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spacesquidlings · 7 months

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In The Starlight I Was Free

Description: Astarion hadn't thought he would ever know happiness, and more than that he'd thought he would never know what it was to truly love, and loved in return. And yet here he was, with his partner curled so lovingly against him, who showered him in affection every day. Who he so wholly adored, and who he wanted to show just how deep his love, and his want of her, go.

Pairing: Astarion x Female Tav (Aspen)

Warnings: NSFW, cock warming, blow job, hand job, exhibitionism (sort of), sleepy sex

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The sky was awash with starlight, so bright it could have been mistaken for the sun.

Well, not entirely. There was a gem-like glitter to the stars, a cold, sharp light more reminiscent of sharp-edged diamonds. In comparison the sun could be anything. Buttery and soft, gliding across his skin like feathered wings. Harsh and brutal, unforgiving as fire. Thin and watery, like weak beer. There were words he did not have to describe the sun, how different it could be every day, how it could change at any point during the day, how it could set the sky ablaze, or soften the edges of the world in blush pinks and bruised purples.

Not that Astarion was a connoisseur of the sun by any means, he hadn’t set foot in it for centuries, fearful of the scorching pain that would turn his body to cinders.

But doomed though it was, to have the tadpole buried in his brain, he could not help but be thankful for it, for allowing him to wrest himself free of his enslavement, for allowing him to set foot in the sun once more, to feel it on his skin, to experience the ebb and flow of its light and warmth like ocean tides.

He found he much preferred it, the sunlight, to the coldness of the stars and the darkness that bled out between their light like a fathomless pit.

Tonight, though, the stars were so bright he couldn’t help but stare up at them, watching as they flickered, as deep purples bled into the sky, softening the darkness. The moon was nearly full, casting a veil of silver over everything he could see, turning benign things into something nearly magical.

He could have laughed at himself, waxing on to no one about the stars and the sun and the moonlight making the dark seem ethereal, like some wild place he could vanish into and be safe from the monsters stalking the world, where he would no longer be a monster himself.

Yet even if that were true, if a portal made of moonlight appeared, a doorway leading him to a world where he could be safe, he wasn’t sure if he would even take it anymore. This world had been cruel, but he had found scraps of kindness, of precious, delicate things he wished he could hold safely in his hands, to cradle it against his heart.

Beside him, his partner yawned, stretching her arms above her, dragging them through the grass before rolling onto her side and nestling against him.

“Are you still awake, darling?” He slid one arm around her middle, tracing his fingers over her waist, her hip.

Aspen’s nose wrinkled, her lips pressing into a thin line that told him she was trying very hard not to laugh. “No.”

“Ah, I see.” He chuckled, mirth dancing in his heart. “Don’t let me disturb you from your dreams, then.”

Mirth was new to him, a strange giddiness that reminded him of sunlight bleeding through a canopy of leaves, staining everything in gold. He had only recently added it to his repertoire, and now it seemed to bubble in his chest alongside his traitorous heart at the slightest of provocations. She would say something objectively unfunny, like some tragic little pun, and he would feel it stirring. She would wrinkle her nose and roll her eyes when he teased her and there it would be, like seafoam gathering on waves. She would take his hand, or laugh brilliantly, or look back at him with delight in her eyes after mastering some new spell or song, and there it would be like a laugh in his throat.

He felt it almost every day, trailing behind him as they drew closer to the end of their quest, to whatever would lie beyond them in the future when the tadpoles were gone. This was certainly no time to be feeling such a childish delight, and yet he did. He did constantly.

He felt it now, lips quivering from the effort of not smirking as she nuzzled against his side, her arms wrapping around him. He’d never known himself capable of loving someone as much as he did her. He’d never known himself capable of being loved, certainly not as much as she loved him.

It was in all the little things she did, in the quiet questions before kissing him, before so much as holding his hand. It was in the way she would run her fingers through his hair, let him rest his head on her chest while she slept, listening to her even breaths, relishing the warmth that seeped into him until he felt like he was truly alive. It was in how she trusted him entirely, never doubting him. In how she’d begun to open up about herself, as much as she was always asking him about him.

He could have spent another century listing off little things. The way she smiled, the way her hands tangled with his, the way she would always try to make him comfortable before she went to sleep, the way she always did odd little things that brought a smile to his face.

She’d managed to get her hands on a cloth notebook, how he wasn’t even sure, insisting that she planned to learn to draw so she could show him how she saw him, since mirrors still would not reveal his face to himself. He’d managed to get a peek once while she was practising, and had nearly burst into laughter. She’d been trying so earnestly, but she had neither skill nor talent for it, and the sketches reminded him more of something a child first learning to hold a pencil would create.

“My dear, please don’t take this the wrong way,” he’d been smirking, trying to hold in his laughter as she’d glared at him from the corners of her eyes. “But I think you’d better leave drawing to the professionals. If you’re that hellbent on having a portrait of me, perhaps you can commission a skilled artist.”

