Chapter 13 : Get A Little Closer, So To Speak

Chapter 13 : Get a Little Closer, so to speak

Previously: Prologue Tumblr Link for Prologue, Chapter One; Chapter Two, Chapter 3, Interlude Chapter 4 Chapter 5, Chapter 6 Chapter 7 , Chapter 8 Chapter 9 , Chapter 10 , Interlude 2 Chapter 11 Chapter 12

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. NSFW, Ethical and non Ethical BDSM, noncon, some allusions to sexual violence, flashbacks to sexual violence, discussions of sexual violence, dubious boundaries, attempted sexual violence, dubcon, blood licking/blood kink, reference to cheating behavior, emotional trauma, group sex, sex, smutt, anxiety, negative thinking, sexual trauma, recovery, healing, angst,

Word count: 95K total WARNING: SMUTT this Chapter

Status: Ongoing

Chapter 14: Sept 18th 2024

Song of the Hour: Body - Sinead Harnett

NEW SMUTTY ART: @emperor-ofthe-sun (fully on AO3) edited after the cut

Entire Story Link on AO3 Spotify Playlist AO3

After the Jump!

Chapter 13 : Get a Little Closer, so to speak

The room was a symphony of shadows, the low fire casting flickering shapes on the walls that seemed to sway with the rhythm of their breath. Astarion leaned back in his seat, his crimson eyes gleaming with a sly intensity as he contemplated his next words. Firelight danced on the walls, casting serpentine shadows that coiled and stretched with each flicker. His voice, smooth as velvet, rolled through the air like a caress wrapped in a challenge. “Now, let us discuss another form of loyalty. One that might be a bit... unconventional for you,” he purred, his gaze lingering on Sima, his expression caught between a tease and a dare. “It requires a different kind of openness. A willingness to bare yourself to me, fully and without reservation.”

Sima, still seated in the oversized burgundy reading chair by the fire, met his gaze with a smirk tugging at her lips. Her skin seemed to glow in the fire’s warmth, her dark curls spilling over her shoulders like a waterfall of ink. She leaned in slightly, her voice teasing, with a hint of challenge beneath. “Softness? Vulnerability? Is that what you’re after now, Astarion? What’s this ‘test’ you speak of?”

“Ah, it’s quite simple, my sweet,” Astarion replied, his tone deceptively calm, each word threaded with an almost hypnotic cadence. “It’s about letting go—completely. Exposing every inch of your skin, your secrets, your fears. To give me everything, both mind and body.” His words flowed like a spell, designed to lure and entrap, his smile sharp and his eyes unyielding. “I want you to remove that nightdress and show me the full beauty that you are. I want you to know that nothing—absolutely nothing—could ever change my desire for you. Wouldn't that speak volumes, my darling?”

Sima chuckled softly, her eyes dropping to her midnight blue nightdress, fingers tracing the hem with a languid, almost mocking grace. “Astarion, are you seriously asking me to strip for you?” she asked, a playful lilt coloring her words, a challenge glinting in her gaze.

“Precisely that,” he answered, his eyebrow arching as his lips curled into a wicked smile that mirrored hers. But in his eyes, a darker intention simmered beneath, a hunger that could not be masked by his charm.

Sima laughed, a soft, sultry sound that seemed to vibrate through the room. “If you wanted to play, you could have just said so. But perhaps a touch of politeness is in order. Maybe... ‘please’?” Her tone was light, teasing, but there was no mistaking the underlying challenge.

His voice dipped lower, like molten honey laced with command, threaded with that dangerous charm that never failed to ensnare. “Please, my deliciously difficult minx. For me. Let me see every inch of you.”

Still seated in her chair, Sima’s fingers began a slow, deliberate journey along her thighs, making a show of the movement. Her hands moved languidly, almost tauntingly, as she lifted the hem of her dress higher, past her hips, over her full, deep brown breasts, and finally tugged it off over her head, sending a cascade of black ringlets tumbling around her face. She flipped her hair back with a confident toss, her posture relaxed and utterly self-assured.

Astarion hadn’t expected such swiftness from her; he had envisioned her drawing it out—turning it into a game. But the boldness of her action struck him like a spark to tinder, igniting a primal hunger within him. His eyes roved over her, unabashedly drinking in every curve, every shadow. “Very good,” he murmured, his grin widening, his gaze darkening with unspoken promises. “But I’m afraid that’s only the beginning... I want all of it, pet.”

Sima leaned back further into the chair, draping her legs over one of the arms, her body arching in a languid stretch that was as provocative as it was defiant. Her hair spilled down one side, her back curving elegantly against the chair’s cushion. “Oh... I suppose you mean this last, inconvenient scrap of lace.” She gestured to the thin black thong at her hips, a teasing smile curling her lips. “I might take it off... perhaps. Or maybe,” she purred, eyes locking onto his with a tantalizing glint, “you should come over here and use those pretty teeth of yours.”

Astarion’s grin twisted into something darker, almost wicked, his tongue tracing his fangs as if savoring the idea. He leaned forward, his fingers trailing down her thigh with a deliberate slowness, his touch feather-light but brimming with intention. “That is an enticing suggestion, my love,” he whispered. “But I think I prefer to savor the anticipation a bit longer. Besides, wouldn't it be far more thrilling if you let me do the honors... the old-fashioned way? Don't you trust me to handle such delicate fabric?”

