pairing: astarion x tav
rating: nsfw-ish
notes: non-native speaker behind the wheel; a study on the main character, intimacy, and their relation to power.
summary: when you try to manipulate a vampire spawn into believing he can easily manipulate you, but you forget to assess how it all might backfire.
She tensed against him, nails instinctively digging into his shoulder where her hand had caressed his skin before. He knows. Fuck, he knows. As calm and relaxed as Maleane tried to play it, her body betrayed every plan she'd set up for the night. Use it. Be the damsel, the morsel, the fly trapped in his web. Make him think you're innocent, weak, pathetic. Frantic thoughts darted through her mind like crossbow bolts, one faster than the other, panic almost dulling the ache that every move sent through her body. Mal opened her eyes to peer at his, assessing the situation, trying to look past that perfectly polished facade. A glimmer of something she could not recognize danced across his blood-red irises and it made her heart race faster. No, too pathetic. He would never believe it. He would never trust it. He could never use it. As the pieces on the board started falling into place, Astarion opened his mouth. To mock her? To tease her? To bite?
"Harder." A rushed whisper escaped through her lips as she pulled him in, hand grasping the back of his neck, pushing those sharp teeth towards her delicate throat.
One desperation for another. A leverage. A distraction. Yes, that will distract him. The rapid volley of her thoughts came crashing in waves, trying to squeeze in between every sensation that was consuming her body. The dry sticks digging into her back, the suffocating feeling of being pinned down, his lips at her neck, the discomfort of it all. How did she end up like this?
Before being infected, Maleane rarely thought of this moment, preferring to take advantage of whatever opportunity would eventually come her way. She was well aware of how this world worked, however, witnessed plenty to grasp the essence of what urges most living, breathing creatures possessed. But all of them seemed so distant, in her periphery at best, for Mal had different things to worry about, survival being at the forefront of her mind. Yet, even those who think themselves high above such mortal indulgences can’t lie for too long.
The first time it became apparent was at a tavern. From time to time, Maleane would wander into one village or another, bringing game or furs to trade. It wasn’t the easiest interacting with people, as most feared drow like the devils from hells, a sentiment she could, unfortunately, relate to. But goods were goods and coin was coin, so once the sense of threat had subsided, many were at least accepting of her being around. Some went as far as growing to like her, for Mal was good at molding herself to whatever person she needed to be for the occasion.
She sat at the corner of the room, sipping on the mead that the dwarf lady who owned the place had offered, her pale lilac eyes scanning the evening crowd. Travelers resting after a long journey, a bard belting a song about doomed lovers, four ladies dressed in revealing outfits leaning over the tables, sweet-talking their way into the men’s purses, and some urchins scurrying around between the tables. Maleane found herself gazing at one of the wenches, her ample bosom almost spilling out of the top of the laced dress. The woman’s skin glistened in the hazy lantern light, tiny droplets of sweat strewn across her chest like a dozen tiny gems. Something stirred in Mal’s core, as if a hand was slithering inside her, reaching down and down to where her thighs met. She wanted the woman to be at her table instead, leaning close, whispering what she could only assume were profanities into her ear. The whore would only want me for my coin. Maleane’s gaze returned back to the half-empty mug nestled between her hands, the soft tingling in her belly dissipating as quickly as it first emerged. She didn’t want to buy something she could take, that was beneath her.
One day she decided that she would do it. Instead of passively waiting for the opportunity to run into her, Mal would take the matters into her own hands and be done with it. For as much as she tried to deny it, the wench haunted her sleepless nights, pulling up memories that the drow had never paid much attention to before. A peek between the boards of a shed, where a maid was wedged between two men, all three engaging in carnal pleasures. A conversation she overheard between an innkeeper and a miller over how the former had found a patron bound and gagged in a room after a particularly rowdy night. A shepherd she had once observed burying his head down the pants of another boy in a field not far from her camp.
It wasn’t long before Maleane was in the village again, looking to replace the tools that had worn off from years of use. While waiting for the blacksmith to return from the market, the elf found herself wandering between the haystacks, away from the busy street and into the backyard. There, an orange tabby rolled in the dirt, soaking up the sun with its big cream belly. As Mal watched the animal play, she noticed that there was another spectator. Unlike Maleane, he wasn’t interested in the playful feline, his eyes were fixed on her.
Pretty, for a human. The youth froze in his tracks the moment the drow moved towards him, eyes widening in surprise. He tried to step back and retreat, however, it was too late and soon he found himself trapped between the elf and the wall.