He remembered how she had snapped the book shut, stuffing it into her pack before he could get a second glance. “I thought it would be nice.”

“And darling it is nice. Well…” He’d sat beside her, trying to draw her into his lip, thinking surely she couldn’t stay mad at him if he cuddled her. “It’s a nice thought.”

She’d huffed, bottom lip popping out in a pout. She’d looked ready to run, or perhaps to smack him. But she’d done neither, although she had crossed her arms, leaning as far away as she could considering he’d been holding her.

“Perhaps once we’re done with all of this.” He’d gestured to the camp around them, to the general situation of the world potentially ending. “We can find you some drawing lessons.”

Her eyes had remained narrowed, and she’d turned away from him. “Well your options are that, or I could write a song, I suppose.” She’d relaxed against him then, some of her ire having ebbed away as the idea had struck her. “I’m not half bad at that, you know. Although I’d be verbally describing you, and I would include something about your smile lines.”

At the time, Astarion had huffed, even as that strange feeling of mirth had awoken in him at his words. It was true he’d prefer the most beautiful parts of him to be described and immortalized only, but what were songs but drawn out poems, romanticizing even the most mundane of things.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind a song written about me.” He’d mused, leaning his head to the side so it had rested against hers. “A long ballad about how wonderful I am, about all my exploits.”

She’d snorted, easing into his arms, toying with the strings dangling from the collar of his shirt. “Could I include a verse or two about how much I love you?”

“Oh darling, I would expect nothing less. I want to know just how much you adore me.” He’d nipped at her ear, earning a small squeak. “And about how marvellous a lover I am.”

She’d dissolved into a fit of giggles then, threatening him with the promise of really writing some lovesick song about him, as if that wouldn’t be something he’d have wanted terribly.

The rest of their conversation had devolved from there, Astarion growing needy for her touch, to feel her burning skin against his. And Aspen had been happy to oblige, had wanted to shower him with all her love as she’d let him lead her far from their camp, into the shadows of the woods where no one would hear them.

She’d murmured quiet questions in the shadows, her face illuminated by nothing more than the liquid moonlight pooling in the gaps between the leaves. She’d helped him to lie down, had sung sweetly to him between fiery kisses trailed over his skin as she’d undressed him slowly.

She’d been unskilled, ignorant of the ways of seduction when he’d first met her. And when he had first taken her, she had been entirely innocent, needing guidance to know what would make her feel good, what would make him feel good. But she’d been a quick study, and in that moment she’d unlaced his shirt with deft, nimble fingers before pushing it wide to trail her lips over his skin, knowing exactly the way to swirl her tongue around his nipples, to suck at his skin while he’d moaned.

Soon enough his shirt had been discarded, crumpled in a heap as she’d made her way down his torso with her mouth, one of her hands lightly stroking him until she’d reached the waist of his pants. They were gone in an instant, followed by her own clothes, having learned how much he enjoyed tracing his eyes over the curve of her body, watching the sway of her breasts as she knelt between his legs, trailing kisses along the inside of his thighs before drawing his cock into her mouth.

She’d made love to him so sweetly that night, bringing him to completion with her mouth first, swallowing his release before planting a loving kiss to his tip before moving on. She’d scattered kisses over his body once more, but he’d grown far too impatient, taking her face in his hands and bringing her lips to his, tasting himself on her tongue, aching terribly for the feel of her body around him.

All his instruction and guidance was turned against him then, for she had grown sly now that she knew how to make him feel best, how to coax music from his lips. He’d melted in her arms as she’d circled the pads of her thumbs around his nipples, as she’d reached a hand between his legs to stroke his cock, to squeeze his balls, to make him whimper as his mind grew hazy and blank but for the quiet way she murmured his name, telling him pretty he was, he much she loved him.

When finally she’d straddled his waist, hovering just above him, he’d been able to do nothing but grip her thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin, covered in sweat and panting from previous releases. But she’d only teased him further, grinding against him before finally, finally drawing him slowly, inch by delicious inch, into her body. He’d been allowed a few moments of smug satisfaction as he’d felt how she’d clenched around him, Aspen just as needy for him as he’d been for her. Then she had moved, slowly at first, languorously. Asking him if he’d felt good, if it had been nice, if he could keep making such pretty sounds because she’d loved his voice.

She’d spent the entire night bringing him to the edge, again and again, letting him fill her body until his release spilled down the insides of her thighs, smearing across them both as she’d continued to move. She’d kissed him, over and over until their lips were both bruised, until they were both breathless, her hands stroking his sides or twining with his as she came along with him.

It had been like she’d been worshipping him, like he’d been her god and she a faithful supplicant at the altar of his body. Her words had been fragments of prayer, reverence in the way she murmured his name, adoration in the sweet words that fell from her lips like rain.

