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The moon was full, leaving camp cast with its cool blue light. A breath taking night, with every star out in the sky. Even Shadowheart enjoyed the calm night, despite her qualms with the moonshine coating the group. The fire crackled in the heart of camp, and everyone seemed to pair off. Gale was talking to Lae’zel about Faerûn’s magic compared to her home plane’s magic, and how the weave compared. Karlach was curled up with Shadowheart, close enough that Shadowheart must be sweating from the heat, but she looked a picture of peace. Wyll was washing by the stream, taking the moment for himself. Close enough to be safe, as he could easily call for Karlach for help if attacked. As the group’s begrudgingly assigned leader, you were a bit protective of your own. Maybe that’s why they stay with you. Everyone fed and all wounds cared for. All owlbears and dogs tucked in for the night. Everyone seemingly safe, and everyone accounted for.
Even Astarion, holding a bottle of wine, moseying his way into your tent. You allow him in, as you indulge him in most things. Like with drinking your blood.
His grin crinkles at the end, and his gestures are exaggerated, like he was the lead in a play.
“Darling-” he pushes the wine in your hands. “You need to stop worrying so much. A night without babysitting those fools won’t kill them. Probably.”
He caught your anxious gaze, then, noticing the way your eyes bounced back and forth between each of your companions. Everyone accounted for.
“Always making sure everyone’s alive, hmm?” His voice is lower this time, and his voice is closer to your ear. You think he intends the comment to be more playful than seductive, but with Astarion, it’s always hard to tell.
“Someone must.” You follow your answer with a long draw from the bottle, found in a house with only one or two bodies. You're lucky the stench didn't keep you away from looting the place, as this wine was better than most you find out here.
“Mhm.” he laughs, a bit too airy to match his persona for the night. At least, you think it’s a persona. “Well!” Ah, great, a subject change. “If you wish to ogle the others rather than me, then perhaps you can tell me who’s blood you’d rather drink? Under the hypothetical situation that you’d indulge in such sanguine tendencies, of course.” He eyes your neck, and you remember your offer from earlier. He was here for a meal, of course. The question is not unwelcome, however.
“I don’t know what makes my blood taste good to you, but let’s assume everyone has a different taste, yeah?” he’s nodding that yes, people taste different from person to person. You remind yourself that you’re his first, not only. You smile. There’s an obvious answer, but you want to deny him the satisfaction. And delve more into vampire talk.
“Wait - what does my blood taste like, then? Like, compared to the others you’ve drunk from. Does it depend on what they are, like an elf or tiefling, or is it even more individual?”
He seems surprised that you didn’t lash out at his question, or seem disgusted. He tilts his head, curls untamed from a day of running his hands through it, bouncing with the movement. A small hum comes from him, and he drops his flirtations, scooting a bit away from you.
“I think it's more of an individual thing, rather than a race thing? I’ve been told it depends on the creature’s diet, but I don't think it’s just that? Maybe? After all, you’ve been eating off the supplies of the people I drain, and you still taste far better, dearest.”
He seems to be thinking quite hard about this.
“Huh. Maybe you should tell me what you’d guess they’d taste like? Then I can pick a favorite from that. I trust that you’d guess better what they’d taste like than me.”
He perks up a bit.
“Darling, I thought you’d never ask! Anyone you wish for me to start with?”
“Uh, Karlach, maybe?”
“Oh, she’d taste like firewine. Much too cinnamon, you know? Though her blood might be too hot for me to taste , considering it would likely burn my taste buds off. Though I think our little Shadowheart might not be much of an improvement.” He leads your gaze to her, still cozied up to Karlach. “I feel all that doom and gloom would make her taste a bit stale.”
You snort at that. “Careful, Astarion, she may stake you for that comment.”
He just laughs. “I’d prefer a steak over her, honestly. It least it’d be more interesting-” You elbow him a bit. “-Anyway,” his hands dance along as he weaves a picture for each person. “Lae-zel’s blood would be heavily spiced. She has too much fight for it to roll down the throat. Gale’s blood would taste spoiled, given all the foul magical items he’s been consuming. Wyll’s blood would be sickly-sweet, of course, like syrup tapped from a tree watered with honey.” He lips curl in disgust. “Disgusting, of course, to match his ‘oh-so-sweet’ personality.” His face makes you giggle. Poor Wyll.
“That roster doesn’t sound very appetizing, truthfully. Besides, I think I’d rather drink your blood. Vampire blood is made of a bunch of others, is it not? So then I’d be getting a full-course meal, rather than just dinner or dessert.”
“Oh, darling, you know just what to say!”