Sima’s eyes half-closed, her voice dropping to a sultry murmur, her tone a mix of mockery and seduction. “Isn’t that what this little game is all about, Astarion? Trust? So, yes... I do.”

“Then lie back for me,” he commanded, his fingers trailing higher along the inside of her thigh, grazing the delicate lace that stood as the final barrier between his hand and her heated skin. His voice was a low, rumbling purr, a velvet promise that sent a shiver through her. “Relax. Let your arms fall to your sides.”

Sima’s breath hitched at the touch, her pulse quickening. She could feel the dampness between her legs, the lace clinging to her skin, a thin veil hiding the heat of her arousal. Her gaze met his, a flicker of defiance in her eyes, but the tension winding low in her belly betrayed her need. Slowly, she let her hands slip to her sides, fingers curling into the fabric of the chair. She felt exposed, but also a surge of excitement at the vulnerability, a dangerous thrill coursing through her veins.

Astarion’s hand hovered just above her skin, his breath catching. His eyes roamed over her body, taking in the rise and fall of her chest, the parted lips that struggled for air, the subtle tremor in her thighs. His expression was somewhere between reverence and hunger, and she found herself caught in his gaze. Then, with a slow, deliberate movement, his fingers slipped beneath the lace, the fabric giving way to his touch. Sima’s breath left her in a rush as his fingertips made contact, gliding over the slickness gathered there, a soft, involuntary moan escaping her lips.

Astarion’s fingers found her clit, his movements unhurried, savoring every reaction he coaxed from her. The slow, circular motion was maddening, sending ripples of pleasure radiating outward, her body tightening with every stroke. “Shh... don't worry, sweet darling,” he whispered, his voice dark and rich, sliding through her mind like smoke. “I won’t rush. I want you to savor every moment, feel every breath, every stroke.”

Her hips moved on their own, arching up to meet his hand, chasing the friction, a soft gasp spilling from her lips. She could feel the heat spreading through her, her skin tingling as if every nerve ending was being brought to life. The fire crackled nearby, its warmth mingling with the heat radiating from her body. Her eyes fluttered, caught between wanting to watch his every move and the sheer pleasure pulling her under. She felt her cheeks flush, her breasts rising and falling with each shallow breath, her nipples tightening in the cool air and his gaze. His eyes drank them in, those crimson eyes focused as he licked his lips. She saw the intent there just before he lowered his mouth, his teeth catching one pert peak.

The sharp edge of pain shot through her, mingling with a wave of pleasure that made her clench around nothing and writhe beneath him. She couldn’t stop the soft cry that escaped, her back arching as if offering more of herself to him. His tongue soothed over the ache he'd created, a low, satisfied sound rumbling in his chest. The sensation of his fingers pressing more firmly now drew her deeper into the growing storm of her desire.

She could see him watching her, his gaze intense, tracking every shiver, every twitch of her lips, the way her expression shifted from challenge to surrender. She didn’t want to give in, to let him have this power over her, but gods, the way he touched her—each circle of his thumb, each press of his fingers, and the tantalizing scrape of his teeth—had her unraveling. She could feel the need building, her body craving more, demanding it.

His thumb circled her clit with a firmer, more insistent pressure, a delicious torment that had her toes curling. She felt his fingers slip lower, teasing her entrance. She moaned, her body instinctively pushing forward, seeking more of him. She wanted him inside, needed it like air. When he finally thrust two fingers deep into her, a cry tore from her lips. She clenched around him, her inner muscles pulsing as his fingers curled, finding that sensitive spot that sent a shockwave of pleasure coursing through her.

Sima’s breath came faster now, her moans a symphony of need as she ground her hips against his hand, desperate for the rhythm he set. The delicious friction sent shivers down her spine, every touch sending electric sparks shooting through her veins. She could barely think, could barely breathe; all she knew was the sensation of his fingers inside her, curling and stroking, his thumb working her clit with agonizing precision. Her body was caught in a dance between tension and release, her mind lost in the haze of pleasure.

She could feel his breath hot against her neck, the brush of his lips hovering just close enough to leave her skin tingling. His voice, roughened with desire, murmured against her ear, "You'll... always feel... this." She could feel his teeth, just grazing her earlobe, a dangerous tease that made her breath hitch. "Whenever... you touch me," he continued, his tone like a dark spell wrapping around her. She shivered as his bite deepened, her gaze meeting his, his crimson eyes burning with a possessive fire. "Whenever... you touch yourself too."

His words sent a new wave of heat surging through her, her body tightening around his fingers, her breath coming in shallow gasps. She could feel the wetness spreading, her arousal coating his hand as she pulled him closer, her fingers digging into his back. Each thrust of his fingers was deliberate, relentless, a constant rhythm that drove her higher. She felt his lips brushing against her ear with every whispered breath, his voice low and growling, a command and a plea tangled together.