Devotion had been in every roll of her hips, in every shudder of her body as she’d came around him. Sweat had streaked down her face, pooling in the hollow of her throat, and still she had devoutly breathed sweet nothings, had given her body to him like a sacrifice.

She’d stroked his face, had played with his hair, promising him that there was nothing she’d wanted more, would ever want more, than his happiness. She’d described his expression of ecstasy like she’d been reciting passion-filled poetry, her fingers gentle even as they traced lines of fire over his jaw and his lips and the curve of his ears.

When, so lust-addled and drunk on her, his own personal goddess, he had asked her to sing her pretty words instead, she had obliged, promising that all she wanted was to bring him joy, to make him feel good, in every way he wanted.

When at last he had been so entirely spent that he’d been unable to make an intelligible sound but breathy moans she had finally stilled, kissing tears and sweat from his face until he had laughed. Strength had returned to him as languidly as the sun setting on a summer's evening, and as she’d kissed him he’d slowly wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her close, not wishing for even a breath to pass between their bodies.

She’d been happy to stay where she was, to keep her legs locked around his waist and cradle his head in her arms. He’d stayed buried deep inside of her until the sun had come up, until they’d tarried so long their companions would have certainly been looking for them.

The memory of that night, of how she made such sweet, gentle love to him, made his cheeks flush now, his breath coming in short gasps. Beside him, Aspen opened her eyes to regard him curiously, stirred to consciousness by his sudden ragged breathing.

“My love?” Her voice was heavy, thick and slow with sleep. “Is something the matter?”

There was such gentleness in her voice, such care, it nearly brought tears to his eyes. She was half asleep and still she wanted to care for him, wanted to wrap him in the softness of her love.

Perhaps he really would cry, because he was sure he did not deserve this love, as sure as he was that he would forever stay with her if she let him.

“It’s nothing, darling.” He turned his gaze back up to the stars, watching as their light glittered and danced like gemstones tossed skyward. “I was only thinking.”

She hummed, the sound vibrating through him like the beginnings of a song. Her voice was so pretty, and he could have sank into it like sailors falling for sirens at sea. He was no fool and would not be so easily tricked, but he loved her so entirely he would have followed her to a watery grave.

“Thinking of what, my love?” She splayed her hand across his chest, above where his heart beat a steady rhythm. It was strange, to be dead but to have a beating heart. It was not something he’d even noticed until her, until their lives had been inextricably tangled together.

But he did have a heart, beating, stumbling at times, reminding him that he was still alive in the ways that counted. That he could love, that he did love.

Astarion twined his fingers with hers, bringing her hand to his lips. She watched him with heavy lidded eyes, lashes fluttering as she tried and failed to keep her eyes open.

“Nothing much,” he murmured, staring at the stars. They really were bright tonight, as though the world were suddenly awash in light now that he was free. But not even the stars could compare to her, and although he’d turned his head to look up, his eyes wandered away from the jewel-encrusted night, fixed on Aspen as if she were the only thing in the world that was worth looking at.

“You’re staring at me.”

“Am not.”

She forced her eyes open, glowering at him. He couldn’t help but smile, having provoked her into waking. “You’re staring right at me.”

“I can’t help it,” he cooed. “You’re more brilliant than the stars. I look at you and I feel like I am standing in the sun, like I am truly alive.”

A tender smile curved across her lips, her eyes falling closed once more. “Would you like me to wax on about all the ways I love you? About the softness of your hair? The creases in your face when you smile? The rumble of your laughter in your chest?”

“I’d much rather you tell me how striking my eyes are, or how I look like I was sculpted to look like one of the gods,” he drawled, stroking her hair. “But I suppose if you are that fond of those other things you could make mention of them as well.”

Laughter flitted from her lips like butterflies taking flight. “I’ll take that into consideration. But truthfully, my love, there is much more to you than just your face, handsome though it may be.”

He held her closer, tighter. His heart fluttered like the wing-beats of a hummingbird, so warm from her body pressed against his that he could have been melting into her embrace. She was always reminding him that he was beautiful, although it was a fact he knew quite well, but then she would always remind him of other things she loved. The sound of his laugh, the handful of freckles scattered across his face and chest, the way he always turned his head towards the sun when it rose in the morning, the line between his brows when he was reading.

All things he would have cringed away from not that long ago, soft parts of himself he’d have rathered stayed buried in the dirt alongside whoever he’d used to be.

Perhaps it was the cadence of her voice, the musical way she listed off the parts of him that he had long considered faults in his facade of perfection. Perhaps it was the earnestness in her eyes, the way they shone and held his for the briefest of moments before flitting away as colour rose in her cheeks, as if she were overwhelmed with a feeling so strong she could hardly speak the words. Perhaps it was in the way she asked to hold his hand before she told him, how she nestled close when she did, how she had to be touching him in some way as if she couldn’t bear to be away from him.