Maleane examined him from head to toe, lingering on the lean yet muscled arms, the hints of hair peeking at the neckline of his shirt, the faintest outline of the curve beneath the linen pants. He wants me. Like those wenches at the inn. Like the maids bathing in the pool. And yet, his eyes are streaked with fear. She shoved the boy against the wall and pressed her lips against his, hand sliding up his chest to grip his shoulder, while the other slithered to undo the laces of his breeches. The human didn’t protest, surrendering to her advances, yet he didn’t respond in turn. Nothing. It was exactly what was happening, what she was feeling. Nothing stirred, nothing awakened, nothing ignited. She left the backyard, the man still frozen, his pants awkwardly sliding down to his ankles.
It was all before the tadpole, before the nautiloid, before running into the pale elf. With the notion of impending doom breathing down her neck, Maleane was thrown into a swirling pit of chaos. It was a time to take advantage of every favorable circumstance, to risk everything, at every turn, she’d realized. And he was one hell of a risk. The flirt, with words so honeyed it betrayed him. Mal knew better than to trust him, but she also recognized the importance of keeping him in the fold, for a ticking time bomb waiting to stab them in the back was the last thing the group needed. So, she went along with his flirtations, the overt courting, the flattery. All in hopes to keep him on her side.
Astarion wanted her blood, her body, the vulnerability that he’d been prying out of her with every sweet word. Leverage. How transactional. And yet, despite that knowledge, it wasn’t nothing. He made her feel something, a part that she’d hushed, pushed down, locked behind a gilded door in her mind. Mal wanted him, in some strange way she didn’t recognize. In a way that she could never have. She knew better than that.
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Just another bit of my Steddie wip Holding Out for a Hero (ETA: new name - I'd Fall For You Twice). It rapidly got away from me, as this particular story has been wont to do 😅 (over 18,000 words and counting!)
Eddie’s curled up on the couch in the living room, afternoon sunlight slanting warm across his shoulders and onto the notebook on his lap. He’s sketching a new tattoo design, a baseball bat studded with nails surrounded by winding vines and a fucked up monster bat. Steve’s quiet steps shuffle into the room and Eddie raises his cheek for a kiss but doesn’t look up from his work. There’s a moment of nothing and Eddie smirks, knowing Steve is rolling his eyes, but then he feels the press of lips against his skin and he sighs happily.
Steve settles next to him on the couch and it’s quiet for a while.
“Hey, Eds, I, uh, I have something for you.” There’s something about the way Steve says it, the uncharacteristic nervousness, that has Eddie tearing his eyes from his notebook and focusing on his boyfriend.
Steve is holding his hand out toward him, fist clasped tightly around something Eddie can’t see. He tilts his head sideways, studying the outstretched hand before he meets Steve’s eyes, questioning.
“Oh, come on, just hold out your hand. It’s not anything weird, I promise,” Steve says, rolling his eyes, any hint of nerves gone now.
Eddie has to bite back a giggle because, out of the two of them, Steve is not the one who drops weird things into people’s hands. No, that would be Eddie. Like two days ago, when he caught and handed Steve a tiny frog while they were walking through the woods behind Loch Nora. Or the leaf with a ladybug crawling across it a few days before that.
So he holds out his hand, palm up, and blinks when something silvery plinks into it. Then blinks again as he stares at the item now resting in his palm. His eyes widen.
It’s a ring. A class ring. Steve’s class ring.
Eddie blinks. Blinks again. The inside of his chest has gone all fluttery and his breath hitches a little and, as usual, the soft squeeze to his heart melts the connection between his brain and his mouth.
“Isn’t it a little early in our relationship for rings, Stevie?”
Steve opens his mouth. Closes it. “I - no, that’s - that’s not what I - I just wanted you to have something of mine! I thought, you know, this might - work. The best. With your - your style,” he babbles, gesturing to Eddie’s multitude of rings.
There’s that squeeze to his heart again. Not just because of the gift and the thought that went into it, but because a flustered Steve is an adorable Steve. And a very teaseable Steve.
“Why, Steve Harrington, are you asking me to go steady?” Eddie asks, mischief in his tone as he bats his eyes playfully up at Steve.
“Eddie!” Steve splutters, blush spreading up his cheeks. “You know what, never mind, I’ll just take it back, clearly this was a bad - “ he reaches for the ring as he speaks, but Eddie clutches it to his chest possessively.
“Nope, this is mine now. No take backs. You’re stuck with me now, whether you like it or not.”
It has the desired effect of making Steve snort a laugh and murmur, “That’s why I gave it to you, ya dork,” as he runs a hand through his hair.
