one being unraveled—kiss by kiss, touch by touch.

And he's reveling in it.

He sighs, the sound slipping into a groan as his head tips back against the headboard. Vincent is trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the sharp V of his hips, staying just shy of the place that aches for him most—leaving Sebastian mindless with need.

But he doesn't reach for control. Not this time. He's given up the reins. Vincent is leading and Seb lets him. Lets his lover explore. Lets him discover what they both like—together.

He knows this is just the beginning. Seb is determined to help Vincent uncover every hidden want, every unspoken desire, after a lifetime of simply performing in other people's fantasies.

He's guilty of that too.

But as they'd talked about last night, Sebastian is the only person who ever made Vincent feel desire that was truly his own. Not just a reaction to someone else's touch. Not an obligation to please. But a choice.

That's always been the difference with them—choice.

Vincent's always had it with him. Always will. The freedom to say no. To walk away. To change his mind.

Because no matter how dominant Seb can be in bed, he would never ignore even the faintest sign of discomfort. He'd rather tear himself apart than take something Vincent isn't ready to give.

That thought shatters as Vincent nips the skin just above where Seb's need is straining for attention.

"Stop thinking so much", Vincent murmurs, half-scolding, half-teasing. Because he noticed, of course he noticed.

"Sorry", Seb chuckles, voice a little rough. "Just... reminiscing. I've never been this passive before."

Vincent kisses the spot he nipped, then licks up the small bead of blood that his fangs caused to pool there.

"How do you feel about it?", he asks, voice quiet, checking in.

Seb's heart swells. "Good", he says, smiling. "Really good."

His hand slips into Vincent's hair, gently tucking damp strands behind a pointed ear. His fingers linger for a beat on the sensitive tip.

Vincent flushes, his skin darkening with color as he leans into the touch, just like always.

"Please... continue, Sugar", Seb breathes, voice husky with want.

Vincent smiles and turns his head, pressing a kiss to the heel of Sebastian's palm before pulling back—eyes full of purpose—as he resumes exactly where he left off.

And then, when that wicked tongue finally traces down the length of him, slow and deliberate, Sebastian gasps—sharp and shuddering—fingers fisting in the sheets, the pleasure grounding and undoing him all at once.

"Mmm", Vincent hums in satisfaction, swirling his tongue around the tip of Sebastian's cock, tasting the salty bead that's formed there. One hand wraps around the length of his lover, while the other rests gently on Seb's thigh.

He's aware his chest is half exposed now, the robe bunched up over his hips from the slow descent. All in all, he's basically naked.

And still—Sebastian hasn't made a single move to take control. He's enjoying this every bit as much as Vincent is.

With that in mind, Vincent finally does what he's been aching to do. He swallows Sebastian whole, taking him down his throat inch by inch, cheeks hollowed, focus razor-sharp.

"Fuck!" Seb growls above him, one hand flying into Vincent's damp hair. He grips, but doesn't guide—yet.

Vincent knows exactly what Sebastian likes. He knows the rhythm that undoes him—stroke by stroke, lick by maddening lick.

So he gives it to him. All of it.

His eyes flutter shut, his focus narrowing to just this, to him. A moan builds at the back of his throat and he lets it go, lets Sebastian feel how much he's enjoying this—because gods, he is.

And Sebastian can't help but slip into old habits. At least when it comes to talking.

"That's it, Sugar", he groans, voice rough and low. "Fuck! That feels wonderful."

The praise sends a flutter through Vincent's stomach, his own arousal screaming for attention. But he doesn't stop. Doesn't want to stop. Right now, he just wants to taste Sebastian, to unravel him completely—like Seb always does to him.

He holds Seb steady with one hand while the other lifts, offering itself.

Sebastian takes it instantly, lacing their fingers together, holding on tight as Vincent continues his rhythm.

"Hells, Vin", Seb gasps, hips bucking involuntarily. Vincent doesn't mind. He chokes briefly as Sebastian's length pushes deeper down his throat—but the reaction only draws a greedy moan from him, the sound vibrating through Sebastian's body.

He keeps going, intoxicated by the taste, by the power, by the connection. The world narrows to this moment—just heat, pressure, need—until finally, Sebastian snaps.

His grip tightens in Vincent's hair, guiding him down harder, just the way he likes it, groaning as Vincent's throat tightens around him.

And then it happens.

Vincent feels the shudder, the telltale tremble. Feels the hot ropes of release shoot down his throat. His own abdomen clenches in response, the heat between his legs burning now, nearly unbearable.

Even after Sebastian finishes, Vincent keeps going—slow, purposeful strokes—drawing out every last drop. Taking everything Sebastian can give.

Seb finally pulls him up and kisses him, tasting himself on Vincent's tongue.

"You did so well, Sugar", he murmurs, voice thick with satisfaction. His hands trail down Vincent's shoulders, easing the robe off entirely.

It clings only by the belt now, bunched at Vincent's waist, revealing flushed, trembling skin.

"You too", Vincent whispers back, breathless. "You let me do my thing. Start to finish."

"I wasn't too rough at the end, was I?" Sebastian asks, brushing his knuckles along Vincent's cheek.

"I'd have complained if you were", Vincent says with a soft chuckle before leaning in to kiss him again—slow, deep, trying to soothe the roaring need still alive in his veins.

