#☼*・ﾟ Interaction — ↳ astarion ancunin

[feuerwizard]

starter for @sanguisarcana | caleb & astarion

Despite the simmering frustration brewing within Caleb towards his fellow companions on this particular evening, he still found it in himself to agree to conjure the tower for those who desired it. In truth, it may have been more for his own sake than anyone else's, as he preferred the spaciousness and privacy of his tower over the cramped and dingy campgrounds or a small, spare room in a tavern in Baldur's Gate.

The wizard’s usually level-headed demeanor replaced by a recent air of stress, his mind consumed by the ticking time clock represented by the tadpoles in their heads. And to add to the pressure, he was once again faced with seeing Astrid and Eadwulf again. And as time progressed, Caleb's frustration reached a boiling point as most of their group dismissed the idea of taking on Cazador as a priority.

He craved solitude, just a few blessed hours to collect his thoughts and regain some semblance of sanity. The weight of recent events was bearing down on him, threatening to crush his already fragile mental state. After a while, with his head properly back upon his shoulders, it was time to pay a visit to the one person with more of a right to be frustrated than him—Astarion.

A quick stride brought him down the hall to Astarion's room, its dark wooden door only a few steps away. He paused for a moment before knocking softly, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he waited for a response.

[exandriaborn]

@rubistella | cont from here.

The blue tiefling’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned in closer to Astarion, never very cognizant of personal space. "I wonder if my blood would be like a super fancy tiefling wine, with extra cinnamon and sugar."

Jester's taste buds were never one for fine wines and their complexities, but the analogy was simple enough to grasp. "Maybe someday you'll get lucky! But not with me, of course. I need all my blood to stay inside me, you know, for living and stuff." With a smile, she lifted a finger and gently scratched beneath the chin of the crimson-colored weasel perched across her shoulders. "You’re not going to eat my weasel, are you?"

[feuerwizard]

Gale felt the weight of Astarion's gaze upon him, the vampire's crimson eyes lingering hungrily on the somewhat exposed skin of his neck. A shiver ran down the wizard's spine, though whether from fear or anticipation, he could not say. He knew he should leave, and return to the safety and camaraderie of their companions at the camp.

Yet something in Astarion's voice, in the way his words curled around Gale like tendrils of smoke, kept the human rooted to the spot.

"Is that so?" Gale managed, his own voice sounding strained to his ears. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure. "And here I thought you preferred your meals a bit more… lively."

"But you know I cannot be what you need. My blood tastes awful, or so you once claimed." The wizard's hand unconsciously drifted to the pulsing symbol upon his chest, a grim reminder of the necrotic magic coursing through his veins.

Yet even as he spoke, Gale found himself drawn forward, pulled by an invisible thread towards the alluring creature perched before him. In the shadows of this space, Astarion's pale features seemed to glow, his crimson eyes twin pools of temptation promising untold pleasures and damnation in equal measure.

“Actually, I quite like this dreary cavern.” Astarion let his gaze slowly wander around the dim, dark surroundings for effect before his eyes alone shifted to their corners to pin Gale under a cynical, high-brow stare. “It almost reminds me of home.” Spoken in a lilt inclined towards sarcasm rather than truth.

As the intimacy between them waned, like fading smoke or the last echoes of a sea chanty, a snort escaped the elf and, half-lidded, his gaze fell.

“Oh, you can go right on if you’d like. I’ve yet to find something I can sink my teeth into.” Astarion gave pause before crimson lifted to Gale, or rather, to the slant of his delectable neck. “...or someone.”

There was something equal parts beautiful and predatory about the drawl in Astarion’s tenor, like sundews to the delicate wings of an unsuspecting butterfly.

[feuerwizard]

@rubistella asked: "[ blanket ] sender draping a blanket over receiver's shoulders & "Just let me take care of you for a bit." // caring prompts;; open

The wizard swayed unsteadily in his seat, auburn hair falling into unfocused blue eyes as he reached for the tankard in front of him. He took another deep swig of the honeyed ale, savoring the sweet warmth spreading through his chest.

Lost in a haze of drink and magical theorems, Caleb did not notice the lithe figure approach until he felt the gentle weight of a blanket being draped over his shoulders. Long, elegant fingers brushed against his neck, their touch cool and soothing.

Caleb instinctively leaned into the contact, his head lolling back to rest against the vampire's shoulder. "Mmm, danke," he murmured, the words slightly slurred. "I was just reading the most fascinating passage on transmutation… did you know that with the right arcane equations, you can alter the very essence of matter itself?"