The sensations were becoming too much, her body trembling on the edge, her mind slipping away from her control. She could feel it building inside her, a pressure, a heat that curled in her belly and spread outward, winding tighter and tighter. She tried to hold on, to prolong the pleasure, but he knew exactly how to unravel her. His fingers quickened, his thumb pressing harder against her clit, and she felt the tension snap, her body convulsing around his hand. A cry ripped from her throat, her body arching, every muscle clenching as her orgasm tore through her like a storm.

Astarion watched her intently, his gaze dark and hungry, a wicked smile curling his lips as he felt her come apart beneath his touch. "Look at me, darling," he whispered, his voice like a silken snare tightening around her. "I want to see those beautiful eyes when you fall apart."

Her eyes snapped open, locking onto his, her pupils blown wide, her expression a mix of defiance and surrender. She hated how he still had this power over her, but she couldn’t deny the electric pull between them, the way he could draw out every last bit of her will with just a look. As her release crashed over her, her back arched, her body pressing into his hand as she cried out, her voice raw and unrestrained. The climax hit her like a wave breaking against the shore—overwhelming, drowning her in sensation. She felt her muscles pulse and tighten around his fingers, her wetness spilling over his hand, and Astarion groaned softly, his own body reacting to the intoxicating feel of her surrender.

But he didn’t let up. His fingers kept moving inside her, his thumb maintaining its relentless rhythm over her clit. "That's it, my love," he murmured, his lips grazing her neck with every breath. "Give it to me. Let me see you come undone, give me one more."

Sima’s moans filled the room, a crescendo of need and release, and she reached up, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer. Her lips met his in a desperate, hungry kiss, teeth grazing, tongues clashing, a frantic exchange of breath and want. Astarion responded in kind, his lips devouring hers, his fangs scraping her bottom lip, the sting sending another surge of heat through her.

His fingers moved faster now, curling and stroking deep inside her, finding that sensitive spot with ruthless precision. Her body tightened again, her climax building rapidly, an urgent wave ready to crash. She cried out, her voice breaking, her body trembling as she shattered around his fingers once more, her slick heat coating his hand, her cries echoing through the room.

When they finally pulled apart, both were breathing heavily, their bodies pressed close, the air thick with the mingling of sweat and desire. Astarion’s eyes bore into hers, dark and hungry, his crimson gaze smoldering with barely restrained hunger. "You see?" he purred, his voice a dark, silky snare. “This is what happens when you give in, when you let yourself be mine.”

Sima's breath was ragged, her body still trembling from the aftershocks of her climax, but her spirit wasn’t subdued—far from it. She matched his gaze, her lips curling into a sly, defiant smile. "Mine?" she echoed, voice drenched in challenge. "Don’t mistake this for surrender, Astarion. This is merely... an appetizer."

Astarion’s grin widened, a flicker of wicked amusement dancing in his eyes. “Ah, you naughty minx,” he teased, his fingers still tracing lazy, tantalizing patterns over her damp skin, keeping her on the knife’s edge between satisfaction and yearning. “Always wanting more. But tell me, love, what exactly do you hunger for next?”

She shifted in her seat, deliberately brushing her body against his, igniting a fresh wave of heat between them. “You mentioned something about vulnerability,” she murmured, voice low and sultry. “Perhaps it’s time you showed me yours.” Her eyes sparkled with a dangerous glint, a dare woven into every word.

Astarion's laughter was low, a deep rumble that vibrated through the space between them. "Vulnerable?" he repeated, his head tilting as if he were considering her request, his grin sharpening. “Oh, my darling, I’m always vulnerable to you... in the most deliciously dangerous ways.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against her ear, his voice a seductive whisper. "And that’s why this game never gets old."

His lips were a mere breath away from hers, eyes locking with a gaze that promised both pleasure and peril. "But if it’s vulnerability you’re after," he continued, his hand sliding up to cup her jaw, thumb brushing over her lips with a teasing touch, “you’ll have to earn it.”

Sima's smile widened, her fingers curling around his collar, pulling him close until their lips were barely an inch apart. “You always think you’re the only one moving the pieces on the board,” she breathed, her tone both a taunt and an invitation. “But I’ve learned a trick or two myself.”

Astarion chuckled, the sound low and dark, threading through her veins like a promise. "Oh, I don’t doubt that for a second,” he replied, his lips grazing hers in a feather-light touch, teasing, tempting. “But remember, my sweet—every inch I give is a leash I hold. And I do so love to see you tug against it.”

Her hand slipped to his chest, fingers sliding down the fabric, feeling the tension coiled beneath. “And what happens when I pull too hard?” she whispered back, a wicked edge to her voice.

His eyes darkened, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. “Then, darling,” he whispered, his lips curling wickedly, “we’ll see which one of us breaks first.”

Sima sighed, rolling her eyes with exaggerated drama. "I was just being playful. But who knows? I might surprise even you with my scheming. The thing is... it's always better when we’re plotting together."

Astarion chuckled, the sound rich and almost affectionate. “Now that's a proposition I can sink my fangs into.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead, lingering longer than necessary, his lips cool against her heated skin. “You really are the most intriguing creature, my love. It’s a breath of fresh air to find someone who doesn’t want to cage me, but rather... revel in the chaos with me.”

Sima looked up at him, her smile soft but edged with a knowing glint. “Partners in crime, yet, eh?”