They’re quiet for a moment, Eddie turning the ring this way and that, admiring the way the clear stone set in the middle catches the light, Steve watching and pretending he isn’t still feeling a little self-conscious.
Finally, Eddie glances up at Steve from under his lashes. “Put it on me?” he asks, uncharacteristically shy, as he tentatively holds out the ring.
Steve smiles, the one that lights up his whole face, that makes Eddie feel like he’s looking directly into the sun. He takes the ring and Eddie’s right hand and slips the band onto the middle finger. Then he brings Eddie’s hand to his lips, presses a kiss to the ring, and oh Eddie might actually combust now.
He tugs a lock of hair over his mouth, trying to hide the blush he can feel rising up his neck. But Steve just grins knowingly. With one last, lingering press of his lips to Eddie's hand, he drops it in favor of gently tucking Eddie's riot of curls behind his ears, even the one he's trying to hide behind.
"There you are," he murmurs, eyes locked with Eddie's. He gently cups Eddie's cheeks, runs his thumbs across the skin under his eyes like there’s something precious there, like Eddie is something precious. And all Eddie can do is stare into those honeyed eyes, his lips parted and heartbeat kicking up more than a few notches.
Steve’s grin turns soft and he presses a gentle kiss to Eddie’s lips before leaning their foreheads together. Eddie’s eyes slip closed, needing that illusory barrier to settle his jumping pulse. It still all feels so new, is so new, but that’s not what has his breath catching in his throat. Because, despite the newness and despite the fact that it is still totally incomprehensible that Steve wants Eddie, of all people, he can’t deny how right it feels to sit so close to Steve that their breath is mingling and their hearts are beating in sync.
For just a moment, Eddie can see them in his mind’s eye, sitting exactly like this - but they’re older, gray in their hair, crow’s feet at the corners of their eyes, and laugh lines framing their mouths - and he wants so desperately that he doesn’t even think before he’s pulling back, hands going up to his neck.
Steve frowns, a question forming on his lips, but then Eddie is yanking the chain with his guitar pick over his head and holding it out to Steve. He swallows, takes a breath. “I want you to have something, too. Something of mine.” Something of me, he doesn’t say, but it’s there between them anyway.
And now it’s Steve’s turn to just stare for a moment, for his breath to stutter in his chest. He gingerly takes the pick from Eddie’s fingers, holding it like it’s made of crystal and not just plastic, and slips the chain over his own head.
“This is the one that you used in -” he starts to ask, voice hushed.
“In the Upside Down, yeah,” Eddie answers, just as softly.
With quiet reverence, Steve runs his fingers along the smooth edge, then just brings the pick up to his lips and holds it there for a moment, his eyes distant.
That squeezing sensation seems to have taken up permanent residence in Eddie’s chest. He can’t take his eyes from Steve and he knows if he opens his mouth now, he’ll say something wrong or crazy or too soon, too fast. Something like I love you or marry me or I wish I could climb inside you and live there forever. But he’s also terrible at stopping himself from doing anything, so he opens his mouth
and laughs.
Immediately, he claps his hands over his mouth because he didn’t mean to do that, it’s precisely the wrong reaction to the most romantic moment he’s ever experienced in his entire life. Even saying “I love you” would have been better than this. Because he’s laughing and Steve is looking up at him with a flash of something in his eyes and his shoulders are shaking and oh dear god, I’ve completely fucked this up, haven’t I? and if he could bury himself in the couch cushions he would, because he cannot handle the hurt he knows he’ll see in every line of Steve’s body, because Steve is… Steve is laughing, too.
Steve is laughing, too?
Eddie stares at the other boy, at his mouth stretched wide around his laughter, his face lit up with relief and mirth and joy and love and sheer astonishment - all the emotions Eddie feels swirling in his own burst of laughter. And then he’s laughing again, too, and they’re leaning into each other, giggles spilling past their lips even as they press them together and cling to each other’s shoulders to stay upright.
They laugh until their stomachs hurt and then keep laughing, quiet giggles escaping every so often as they kiss and hold and breathe each other in. They’re so immersed that they don’t even hear the front door open or Robin’s voice calling to them from the entryway. They don’t notice her step into the room and stop and stare at the manic picture they make. They have absolutely no clue she’s even there until she says, “Hold up, are you two high?”
They look up at her, blinking like deer in the headlights, before Steve catches Eddie’s eye and they dissolve back into gales of laughter.
“You two are so weird,” Robin mutters, dropping her bag on the coffee table and heading for the kitchen. If she has to deal with them the way they are right now, she needs a snack.
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