Whatever it was, whatever magic she’d cast over his heart, had made him view himself differently. His imperfections were no longer hated, and he felt more secure in himself, in all the shards of who he was. He wasn’t just a pretty face, not to her, he was someone worthy of life, of love.

“Do go on,” he murmured into her ear, earning a delighted shiver for his efforts. “I’d love to know what else about me you adore.”

“Where would you like me to start?” Her laugh was more of a sigh, but it was infectious nonetheless, and he warmed as it reverberated through him.

The memory of the night she’d most recently sung praises for him surfaced in his mind. He tried holding her tighter as she dozed, murmuring words to him that were becoming more and more unintelligible as she drifted away. He rolled onto his side in an attempt to tuck her close, his eyes scanning the contours of her face, the line of her jaw, the softness of her lips. Her dark lashes fanned out across the tops of her cheeks, the corners of her lips quirking up as she made a contented sound, shifting closer.

Astarion had no practice in the art of writing or of music, but he was finding that there was no end to the parts of her that he loved. It was like he was falling in love with her a little more every moment, every day. There was always something new, something he hadn’t known before but that delighted him once he did. If he’d had the skill or the desire, he would surely be able to weave every little thing into a poem, perhaps a song.

Not that he was particularly keen on such an idea, but he ruminated on it for a few moments before discarding the notion as he trailed a finger down the side of her neck. She did not seem the type to desire songs and poetry of herself, always flushing so spectacularly when he breathed sweet nothings in her ear, her entire body trembling as if she might faint from such gentle words.

She never pushed him away or begged him to be quiet, but he’d noticed that when he was only trying to express simple affections, she seemed to respond better to his touch. She was always leaning towards him like a tree torn free from the earth, whether she realized it or not. Her face would brighten if their knuckles brushed when they stood together, her eyes turning to twin stars when he reached out to take her hand in his. She would nestle into his arms when she slept, trusting him to keep guard of them both, and she was forever accepting requests to hold him with her arms opened wide.

Perhaps it was not sweet words that he needed to use, but his touch.

Which was more than fine with him. Sometimes he felt as though his words rang hollow, did nothing to encompass the vastness of the warmth he cradled in his cold, undying body. He needed something else, something more. Not sex, no, but to hold her close, closer than he was holding her even now.

He would be lying if he said it was just for her. He was selfish, and he wanted her closer, needed it, more than air, more than blood. He felt like he would die all over again if he could not close the remaining space between them.

“My love,” he breathed the words quietly, stroking her throat, above the twin puncture marks that had scarred from the daily feedings she so willingly offered herself for.

“Mmmm?” Her lashes fluttered, but her eyes did not remain open for very long.

“Do you trust me, my love?” His heart beat an erratic melody, his fingers twitching. He had an idea in mind, but he wanted to make sure she was alright with it first.

She slurred her response, and when he prompted her to repeat herself she tilted her head back, peering at him through slitted eyes as she murmured “of course.”

Astarion traced his hands lower, grazing her thigh. “And you know I love you, don’t you?”

Her brow furrowed. “What are you planning?”

“Nothing terrible, my love.” He hesitated, his hand hovering on her leg. Since he had freed himself, since he had confessed the entirety of his shadowed heart to her and she had accepted him in full, he hadn’t been able to resist slipping into her bedroll each night. Not always for sex, not when he usually wanted some modicum of privacy for that and often spirited her far from their camp so their companions did not hear the sounds of her pleasure.

Aspen had long since grown more comfortable with him, in many ways, and at night she often discarded her trousers as she slept, wearing nothing but a long tunic that nearly reached her knees. It would be such an easy task to lift up the hem of her tunic, to stroke the sensitive flesh between her thighs until she was ready for him.

“Then trust me, love,” she murmured, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “Tell me what’s on your mind.”

“It’s nothing much, only…” He trailed off, deciding to start slowly, reaching beneath the hem of her tunic to stroke the plush skin of her inner thigh. “Is it alright if I continue?”

Aspen’s eyes snapped open, holding his for a long, long while, surveying his face in the dark. She was human, and he wasn’t sure how much she could make out in the shadows, even with the light of the fire flickering nearby. But whatever she saw seemed to appease her, and her eyes closed once more. “Yes, love, it is.”

He dragged his fingers higher, keeping his touch light.

“Do you want me to do anything? Would you like me to help with your clothes?” She moved her hands to his chest, her movements slow and muddled from sleep.

“No my darling.” He pressed his lips to the top of her head. “I just want you to lie still and feel very good.”

“Are you certain? Are you truly sure, because I can-”

Astarion brought his lips to hers, cutting off her argument before she could finish it.