Astarion’s smile deepened, a genuine warmth seeping into his expression, an echo of old sentiments resurfacing. "Partners in crime, always,” he murmured. But his eyes held a dangerous gleam, a promise of what was yet to come. “But don’t think I’m loosening my grip just yet,” he added, his voice dropping lower, more intense. “I’ll let you feel that rush of freedom, Sima, that thrill of power... just to see how long it takes before you beg me to take it back. And tomorrow, I’ll begin showing you what that really means, to wield that power by my side.”

Sima’s smile was coy, her eyes narrowing with challenge. “We’ll see who’s begging who, won’t we?”

Astarion’s laughter was a low, sultry purr, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. “Oh, indeed we will, my sweet. Indeed we will.”

And as they stood there, tension crackling between them, they both knew that this was far from the end. It was merely another twist in their dangerous game, each of them wielding their desire like a blade, neither willing to back down. And for now, that was enough.

With the last drops of breath, he sighed the last lines of his diabolical ballad "I am the answer. The soul is only an investment for something that will coming"

I have officially joined X! As I'm trying to get more eyes on my work and also because I am slightly concerned I might be shadowbanned on Tumblr. Please consider liking this post if you see it! Either way, I have emailed Tumblr support just in case! Here's my X account too: https://x.com/BellasMumbles where NSFW versions of art shall be as well! Art by @drawinglinestoconstellations

Update! I am back home and chapter 9 will be posted tomorrow!

Hello my lovelies!!

I know my post this week is running late but alas I am in the far Feywilds (Also known as Clinton BC) on a trip! Unfortunately I can't use Google docs to edit but chapter 9 will be coming soon! Not only that but I'm bringing my Spawn!Astarion fic to tumblr next week!

Thanks for your patience ❤️

Bella

Ruins

Chapter 1: The Old Apartment

Rating: E

Category: F/M, M/M

Tags: Astarion / F! Tav, Original Characters, AU - Modern w/ Magic, AU - Academia, Main Character Death (Off Screen), Grief / Mourning, Spawn Astarion, Astarion Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Dream Sex, PiV Sex, Post-Game: Baldur's Gate 3

Read on Ao3

Word Count: ~ 5k

---- Summary ----

In an ironic twist of fate, two years after the defeat of the Netherbrain, Baldur's Gate is destroyed by a natural disaster. A thousand years after the loss of his city and his beloved Tav, Dr. Astarion Ancunin leads the archaeological team excavating the ruins of Baldur's Gate. The inevitable rediscovery of the remains of his former home and life launch him and those he loves into fresh danger.

---- Notes ----

Warning: The following contains descriptions of grief, the loss of a loved one and sex. Please protect your heart and slide on by if any of this sounds like it's not going to be good for you.

The tiny window air conditioner rattled in its aluminum housing, struggling to keep the interior of the field laboratory trailer at an almost-comfortable seventy-eight degrees. Compared to the desert-like 101 degrees outside with an almost evenly matched dew point, the little machine was putting in a valiant effort. 

Even so, Dr. Astarion Ancunin found himself wiping sweat off his face with his forearm. There was something that was equal parts soothing and nerve-wracking about patiently extracting artifacts of a bygone life from their individual prisons of rock and ash. Of course, there were techs and interns aplenty to handle things like this. Astarion liked it, though. The repetition of gently scraping away mineral deposits from the surface of something like the porcelain teacup he held in his hands activated the same part of his brain as washing dishes or folding laundry. It was a lower brain function task that allowed his mind to wander to other problems. But he never allowed it to wander too far. The knowledge that this thousand-year-old teacup in his hands could be crushed to powder, any value it had evaporating with a misplaced stroke of his dental probe, was the terrifying part that kept his mind sharply focused on the task at hand. 

“Dr. Ancunin? Dr. Ancunin!” called a voice from outside the makeshift field lab where Astarion sat. It was one of the plethora of faceless student interns that scurried around the dig site like little ants on a hill. He’d been on possibly hundreds of dig sites over the years. Each season brought an endless parade of eager students, all hoping to grow up into big, strong archaeologists someday. He had long since stopped trying to learn names. Mostly, they responded to a snap of the fingers or a withering glare and let him work in peace. 

The door to the lab banged open, letting in a shaft of hot, dusty sunlight, speckled with motes that danced in the currents and eddies of the breeze to settle on any surface flat enough to keep them. Astarion’s lip curled back with a roll of his eyes. The student that followed that gust of heat and light was portlier than the others, with hair so red it was almost cruel. Astarion thought his name was James. Or John. He didn’t care to remember. The intern, not much more than a boy really, screeched to a halt beside Astarion’s worktable, panting. 

“What is it, James?” He asked, not taking his red eyes from the fragment of a porcelain he held in his hands under a magnifying light.

“It’s David, sir,” squeaked the intern. Astarion pulled a fine bristle brush from the little cup of tools sitting next to him on the desk and swiped it gently over the faded cobalt blue pattern still clinging to the cup’s bone-white surface. Normally, he enjoyed keeping the interns waiting, hearing their heartbeats race as the terror built while they awaited one of the renowned archaeologist’s famous tongue lashings for interrupting his work. Today, the student was almost vibrating.