He reached for the hefty tome sitting on the bar, flipping it open to a random page filled with complex glyphs and flowing script. Fingers traced reverently over the lines of ink as he continued to ramble excitedly.

[feuerwizard]

for @sanguisarcana || scourger bren (baldur's gate 3 verse)

It had been years since Bren set foot upon the bustling streets and felt the blistering sunlight of Baldur's Gate's undercity. Air thick with the scent of spices and sweat as people bustle about their daily lives, their voices blending into a cacophony of noise around him. Despite the chaos—or perhaps because of it—it is surprisingly easy for Bren to blend in and go unnoticed amongst crowds. Though rumors of past mind flayer attacks and dragon sightings still linger in the minds of those along the Sword Coast, such things have little relevance to the task at hand.

Fashion Couture.

Nestled along the western side of Baldur's Gate, sits a quaint clothing shop with its elegant windows closed shut and adorned by billowing curtains. Bren straightens his shirt and brushes away the dirt from his pants before running a hand through his unruly mop of short ginger hair. With a huff of a sigh, he enters the shop, filled with rows of neatly displayed garments and the sweet scent of perfumes and fabrics.

Cerulean eyes clock him immediately, like a predator tracking its prey, a pale elf with snow-white curls upon his head. Bren boldly strides towards him, clearing his throat to announce his presence before approaching any closer. “Hallo,” he greets the elf, accent thick but full of faux charm, “I am looking for a new coat… I don’t suppose you would be able to help with that?”

[feuerwizard]

@sanguisarcana asked: "It didn't take an expert to pinpoint the wizard's attraction, which Astarion happened to address before a particularly nasty argument unfolded. One that led to him shoving Caleb against the wall, an arm pinned to the wizard's chest and a very intense exchange. Fangs bared, clashing stares, mingled breaths. A moment of breathlessness followed. Only as the silence grew weary and a strange awkwardness began to fester like rust was when the two finally broke apart. "Gods." Astarion snorted. "Sometimes I dont know if you want to strangle me, or kiss me, honestly." // unprompted;; always open

It is still entirely up for debate, the wizard thought to himself, cheat heaved as he sharply shoved Astarion away from him. “Do not flatter yourself,” Caleb muttered, running a hand through tousled ginger hair. Freckled cheeks lightly dusted with a soft shade of pink that spread down his neck, despite his attempt to appear nonchalant. “And don’t threaten me again. This is supposed to be a team effort now, ja?”

Just when the two seemed to find some semblance of harmony between them, a discordant note would be struck and the tension between them would rise once more. Their interactions an intricate web of push-and-pull, with each step forward met by a step back. Like two opposing forces circling each other endlessly. Whether it was for better or for worse, he had somehow developed a deep sense of care for his vampiric companion. Someone who knew more about him than Caleb would have liked at this point. But Caleb was a big team player these days, apparently.

[feuerwizard]

Gale pondered Astarion's words carefully, his brow furrowed in thought. The pale elf had a point—their leader's behavior of late had been erratic, impulsive even. And the gruesome scene before them spoke of something far more sinister than a mere wild animal attack.

Perhaps there was something to worry about.

"You may be onto something," The wizard admitted reluctantly. "Our fearless leader has seemed… off kilter as of late. More prone to fits of violence and aggression." He glanced again at the bloody ritual markings. "This savagery goes beyond mere bloodlust. There is a dark purpose at work here."

If only they understood it.

Gale began to pace around his tent, hands clasped behind his back as his mind raced. "We must tread carefully. Confronting him directly could provoke an… explosive reaction, no pun intended to myself of course, especially if he is under the influence of some malevolent force."

"He smelled of blood, Gale." Astarion cut in. Impatient. Only to later realise nobody in camp knew of the pale elf's true nature quite yet. "I guess it could have been the mess that was made dulling the senses after all." A snort, more breath than laughter, in a quick attempt to brush off the accusation as a passing musing. "But don't you think it's a little bit strange? I mean, as entertaining as it was to watch the man valiantly sentence a squirrel to an early grave, that felt a lot more like impulse than statement if you ask me."

Astarion knew cruelty when he rubbed shoulders with it, impounded and unbridled.

"All I'm saying is that the dragonborn can be suspiciously dagger happy at times." Then a scoff. "I mean, so is Lae'zel, but for different reasons altogether."

Spoken like an elf who didn't smirk at the sight of blood, cruelty and murder. In that order.