She was breathless as he broke away, and he couldn’t help but smile at how flustered he’d already made her. “I am very sure, darling. This is something that I want.”

“Okay.” Her voice was small, her hands gripping his shirt tight.

“Although I do need you to do something for me, pet.”

Fatigue must have been a powerful opponent, because Aspen fought to keep her eyes open for more than a moment at a time, even as she spoke. “Anything.”

He grinned. “Spread your legs a little wider for me.”

She did as she was asked, and Astarion sighed in contentment as he began stroking his fingers along the soft skin at the apex of her thighs. Slowly at first, although he would be lying if he said he did not move quicker as her breaths turned ragged, her lips parting so prettily for him. He circled her clit with a featherlight touch, then again, with more force. She moaned, leaning into him, and he felt his own body responding in kind, tension growing in his core, heat spreading through him.

Aspen writhed beside him, her neck arching, her chest heaving. Even in the dark he could make out the colour spreading across her cheeks, reaching below the collar of her tunic.

“I’m going to get rid of this now, okay?” He murmured next to her ear and she nodded furiously, lifting her arms to make it easier for him as he peeled it away from her body.

“Good girl,” he breathed, smug as she whimpered.

Her thighs twitched, her hips moving of their own accord, and it was with his other hand that he had to steady her, pressing her down so she could not move. “Hold still, darling. Didn’t I tell you I wanted you to lie still?”

Another whimper, a breathy please as she trembled.

He chuckled, drawing his hand away to lick his fingers clean. “I’ve hardly touched you, and you’re already a mess.”

“Astarion, please.”

“Yes, my darling?” He couldn’t help but tease her, only a little. It was so easy, especially now. She was still half-asleep, but every time her eyes fluttered open he saw her pupils, so dilated they looked fully black in the night. “Use your words. Tell me what you want.”

Aspen whined, grasping his arm with a grip like iron. Her words were breathless, broken up by little gasps as he stroked her. “You’re not being nice.”

He clicked his tongue, enjoying the sight of her squirming, of her struggle to remain quiet and still. “How could you say such a thing, darling? I’m very nice.” He flicked her clit as she whined, earning a soft whimper as her nails dug into his arm. “Well… I’m a little nice.”

Astarion did his best to keep his movements slow and even, coaxing her to the precipice of her climax without letting her fully descend into it. It was difficult, a feral part of his mind wanting to make her scream his name into the night, to bring her to release over and over until she was an absolute mess. But that was not his intention, not tonight, and he wanted to focus on something gentler, something much more tender.

He alternated between kissing any part of her skin his lips could reach and whispering softly into her ear, delighting in how she shivered in his arms when he did.

“Shh, not too loud, love,” he murmured, circling his fingers around her entrance. “We don’t want the others to hear.”

“Do you- Do you think they’ll catch us?” She was clutching his shirt so tightly he felt certain that it would tear.

“Not if you stay quiet,” he breathed, laughing at her stricken expression. “Don’t look at me like that. I just wanted you so terribly, pet.”

Aspen moaned again, his name a prayer on her lips. It made him ache so entirely he didn’t think he would be able to last for much longer. Her chest heaved, her breasts soft and inviting, and he distracted himself with them, drawing the bright pink nipples between his teeth, biting them as gently as he could until she was mewling, even his name sounding incoherent as it was caught by the wind.

“I want to be close to you,” he said, pressing his lips to the valley between her breasts, breathing in the smell of her skin, sweat and growing things and the subtlest hint of the oils and perfumes he used for himself.

Her arms snaked around him, scrabbling for purchase against his back, pulling the material of his shirt taut. “Then come closer.”

Drawing back, Astarion’s gaze fell on her face, on the deep blush that set her aflame, the heady desire in her eyes. There was something else there, too, something hidden in the depths of the need he was filling her with.

There was love in her eyes, in the curve of her smile, in the way she let out a soft breath as she met his gaze, one of her hands sliding up to bury in his hair.

It was bright as sunshine, as gentle as an embrace. His knees grew weak from it, his body trembling as she gazed up at him with such sweet adoration.

“I want to be close,” he breathed, fingers fumbling as he quickly discarded his shirt, and his trousers next, not wanting even the slightest scrap of fabric between them. He wanted nothing but her skin against his, her heart beating a furious tempo against his chest, her breath tickling the skin of his throat. He wanted there to be nothing, only her, only him. “I want to be buried inside of you, and I never want to come out.”

Her fingers ran through his hair, sketched along the shell of his ear. She didn’t hesitate, didn’t look away, spreading her legs a little wider. “I want that too.”

A lump formed in his throat, nearly choking him. He felt like a boy, like he was taking a tumble with the first person he’d ever fallen for. His heart was beating a discordant cacophony, unused to loving and being loved so entirely in kind. He felt vulnerable, his heart bared to her, but he felt no fear. He trusted her, trusted her to hold him, to love him, to keep his heart safe.