David shifted from foot to foot, like he needed to use the restroom. Before Astarion could torment him longer, David spewed, “Doctor, I’m sorry to interrupt, but you should come see this.”

Astarion dropped his paintbrush with the exact amount of annoyance that made most of the interns jump and cower. David, on the other hand, was too worked up, too engrossed in his mission to be the unwary participant in Dr. Ancunin’s power game. Good for him, Astarion thought.

“What is it, David?” 

“We found something, sir,” David huffed, motioning toward the door. 

“David, darling, it’s a dig site. I’d be disappointed if you didn’t find something.” Astarion peered over the tops of his round, wire-framed glasses, fixing David in his signature withering stare.

“It’s a room, sir. It looks intact.”

Astarion sat up, looking his intern up and down. “What kind of room?” 

“Come see,” is all David could manage before rushing to the trailer door.

With a frustrated sigh, Astarion slapped his straw fedora over his wilting white curls and unrolled the sleeves of his white button-down shirt. Even with the Ring of Daywalking he wore, such bright, hot sun still burned vampires faster than it did other humanoids. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his dusty, battered khaki pants and followed David out of the trailer.  

Outside, the site was a beehive of activity. Students, researchers, assistants, workmen, and who knows how many countless others were engaged in all kinds of excavation. From crawling on hands and knees with garden spades and wire-mesh sieves to hefting great loads of ruble with roaring diesel-powered earthmovers, it seemed everywhere you turned, someone was digging. 

Beneath the rays of the midday sun, the remains of the now ancient city of Baldur’s Gate were slowly being unearthed. Astarion was struck by something, and not for the first time. This feeling was not precisely déjà vu, or something so cloying as nostalgia. As he walked the remains of city streets that he once called home, the space in his chest tightened, suggesting something darker, more sinister. Like dread. 

Astarion has tried, oh how he’s tried, to keep some emotional distance from these ruins. Behind his round black sunglasses, his red eyes try so hard not to recognize the remains of a balustrade here, the crumbled front entry of a shop there. It’s easier if they’re just non-descript chunks of rock. But the muscles, especially the heart, even a cold, dead one, remember much longer than the mind does, and soon, he recognized the street David led him to. 

Astarion prayed to gods he had long-since stopped believing in that David would take a turn somewhere, jog another street over, go up a hill or down the remains of an alley, but he didn’t. That over-eager student led Astarion straight to the last place in this dead city he ever wanted to see again. 

It was a humble doorframe. He knew it had once been hung with a robin’s egg blue door; a door that has long since crumbled to fragments. Astarion rested his hand on the stone doorframe, stroking it with his fingertips. “Has…” he paused, swallowing hard. “Has anyone been inside?” His voice is barely above a whisper. 

“No,” David answered. “We didn’t want to disturb anything, so I ran and got you.” Astarion looked up to see that young David had collected quite a crowd of interns and researchers. He smiled, perhaps a little too warmly, when he saw his own research assistant and PhD candidate, Kerrigan Timberfell. He knew it was careless. Kerrigan, Kerry for short, is his student, and if anything of their social relationship came to light, well, it would mean scandal and ruin. Astarion didn’t care for scandal. Gods knew he’d incited enough of it over his long years. But he did care for Kerry. The tanned and burly Tiefling with tawny hair and eyes so green they were almost luminous in the dark was, possibly, the first person Astarion had truly cared for in more years than he could count. If scandal did find them, Astarion would be fine. Kerry would be ruined, and he could not abide hurting him. 

Even so, the fact remained that staring at Kerry was a far more appealing prospect, even with the social danger it held for them, than going into that dark room he knew so well. His stomach felt like it was trying to force its way out through his mouth. There was a time when that feeling, that anxiety, was all he knew. Though it had been well over a thousand years since he had felt that grip, like iron bands around his chest, the sensation still surprised him with how familiar it was. The last time he’d felt it, he’d been walking into his former Master’s home with murder on his mind. Death was stalking nearby then, too, but this was somehow worse. The death that possibly waited in that room was old, a millennia old. But Astarion knew it could still shatter him.

“I’ll go first,” he says, forcing more strength into his voice than he really feels. “Make sure it’s safe.”

The light from his phone’s flashlight was a meager thing, but Astarion found he was grateful for its limitations. If he could see all of that room at once, it would almost certainly be too much for him. The air in the room was stale, though not unpleasant. It smelled like earth and time. For reasons he could not explain, he was reminded of video footage, taken by divers as they explored a sunken ship. 

He shone the narrow cone of sterile white light around the room that was once the multi-purpose kitchen, dining and living area of his own apartment, the one he shared with… with her. Looking behind him, he was amused to see that his boots left footprints in the thick layer of dust that coated the stone floors. It was all so much the same. The kitchen table that joined the Ancunin household when it was already old enough to have grooves worn into its surface from years of elbows being propped on it still stood with a plate and mug set out on it. One of their pair of chairs that matched the blue paint on the door lay on its side. The other, her chair, was neatly pushed into the table as if she had just stood up to get something from their bedroom and would be back to finish her breakfast at any moment. 