“It’s not- I’m not complimenting you, Astarion, it’s just the most logical answer!”
He preens at that, smile large enough now that you can see both fangs.
“Of course it is, after all, I’m the most logical choice in everything. Truly, we are the most logical pair, aren’t we?” His grin is shit-eating, and heat rises on your neck. A logical pair. Asshole.
“Well, great thing I can’t drink your blood then.” The bottle is now your focus, although, it doesn’t do much, given how Astarion is looking at you.
“I mean, you could, if you weren’t a coward, darling.”
He’s baiting you. But you are genuinely curious.
“Wouldn’t that turn me into a vampire? Drinking your blood?”
He freezes. For a second, his mouth isn’t open, and you get to admire the way he glows in the blue light of the moon. The way he glows when he drops his weird little act, and is just Astarion. Not Astarion and the seductive rogue disguise he drags with him.
Then he opens his mouth, and laughs loud enough to wake Scratch two tents away. It starts gleeful, and ends bitter.
“Darling, I forget that not everyone knows about vampire- spawn . No- I could not turn you into anything, no matter if I wished to or not. I’m a spawn, remember? Can’t turn anything into anything else.” His smile is bitter, and you’re desperate to wipe it off his face.
“Then can I try your blood?” The words tumble out faster than you wanted them to.
He’s back to being surprised, thankfully. He grins again, flirtatiously, and you can tell he thinks it’s a joke, and wants to make a euphemism for something, so you just cut him off.
“C’mon! You get to have my blood all the time, let me try some of yours! I want to see what the appeal is, truthfully.” You nudge him, and he plays along.
“A little of my blood for only a little of yours? Tsk, doesn’t seem like a fair trade to me, darling.” You snort.
“A drop or two of your blood, for a little bit of mine. Besides, you’ve had lots of my blood so far, and I’ve not been offered even a drop of yours. Seems rude, if you ask me.”
“Fine. Darling, would you like to try some of my blood?” He falls onto his back, no longer sitting in your tent, but now laying in a dramatic pose.
“I would love to try some of your blood Astarion. Do you need to borrow a knife? My teeth aren’t as sharp as yours, after all.” you place the wine next to him and start searching so a blade.
“Sweetheart, I always have a blade on me.” He fishes a knife from the inside of his shirt, and slices a small cut on the outside of his wrist. Goddess, that was quick. He smiles, with come-and-get-me plastered all over his face. Fucker. You cannot deny that he’s attractive like this, leaned back on one elbow, offering a wrist to you. You only hope he doesn’t notice the eagerness in your fingers when you pull his wrist to your mouth. You give it a tentative lick, and his eyes widen. Always expecting you to lose your game of ‘chicken’, the fool. It tastes just like your blood, but you didn’t really get all that much. Going back, your tongue is fully out, flattening against his arm as it slowly drags its way to the top of the wound. Smacking your lips, you note that it still tastes like blood. You pull back enough to look him in the eye.
“Mhm, mhm, mmm-hmmmmm. I see.” you bob your head solemnly. “Astarion, your blood tastes like…” His eyes shine, the moonlight that wormed its way into your tent making the red nearly glow. You quirk your lips, hoping he’s just as entranced in you as you are him. His pupils are blown out, and he doesn’t even pretend to breath, focused solely on where his blood lies on your lips.
“... Blood.” He stares hard at the bit of blood- his blood- smeared on your mouth, before your words process. His laugh comes out light and true, and loud. It fills up the tent.
“Yes, dear, and your blood tastes like blood too.”
You can tell he’s quite giddy with your answer, but you can’t pinpoint why. Whatever.
“Alright, your turn, trade me places.” You pat his side, and move back. He abides, and when you take his place, he leans in fast to your neck. He waits a beat, before sinking his teeth into your neck.
The bite’s as icy as it always is, and feels like the blood in your body is trying to run away from the wound, as if it knows it is to be devoured. You feel something against your warm skin, however. Something wet. Fuck, the wine, you decide, before you think about the position of the wetness. No, the cool glass of the wine is near your right side, the side Astarion’s teeth is in. The wetness is cold, up on the left side of your neck. You release all at once that it’s his blood, seeping still from his wrist as his fingers start to dig into your jaw.
Huh. As he pulls away, before you even have to nudge him away, and as his fingers find the small post-bite kit that Shadowheart made that you keep next to your bed, you can only think of how the moon has a push-pull on the ocean. The give and take, even though to some it is uneven, is always balanced in stories. The glowing red of his eyes, the way his blood tastes just like yours. The moon never gets less than the sea, even as it stays still while the waves dance back and forth. When the salve hits your skin, you wonder which one of you is the water.