Never in all the years of his life that he remembered would Astarion have ever described himself as soft. But he felt soft now, felt like he was melting in her arms, his tenuous hold on himself fraying.

Here he was, falling apart in the face of a kind, softhearted woman, her arms open to him, her voice a murmur in his ear. This was not something he’d ever envisioned for himself, had never even considered. There was no room for softness in his world, no room for love.

Yet he had it still. He had her love; she’d entrusted her entire heart to him, her entire being. Were she not so warm in his arms, her shuddering breaths against his skin making him shudder, he would have mistaken this all for a dream.

“Astarion.” Her voice drew him back to the present, away from the churning tides of his thoughts. Anxiety had begun to bubble in his chest, fear that this truly was a dream, that it was some great trick of his mind and he would awake and be lost in the shadows once more.

But no, there was no way for his mind to conjure a voice such as hers. Hands caressing his face the way hers did, fingers twinning in his hair as she so often liked to do. He would never have been able to imagine such sweetness as this, not in his hundreds of years of life. So she must have been real; she had to be real.

“Astarion?” Sleep still clung to her, and she drawled his name, a smile on her lips. “My love, what are you thinking?”

He did his best to offer a devilish smile, although he knew he was failing spectacularly by the way Aspen’s brows drew together, the corners of her mouth twitching.

She wiggled her hips, gently rolling them against his, and he nearly choked in response, the ache in his core steadily growing. “Tell me,” she beseeched him, rolling her hips against his once more. “Please, my beloved? I want to know what’s going on in your head.”

There were a slew of things Astarion could have said to her in that moment, but with her wide eyes and her open expression, he couldn’t bring himself to say something sharp. He was well beyond feigning indifference now, having confessed to her before the grave his old self had been buried, having clung to her almost every night since, seeking the comfort and steadiness of her embrace, of her beating heart. And now, so desperate and needy for her touch he’d disposed of their clothing so he could feel nothing but her skin against his, so he could sink deep inside of her. So he could be held, so he could feel beloved and precious and safe.

“I was thinking of you,” he professed, his voice small as a child’s. He sounded like a lovestruck fool and yet he could do nothing to change it. “I can think of nothing else but you.”

“I’m right here,” she murmured, brushing his hair back from his brow. “I’m close, my love, I’m not going anywhere.”

“It is undoubtedly selfish of me…” He trailed off, trying again to grin. It was like second nature to him, to feign rakishness. But in this moment he really could not, no matter how hard he tried. How could a disciple, kneeling before his goddess, ever hope to be anything but devout, to give himself entirely with anything other that wholehearted sincerity? “But I want to stay with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

The corners of her eyes crinkled, and she spread her legs a little wider. “Oh my love, I want to be with you always. I want to be with you forever. If you’ll have me, of course.”

Astarion leaned down, brushing his lips against hers, a hunger more consuming than his desire for blood taking over. “Forever, then.”

“Forever,” she agreed, breathless from the kiss.

He didn’t give her much time to breathe, capturing her lips once more as he pushed her legs further apart. Aspen’s body complied with his needy demand, thighs shaking around his hips as he lined himself up, tip pressing against her entrance.

If there was one thing he knew he would never tire of, it would be the sounds she made as he pushed into her. The delicate whimpers, the way she sighed his name, a melody spun of spider silk and starlight, meant for only his ears.

Aspen shuddered, her body fluttering around him as he sank deeper. Her hands moved from his face to his shoulders, a delicious pressure that sent shocks of pleasure across his nerves, that made him want to move faster, to thrust with ruthless abandon into her. It took every last shred of his self control to keep his movements slow as she trembled in his arms, until a little gasp fell from her lips as his hips finally, mercifully, met hers.

“How’s that?” He murmured, pulling back just a little, just enough to sharply roll his hips against hers, earning another needy little gasp.

“You’re being mean again.” Her whine was breathy, her fingernails digging into his skin.

He shushed her. “Not at all, darling. I’m only enjoying those pretty sounds you’re making.”

She opened her mouth to whine once more, and he took the opportunity to capture her lips again, swallowing the sweet sounds she was making as he slid his tongue between her lips.

“Not too loud, though,” he teased, and the laughter that rang through the air was genuine, warm and earnest as she stared up at him, utterly dazed. “Those sounds are for me, and only me. I don’t want the others to hear.”

Aspen’s mouth snapped shut, her body trembling harder now, whether it was from the arousal he had woven with his touch or from the desire to smack him he wasn’t sure. It was adorable all the same, and he trailed a line of kisses from the corner of her lips to the hollow of her throat until her head fell back, her neck arching to allow him better access.

“While I appreciate the gesture, darling, I have something different in mind.” He couldn’t resist pressing a few more kisses to her throat despite his words, scraping his teeth against her skin so she knew just how badly he wanted the hot blood that pulsed in her veins.