The curtain that once hung in the doorway that separated their bedroom from the main room had long since fallen from its rings into a pile of dust and decaying fibers on the floor. The rings still dangled from the rod, as if waiting for some loving hand to hang a new curtain and give them back their purpose. Astarion wasn’t sure if it would be better for that doorway to still be covered or not. If the curtain still hung, he’d have to move it. He’d have no choice. He’d have to see what was in their bedroom. 

From where he stood in the main room, he felt momentarily safe. He’d always assumed Tav had died there. He’d never allowed himself any large space of time to think about how. If he had, it would have broken him, and he would have walked into the sun as quickly as he could. If she was there, in their bedroom, centuries of mystery and misery would be resolved. If she wasn’t, the mystery would go on. It would mean she got out. But if she got out, did she make it out of the city? If she made it out of the city, why didn’t she come look for him? The possible answers to these questions seemed worse to Astarion, somehow. 

If he stayed put, and didn’t go into that bedroom, nothing changed. She would still be Schrödinger’s beloved – both there and not there. 

The mad thought of pulling the Ring of Daywalking off his finger and stepping out into the sun’s conflagration seized him. If he did that, he wouldn’t have to go into the bedroom, look at the bed he once shared with Tav and find her skeleton, sprawled across the mattress in her final agony. At the same time, he knew that even if he did turn around and end his long life without seeing what was in that bedroom, those few steps from the main room to the front door would be the worst torture he would ever have endured. To go to his death without knowing if what he thought all these years was true or not would be just as bad as knowing it. 

With a resolution he did not feel in his heart, his feet carried him forward into their long-ago bedroom. The dust in there was just as thick as it was in the main room, just as undisturbed. Slowly, like a man avoiding a bee sting, he dragged his gaze from the foot of the bed up. The quilt was still neatly straightened over the mattress. And the bed was empty. She wasn’t there. 

Astarion swept his light around the room impatiently, searching for any clue, any sign of where she might have gone. But, perhaps thankfully, there was nothing. No sign of a mad rush to get out. No disturbing pile of rags and bones slumped against a wall. Nothing. Once again, she was just gone. 

It’s not fair, Astarion thought. He always knew that one day he would have to say goodbye to Tav. She was mortal. But he never thought it would be so soon, and that wasn’t fair. The night after the Netherbrain fell and they stood in the gathering dusk as the city put itself back together, Astarion was almost giddy at the possibility of a real, genuine life with the brave, cunning, beautiful woman he loved beside him. Even though he knew that life would end one day, he always thought that day would be far into the future. She had even made him swear to her that when that day eventually came, he wouldn’t do anything stupid, like following her into death, no matter how much it hurt. He had a life to reclaim, with or without her. 

Astarion sniffled, remembering the night she had made him promise to go on after she was gone. It had been a year after the fervor that followed their victory died down, not long after they had settled into their little apartment near the Basilisk Gate. They had made slow, lazy love to one another. They did that often in those days - simply enjoying the freedom to explore and worship each other without the threat of impending doom hanging over them. Tav lay naked against his chest, the fingers of one hand stroking his curls. She suddenly looked up at him and was so insistent that he should promise her to go on living after she was gone. In retrospect, it made him wonder if she had known what was coming. If for no other reason than to soothe the anxiety in her eyes as she looked up at him, he swore to her that he would live. For her. 

Then, a year later, she was gone. Despite the hell he fell into in the wake of her death, Astarion kept his promise to somehow go on living. Now, standing in the stillness of their empty apartment, it was like losing her all over again. It wasn’t fair the first time and it wasn’t fair now.

He choked down the sour taste of emotion threatening to swallow him, knowing the crowd of people outside were expecting something from him.  They wanted some kind of pronouncement, exclamation, an astonished gasp. Something. But just for a moment, Astarion wanted, no, needed to be in this space alone.  

“Dr. Ancunin?” Kerry called out to him.

Astarion corked his fist into his mouth and bit down on it hard to choke off the sob that wanted to tear free from his throat. 

“Dr. Ancunin? Astarion?” Kerry called again. “What do you see?” Kerry’s voice was getting closer. Astarion could tell he was only a few seconds away from bolting through the apartment’s door to see what was wrong. He shook his head and cleared his throat, 

“Wonderful things,” Astarion finally answered. 

---

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of activity. Everything already in-progress halted in favor of the new discovery. Astarion decided, for now, that it would be best to keep his familiarity with the apartment to himself. The doorway was sealed up again until a structural engineer could get on-site to make sure the roof wasn’t going to cave in on them while they worked. Even with the entrance blocked, there was so much to do – documentation of the exterior, notifying the board, notifying the labs back at the university to expect new artifacts, calling in specialists and making arrangements and planning the excavation surrounding the building. Astarion, Kerry, and the rest of the dig site leadership worked well into the night preparing for the next phases of excavating Astarion’s former life. 

Astarion thought he’d still be wide awake for hours after things broke up for the night, but it turned out that even for vampires, physical exhaustion trumped emotional turmoil. He had just enough energy to kiss Kerry good night before his head hit the pillow and he fell into a true sleep. 