But it's no use.

Sebastian can feel it too—smell it, even. Vincent's arousal is a siren song, heavy in the air between them.

"Need some help with that, Sugar?" Seb asks with a smirk, his lips finding the curve of Vincent's throat.

"P-Please", Vincent stammers, his hips bucking as Sebastian's hand slides down to grip his ass, squeezing exactly the way Vincent likes it.

And then—without teasing, without hesitation—Sebastian's fingers move lower, slipping between Vincent's soaked folds.

Vincent clutches Seb's shoulders, body twitching. His head falls back as a wanton sound escapes him—something wild and unrestrained that would've embarrassed him with anyone else.

"Gods, yes!"

"You like that, don't you?" Sebastian murmurs, dragging his fingers between Vincent's folds again and again, flicking his clit with every pass.

Vincent jerks each time, pleasure spiking higher and higher. He nods helplessly, too overwhelmed by sensation to talk.

"Talk to me, babe", Seb urges, nipping his throat before kissing up to his ear, flicking his tongue over the pointed tip.

Another moan slips free, followed by a gasped "L-Love it!"

"That's it, enjoy yourself, Vince", Sebastian growls softly, finally sliding two fingers deep inside and pressing his thumb to that throbbing bundle of nerves already begging for a rougher touch.

"Ahh", Vincent whines, his head dropping forward to hide in the crook of Sebastian's neck as his lover begins to stroke him—slowly, deliberately—guiding him toward the peak his body's been aching for.

It doesn't take long. It never does, not with Vincent's hypersensitivity and Sebastian's skilled hands. Just a few minutes later, Vincent falls apart in his arms—gasping, moaning, breathlessly crying out Sebastian's name as waves of pleasure crash through him. Seb keeps it going, drawing out every last tremor with gentle strokes and practiced flicks of his thumb.

Only when Vincent's knees finally give out and he collapses against his chest does Sebastian stop, carefully withdrawing his fingers and resting his palm on the curve of Vincent's ass.

And just like that, they snuggle up close—entwined, breathless, wrapped in the aftermath of indulgent intimacy.

They don't bother with clothes for the rest of the day.

After recovering from the first of what will clearly be several rounds in bed, Sebastian finally makes good on his promise to braid Vincent's hair.

It takes him two tries to get it looking halfway neat.

Vincent's fingers trace over the finished braid, a soft, radiant smile blooming on his lips. He leans in and presses a kiss to Sebastian's cheek.

"Thank you, Seb", he murmurs, gentle and full of affection.

"Anytime", Sebastian replies, voice just as soft. "We're going to rediscover your vanity together, Sugar."

Then his smile shifts into a familiar, wicked smirk.

"Now for that other part..."

Vincent laughs, arms opening in invitation as he welcomes Sebastian back into them—back into the warmth, the intimacy, the dance as old as time itself.

And for the rest of the day, they thoroughly test the sturdiness of Vincent's braid.

Epilogue:

"And then you slowly roast it over the fire and it's done", Sebastian finishes, folding his arms like a teacher concluding a lesson.

As a way of repaying Astarion for teaching him how to braid Vincent's gorgeous hair, Sebastian had offered to pass along one thing in return: a recipe. Just one. A single dish, even Astarion could manage to cook to perfection—a meal he could make for his husband, to show Octavian how much he's appreciated.

But cooking as a vampire is hard. Cooking as a vampire with little natural talent for it? Even harder.

Astarion frowns, head tilted in quiet scrutiny. "You make it sound easy. But how do you know it tastes good?"

"Trust me, it will. If—and only if—you follow the recipe to the letter", Seb grins, leaning back against the counter as he watches Astarion wrestle with the roast, trying to keep the filling from spilling out.

"Easy for you to say. You were a cook in your mortal life", Astarion mutters, followed by a string of colorful curses as a handful of herbs and vegetables fall out. "Godsdamned finicky thing!"

"It's okay if some falls out", Sebastian laughs, clearly enjoying the spectacle, which only deepens Astarion's scowl. "This is real homemade food. It's not supposed to be clean and perfect like the stuff you serve at your fancy balls and soirées. It's meant for comfort."

Astarion lets out a breath, then chuckles under it. "Listen to you being a wisenheimer of domestic bliss."

Seb just smirks and pushes off the counter, finally moving in to help. "If we were both mortal, I'd make this for Vin at least once a month. It's my favorite family recipe. My gran used to cook it all the time when I stayed with her."

"Hm", Astarion hums thoughtfully, then sighs. "I get it. I miss the taste of real food too sometimes. And I really hope Tav likes this."

"Pretty sure he won't shut up about it for a tenday", Seb says with a grin. "Your husband basically worships the ground you walk on."

Astarion's smile shifts—no longer the polite one he wears for the world, but something rare, soft and unguarded. The kind he only shows when thinking about the lunatic who dared to love him. "He does, doesn't he?"

Sebastian grins wolfishly. "It's disgusting."

The pale elf huffs and bristles, but the indignation doesn't last long—not when he sees the mischief in Seb's eyes. His own frown melts into a reluctant smile. "Well, so are you and Vincent. So in love. Ugh."

Sebastian laughs and then—without another jab—they keep cooking.