She opened her mouth, closed it again, struggling to find her words.

“Take your time, my darling. I don’t plan to move anytime soon.” He had only planned to fill her body, to press himself as close to her as he could. He was still so desperate for her, and he feared he would never want to pull away, never want to move from her arms again.

Slowly, her grip on his shoulders began to loosen, her nails no longer digging deep enough into his skin to draw blood. Her lips were still parted, ragged breaths billowing into the air as she clung to him. For his part, he tried his best not to move, stroking her hair, the contours of her face, the gentle rise of her collarbone. Shudders still wracked through her body like the aftershocks of an earth-shattering quake, but they were becoming fewer and farther between.

“How’s that?” He murmured as she grew still. “Feeling better?”

A nod, her eyes dark as night as they found his. “What did you have in mind, my love?”

Hearing that sweet name of endearment on her lips, ‘my love,’ made him feel like he was fracturing. Her love, her love. He was entirely hers, and she was entirely his.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of hearing you say that,” he breathed, utterly lost in her words, in the fathomless depths of her eyes.

The pink of her lips reminded him of flower buds, a frivolous detail he never would have taken note of before, and yet as he drew the connection in his mind he felt the fractures growing, splintering into shards of crystalline glass, reflecting the sunlight that he had not gotten to feel for centuries. Every part of her was perfect, every part of her was so alive, so soft and flush with colour.

He did not have the words to describe it, and nor did he want to. There was an enchantment to it all, something delicate he did not wish to sully with saccharine words and overwrought lines. He only wanted to love her for as long as she would let him.

The corners of her lips quirked up in a small smile, her palms pressing against his shoulders and sliding down his arms. “What did I say?”

“That I’m your love.” His voice was small as a child’s, vulnerable. But he felt no fear, only a comforting warmth that curled around him like a second embrace. He was safe; here, he was safe. “That you love me.”

He was grateful for her patience, for the kindness that he had scoffed at when they’d first met. He couldn’t imagine someone being so patient, not with him, but he didn’t have to imagine. She just was, and she was patient for him, she was kind for him.

She was patient and kind for other people, but he chose to ignore that for now. It was different when she was looking at him.

“Of course I love you.” A breathy laugh fell from those sweet lips, and he was once more reminded of a flower, something beautiful and colourful. She looked at him like he was her sun, even if he was doomed to be veiled in shadows for eternity. “I love you so much.”

He chuckled. “So much?”

“Yes!” She drew the corner of her bottom lip between her teeth. “More than I have the words to say.”

“And I love you,” he breathed, because he could not stop saying it. He had said it once truthfully, and now he could not stop, doubted he would ever be able to stop. “I love you Aspen, my beloved, with all of me.”

There were no other words that he could find that would even come close to describing the depth of his emotions, but he was thankful that she did not seem to need it. That those simple words were enough, that the embrace he held her in was enough for her.

“You never answered my question, love,” she said after a moment, the starlight reflecting in her eyes.

He frowned. “What question?”

“What did you have in mind? For right now?” She traced her fingertip over the curve of his ear, tugging lightly at the sharp point.

“Well, my darling…” He trailed off, covering her hand with his. “I had… That is…” He trailed off, struggling to find the right way to explain it.

It should have been easy. He wanted her, he wanted to be close to her. He craved her nearness, not sensually, just to be close. He wanted to crawl into her skin, he wanted to be held so tightly by her that they would never be parted.

He was quickly learning that it was much easier to yearn, to want, and so much harder to give those feelings form with his words.

Aspen remained quiet as he mulled over what he wanted to say. She ran her hands up and down his arms, reaching up to play with his hair, twisting curls around and around her fingers, dragging her fingers across his scalp like a massage.

Finally the words came to him, falling from his lips like a confession. “I just want to be close to you. I want to stay like this, in your arms.” He hesitated, feeling helpless as she watched him, with nothing but the shine of the stars to illuminate her face. “For as long as you’ll allow me.”

“Then we can stay like this, my love.” Her arms wrapped around his neck, hands pressing against the back of his head as she gently drew him close. “We can stay just like this for as long as you’d like.”

“Really?” He could scarcely believe it, even as she tucked his head beneath her chin. His cheek was cushioned against her breast, the steady pulse of her heart echoing through him.

“Really.” She rubbed circles against his back, her hand gliding up to tangle in his hair before sliding back down along his spine. “I love being close to you, too.”

A familiar wave of uncertainty made his belly clench, and he couldn’t help but hazard a look back at her. “Are you sure? There is nothing else you want?”

Her fingertips drummed against his back as she hummed, face scrunching up as she feigned contemplation. “It’s been a while since I’ve had a nice pastry and a coffee. I hear there are some delightful places in the city.”

He snorted. “That’s it?”