In his dreams, he was in another bed so long ago that his waking mind couldn’t remember the feel of rough spun linen sheets over a straw-stuffed mattress. But asleep or waking, the body of the woman straddling his hips in the eye of his memory is one he’ll never forget as long as he lives. His hands remember every dimple, every slope and angle of her. Each scar and freckle are treasured memories. He dreams of the last time he had sex with her, his Tav. In that dream, she kneels over him, one leg to either side of his hips. She leans back, arching her spine as she steadies herself with a hand on each of her ankles. She’s contorted like this for him, of course. He loves seeing her body stretched, tracing the new and interesting lines the shapes of her with his eyes, seeing his cock disappear into her warm, silken wet cunt, taking all of him as he thrusts up into her. He knows how to angle his own thrusts to rub against the right places within her, to set her nerves on fire in a way that turns his sharp, articulate love into a wanton, sloppy mess. 

She’s moaning his name as she rolls forward, planting her hands on the mattress to cage his head in with her forearms. Her breasts hang just low enough to make her shiver each time her stiff little nipples graze over his chest.  His hands easily find her hips and hold them tightly, locking her sex against his. They undulate together in sync, bodies meeting with each upward and downward thrust to keep them tight against one another. In his dream and his memory, Astarion growls with the need to be planted as deeply within her as he can, the incoherent gibberish thoughts of sex urging him to merge her body with his. He flips her onto her back so he can hoist her legs up and press her knees against her chest. Her hands reach for him, searching for purchase on any part of him they can find. He’s sweating and swearing while her moans, increasing in pitch each time the head of his cock presses against her cervix, drive him closer and closer to release until finally, they both let out savage screams of ecstasy. Every muscle of her body tenses around him as he pours his seed into her. 

When his eyes opened, he could still feel the phantom sensation of her sweat-slick skin under his fingertips. His muscles ached like he had pushed them too far. With no small amount of embarrassment, he saw the orgasm of his dream had manifested in the waking world as well. 

Somehow, Kerry slept soundly through the moans and grunts of Astarion’s sex dream. The tanned, taught muscles of Kerry’s bare chest rose and fell rhythmically. Astarion studied him, envied him the blissful abandon of dreamless sleep. Kerry, as with everything he does, sleeps with his whole being. He’s like a six-and-a-half-foot tall golden retriever with surprisingly diminutive horns that corkscrew back over his head.  In a lot of ways, Kerry resembles her, his Tav. His love, lost long ago to the wrath of irony and the birth of a new mountain that rained down fire and ash enough to bury an entire city for a thousand years. Kerry has the same fire in the belly that Tav had, the same spirit. If Kerry had been there a thousand years ago, when Astarion and Tav had fought the Illithid menace, he and Tav would have gotten on like a house on fire. They shared the same proclivity for goodhearted mischief, the same annoying need to help others and do what’s right, and the same love for him, which still amazed Astarion, even after a thousand years of trying to wrangle his demons and convince himself that he wasn’t, in fact, unlovable. To have found one person in the world who loved him felt like a gods damned miracle to Astarion. To have found another in Kerry was something Astarion’s mind could not wrap itself around, though he was nowhere near ready to say any of this out loud.

 In spite of the gloom that gripped Astarion’s heart, he couldn’t help smiling at his big Tiefling friend (boyfriend? Was that the right word?) asleep in the bed they had been sharing since the start of the season. He ghosted a palm along Kerry’s thigh affectionately before leaving him to his rest. 

Astarion wasn’t entirely sure what he meant to do, so he prepared for anything. Into his pockets went an assortment of tools of the trade – a stronger flashlight, a few fine paintbrushes, a hooked dental probe, hammer and chisel, his camera, and a pair of soft cotton gloves. Though the sun would still be down for hours, he slipped the Ring of Daywalking onto his left hand’s ring finger and kissed it, just like he had done every morning since Tav first placed it there so many centuries ago. 

The night air was cool and calm in contrast to the heat of the day. A gentle breeze tugged playfully at his silver curls, which had grown a little too long for his liking. Without prompting from his mind, Astarion’s feet carried him through what used to be the Basilisk Gate, the main entry point of the Lower City. 

It was a cruel irony that Baldur’s Gate was destroyed so soon after barely surviving annihilation by the Illithids. In forty-eight short hours, the long-dormant Fields of the Dead churned and boiled, finally releasing a new volcano that would become Mount Chionthar, named after the river that had been destroyed in its formation. With the birth of the mountain, lava, rock, ash, and toxic gas spewed miles high into the air, only to rain down on the city, covering the majority of it like a blanket of death. The people of Baldur’s Gate had no warning. Tav had no warning. 

By some stroke of luck, or a cruel twist of fate, Astarion had been away in Waterdeep when it happened. He’d been visiting their friend, the illustrious Professor Gale Dekarios, trying to find a more permanent solution to the weaknesses of his vampirism when the volcano was violently thrust up through the crust of the land. It had taken the news two full days to travel from Baldur’s Gate to Waterdeep, and by then, it was too late. The city was gone, and so was his love.

For the second time in twelve hours, Astarion found himself confronted with a doorway he knew and loved and hated all at the same time. With barely a thought, he wrenched the heavy sheet metal from the temporary frame that had been installed to protect and preserve the find. 

