A Missed Opportunity
Astarion never comes to confess to you before Moonlight Tower.
Being the BAMF you are, you confront him with the dreaded "what are we" conversation.
Short, sweet, to the point. Idiots in love confessing to each other.
Astarion watches you from his tent. He does it constantly, and you are well-aware of it. Sometimes, you purposefully catch his eye, your own gleaming with intent. He never backs down, yet he never acts on your significant looks, either. Tonight, you decide, enough is enough. You're nearly to Baldur's Gate, now, after two months of traveling with your erstwhile companions - your band of misfits, if you will. Hells, you're supposed to arrive in Rivington in two days' time.
Enough is enough. If you are just prey or just a plaything, you deserve to know, at least so you can make an educated decision for yourself. You should be allowed to decide if you're willing to be a...a plaything forever or not. You're not completely certain you're against it, considering the depth of your feelings for the man, but you still deserve to have a choice in the matter. He owes you that much, at least.
Heaving a great breath - one you didn't even realize you'd been holding - you stand up from your seat at the campfire and do your best to stride confidently to Astarion's tent. His eyes widen a fraction; if you weren't so familiar with his facial expressions, you likely would have missed it.
"Astarion," you say, "we need to talk. Now."
"Why, whatever about, darling? Have you changed your mind about our little deal? I would hate to lose such a scrumptious snack, but I understand if I must."
You shake your head in the negative. "No, Astarion. We need to talk about, well, us."
He puts his wine glass down and rakes a hand - quite elegantly, mind you - through his artfully disheveled hair. "Must we?"
"Yes," you say, firmly steeling what little resolve you have.
"Fine." He huffs, grabbing you by the hand and leading you quickly and quietly to a nearby grove. The need for privacy seems to be at an all-time high, you think idly.
"What do you want to know, Tav?"
"Everything. We've slept together once, over a month ago, after the party, and I've been your dinner every night for even longer. Am I just a plaything to you? A toy?"
He lets out an anguished groan. "No. You're not."
You blink. You blink again. A third time, you blink. You'd not been expecting that.
Noticing your obvious confusion, he rakes a much less graceful hand through his hair, which is now in a much less artful disarray, you note. He's obviously disgruntled, or, perhaps...frustrated? With you? With himself? All of the above?
"You haven't ever been 'just' a plaything. At first." He sighs once again, "you were a...means to an end. It was supposed to be simple. I seduce you, use you for protection, maybe food... But damn it all, you had to go and be...nice!...in a way I've never experienced before. Nobody has ever given me a choice before, at least, not since Cazador turned me. But you, Tav, you give me choices all the time! To feed on you or not, to pick campsites, to hunt various animals for everyone's dinner, including my own...To not bite that strange Drow woman." He visibly shivers at the mention of the Blood Alchemist.
Through all of this, you just stare at him in a dumb, stunned silence.
"Do you get what I'm saying, Tav? I don't really know WHAT you are, but you're so much more than a plaything or a means to an end. You deserve something...real. I want us to be something real."
Breaking out of your stupor, you sidle closer. "May I kiss you?"
Astarion gives you an affronted look of pure indignation. "I pour my heart and soul out to you, and you think you need to ask to kiss me?"
You merely nod. "You always have a choice, Astarion. Always."
With a quiet growl, he surges toward you with inhuman speed and pulls you into a ferocious, bruising, breathless kiss.
A moment later, when you break for air, you smirk. "Nice of you to profess your undying love for me, Astarion!"
The squeak of pure indignation is worth the scowl he throws your way for the next few minutes. It goes away, however, when you whisper in his ear that you feel the same.
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