“I wouldn’t mind a new book when all this is over. I think I’m going to need a few quiet days to recover.”

Astarion scraped his teeth against her skin, earning a yelp.

“You asked!” She hissed. “I was only telling you of some things I wanted.”

“Forgive me, love,” he murmured, pressing a chaste kiss to the bite. “I’d meant are you sure there is nothing else you want in this moment?”

“If it’s not too much trouble,” she began, fingers dancing along the nape of his neck. “Can I kiss you?”

The tension that had been clutching his stomach with an iron-grip fell away, replaced by the feeling of a thousand gauzy wings fluttering within his stomach and his chest. They flitted idly between his ribs, perching on his bones, sending ripples through the oceans in his veins, like waves and tides.

“Please.”

Aspen brought her lips to his brow, smoothing his hair back as she kissed him. Gentle, soft as a feather brushed against his skin. Her breath fanned across his brow, her lashes tickling him as her eyes fell closed.

He reached up, his hand cupping the back of her head. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, only…” His words came out in a breathless rush. “Could you do that again?”

Another kiss to his forehead, just as soft and sweet as the first. “Like this?”

“Perhaps you should try that again, darling,” he drawled, smiling against her skin. “I’m not sure if you got it quite right.”

Aspen tsked softly, but she kissed him again. And again. And then her hands were reaching up to grasp his face, to tip it up towards her as she pressed kisses all over his face, from his brow to his cheeks to the tip of his nose, no part of him was safe from her affections.

She kissed him until he was quivering with laughter, struggling to keep it in, lest they wake their companions.

“Aspen,” he hissed, although he was smiling so widely his face hurt, bubbles of laughter nearly choking out his words.

“I can’t help it!” She sighed, giving him her best pout as she tucked him back against her chest. “I just love you, and I just get overwhelmed by it. I want you to know that I love you.”

As his laughter slowly melted away he began to relax in her arms once more, a small smile still lingering on his lips. He rolled his hips in revenge for her making him laugh, earning a sharp gasp. “I know you do. Everything you do shows me how much you adore me, my darling.”

He expected a stuttering response, her words to turn to nonsense as they were prone to do when he teased her. But she only smiled at him wickedly, her touch still gentle as a breeze rustling through his hair. “I do. And I know just as well how you, my beloved, love me dearly.”

It was Astarion who ended up struggling to find a response, his tongue heavy in his mouth, his words nothing but stammering nonsense. He opened his mouth, floundering like a beached fish.

“Am I wrong?” She teased, mussing his hair. “Have I assumed incorrectly?”

“No, my darling,” he gasped, his words spilling like a flood. In the back of his mind he questioned who he was becoming, this soft-hearted, blathering, lovesick fool who could not even string together a coherent sentence as she held his gaze. Surely he could not be the same person as he was when they had first met, roguish and clever and sharp-tongued.

Although then again, maybe he didn’t want to be that person anymore. Maybe he wanted to be someone different, maybe he wanted to be himself, whoever that person was.

It would take him a long while to figure that out, and perhaps it would change every day, but he did know one thing that would forever be unchanging, one thing he wanted to be more than anything. He wanted to be cared for and loved, he wanted to be hers.

“I care for you, more than anything,” he admitted, the words still falling free before he could think them through. “I love you more than I thought I could ever love. That’s the truth, I swear it.”

He was holding her so tightly his fingers had dug into the soft skin at her waist. He loosened his grip, smoothing his palms over the crescent moon indents he had left in his wake. “I know I’ve lied when I’ve said those words before, but I mean it. I feel like I am alive, truly, in a way I never was, even before.”

She remained quiet, playing with his hair, watching him with a little smile. Starlight shone in her eyes, or maybe it wasn’t starlight. Maybe the stars were only reflecting her light back from the skies.

The final words he spoke were little more than a breath, stolen away by the quiet keen of the midnight wind. “I love you.”

Aspen’s eyes glowed all the brighter, silver pooling at their edges. “I didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

He scoffed, although his heart wasn’t in it.

She didn’t seem to mind, her touch so loving as she slid her hands from his hair, stroking his neck and back. “I’ll try to be worthy of your love.”

He held her tighter, burying his face in the valley between her breasts once more so she could not see his blush. “Just keep holding me. Keep holding me and don’t let go.”

“I can definitely do that.” He felt her cheek pressing against the top of his head, her breath tangling in his hair. “I’ll hold you for as long as you want.”

Although he could not sleep, not the way Aspen did, Astarion still closed his eyes. Nestled safely against her, he let his mind wander. He no longer bothered to look at the stars, did not even think of them. He knew that even if he were cursed to live amongst the shadows once more, there would still be light. Aspen would be there with him, brighter than any star, brighter than even the sun.

She would keep him close, hold him tight whenever he needed it, and whenever she wanted to be close too. And in her arms, he was finally free, he was finally home.

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