At first, he was careful to match his footsteps to the ones he had already made in the little drifts of dust and ash on the floor. But soon, his curiosity overcame him, and he started wandering freely through the rooms he used to share with Tav. 

In the bedroom, he found little scraps of her wherever his light settled. The kohl she used to line her eyes still sat on her little makeup table next to her hand mirror. A rose, long dead, still nodded in a clay bud vase. A little pile of decaying green and golf fibers lay on the floor, colors he recognized as a pair of her panties, no doubt dropped from her laundry basket on the way to the wash tub. 

She was everywhere and nowhere at once.  

The drawer of her bedside table groaned and threatened to break apart in his grip when he tried to open it. The historian in him winced, but he shoved that annoying little voice that was shouting the word “PRESERVE!!!” at him aside. If what he was after was in that drawer, it would be worth destroying a cheaply made, common end table to get it. At last, the drawer slid open, and the sight that greeted him stopped his unnecessary breath. 

The book, among the other detritus of a woman’s life, gleamed dully up at him. Its brown leather cover was still shiny from years of where her hands held it, burnishing it smooth.  He held his breath as he lifted it out, fully aware that it could fall apart in his hands at any second, but it didn’t. In fact, it felt somehow sturdier than anything else he looked at in their home. Holding it felt like he was holding her, somehow. 

He settled himself on the floor, not caring that the dirt and dust would ruin his pants, and cradled Tav’s journal in his lap like a newborn babe. Though every second of his years of training in handling ancient documents and artifacts screamed at him not to, he couldn’t resist lifting the cover of that book. It gave a soft, familiar creak, a noise he heard probably a thousand times over the course of the two-and-a-half years they spent together. He’d opened this book only once before. It was during their travels, when they were still trying to piece together the mysteries of the Illithids and the cult of the Absolute. He loved her then too, but he wasn’t willing to admit it yet. 

Then, he’d been trying to tease her. He’d seen her scribbling her thoughts down and thought it would be good fun to steal her journal and torment her with it. He’d been so much like a young boy then – so unaware of what this little cruelty would do to her that he was shocked to his core to see the deep, genuine hurt on her face. He had been so surprised at how knowing he had hurt her made him feel that he never even opened her journal again.

He paged slowly through the book, trying to be as gentle with it as he could. The pages had a supple, almost oily feel to them, one he knew well from Professor Dekarios’ library, where all of the books were enchanted to stave off the ravages of time and the elements. Astarion had to smile at the thought of their old friend enchanting Tav’s journal for her to protect it. He grimaced, seeing his own face drawn over and over in fine, sketchy lines on the early pages of the journal, back before she had admitted to him that she loved him, too. Scraps of lyrics and poems interspersed the drawings, and he could almost hear her singing the ones that had grown into songs she would perform on her violin whenever their pockets hung just a little too empty. He caught the tears sliding down his face before they could drip onto the pages of her journal. 

One of the last entries in the book was a snippet of a poem. 

In the morning,

Dawn’s gentle fingers tease the edges of night

As if she begs her lover to stay

Just a little longer, 

So to do you depart from my bed too quickly

And leave me bare in the harsh light of day.

Tav would never be mistaken for a great poet, but the earnestness of her effort tugged at Astarion’s heart.

“Thought I’d find you here,” came a smooth, familiar voice from the bedroom doorway. Kerry stood silhouetted against the light of Astarion’s flashlight for a moment before he picked his way carefully across the bedroom floor to sit down next to his lover and mentor. “I also thought we weren’t supposed to be in here until the engineers had the chance to check it out.”

“I’m in charge of the dig, darling,” Astarion said with just a hint of petulance. “I can do what I want.”

Kerry’s smile was broad and genuine. He took Astarion’s hand from his knee. “Do you think it’s safe to be all lovey-dovey?” he asked, nudging Astarion's shoulder with his own. 

“It’s never safe, love,” Astarion grumbles. “But I don’t think we’ll get caught, if that’s what you’re asking.” 

The two men sat in silence for a moment. 

“How did you know I was here?” Astarion asked.

“For as much as you like to try to convince the kids that you’re a heartless bastard, you really do wear your emotions on your sleeve,” Kerry said. 

“Saw right through me, did you?”

“Mmhm,” Kerry continued. “When you quote other archeologists, I know something’s wrong.”

Astarion let out a high-pitched giggle. “You know,” he said, musing as he dropped his head onto Kerry’s shoulder, “I used to be very good at hiding things.” 

“I don’t believe it for a second,” Kerry responded, kissing the top of Astarion’s head. “This place was important to you.”

Astarion’s lips drew into a tight, strained line and he found he couldn’t answer aloud. Instead, he nodded, trying to keep the way his throat is working against silent sobs under control.

“You lived here with someone. Someone important. A partner.” Kerry ventured, still stroking Astarion’s hand.

Astarion nodded. 

Kerry brushed his thumb over the Ring of Daywalking on Astarion’s ring finger. “The partner who gave you this?”

Astarion nodded again. 

“She was the love of my life,” Astarion whispered.

Kerry’s arm slipped around Astarion’s shoulders as he finally allowed himself to burst into tears. 

---

Notes:

Thanks for sticking with me! Chapter 2 is in the works!