[feuerwizard]

"he's a ten, but... the man's stubborn as a mule sometimes."

♢      —        send  [ THEY’RE A 10 BUT … ]  and finish it in my muse’s inbox.

"I am not stubborn," Caleb insisted, stubbornly. "I simply know better."

[feuerwizard]

@sanguisarcana asked: "[ goodbye ] a heartfelt kiss when parting, showing affection and fondness" // different ways to kiss promps;; open

Saying goodbye was always a painful task, especially when it meant being apart from the wizard’s beloved husband. Astarion's departure was imminent, and though Gale understood the necessity of his absence, the human couldn't help but cling to his favorite vampire elf just a little tighter in their shared bed. Their bare bodies only partially covered by a thin sheet, limbs entwined in a lazy tangle. Every touch, every breath, savored by Gale as if it were the last. He was a romantic, after all. The room filled with the bittersweet scent of love and longing, making it even harder for him to accept distance.

As if sensing Gale's sentimental (and perhaps a bet pathetic) mood, Astarion's usual snippy comments were noticeably absent as the human pulled him closer. With a tenderness that surprised even himself, Gale pressed their lips together, pouring all of his fondness and affection into the gesture. “Are you absolutely certain I could not convince you to stay a bit longer? I know a good book and a quite needy wizard with your name on it, my darling.”

[feuerwizard]

“Oh, come now, it was merely a joke.” The wizard rolls his eyes to himself, a cunning smile playing on his lips. "You are aware of what a joke is, yes?" Teasing is useless, Astarion knows precisely how to push his buttons and elicit a response from him. It is a game to his witty husband, one he relishes in and never quite tires of… a clever dance of wit and banter, each trying to outsmart the other.

And there is little winning with Astarion.

Gale's gaze never strays from his vampiric companion as he gracefully crosses the room towards the armchair with an air of dangerous confidence. Every movement deliberate and mesmerizing, perfect posture and appearance meant to tempt and seduce. Ah, second nature to him. The soft, warm-tinted flicker of candlelight washes over porcelain skin, emphasizing the sharp angles of his features.

The sound of his swallow echoes a soft but audible gulp. “Well, one must be specific… but you make a compelling argument, dear. I have changed my mind.”

He closes the distance between them in a swift stride. Leaning down, Gale presses a kiss to Astarion's forehead, lips brushing the coolness of his skin before moving down to capture his mouth in a kiss. The kiss is brief, but it leaves a lingering sensation he can still feel even as Gale drops to his knees before him, hands rested firmly on either side of Astarion's thighs. “It seems hardly fair I somehow still end up the one on his knees after today. I suspect you will tell me I have brought this on myself.”

Not a hint of amusement coloured his lips so much as flatline disapproval. And it was as the magic hand drew near that Astarion swatted it off with enough force to deal damage, dispelling the damn thing.

"Funny." Matter of fact. "But if you are going to start casting spells, I might as well help myself to a seat and watch." Astarion tightened his hold around Gale's cheeks in retaliation, digging tiny crescents into that stubble before letting go of him dismissively. "You do enjoy being observed, dont you, darling?"

Walking back towards the armchair, the vampire sat down and eased himself against its backrest with legs spread and the laces of his trousers only half-undone.

"Unless, of course, you've changed your mind." With a sweeping motion, Astarion gestured towards his own trousers, left unfinished. "In which case you can start with your teeth, since mouth apparently leaves plenty open for interpretation."

Two options, two different paths to go about it.

Both were now marked as a playful bout of punishment.

[feuerwizard]

The wizard considered Astarion's proposal, weighing the risks and rewards. On one hand, swindling some hapless fool could net them a decent profit. But on the other, if caught, it could attract unwanted attention and trouble, jeopardizing his larger goals. There was once a time when Caleb would have done anything for a scrap of funds to survive, perhaps he was too comfortable with this group.

"Nein, your idea has merit, but I worry we may be inviting more problems than it's worth," Caleb said carefully. "We should keep our hands clean, for now at least. There will be time enough for tricks and schemes when we have left this place. Would you not agree?"

A wry smile crossed the wizard's face. He knew appeals to morality meant little to the vampire. But he hoped prudence and pragmatism might give Astarion pause, they were quite similar in that regard. They had enough enemies already, without making more. And while Caleb had long ago abandoned most principles, he felt an odd reluctance to take advantage of the druids or tieflings.

Schieße, perhaps he was growing a bit of a heart.

“Why don’t we hold onto it until it serves a purpose?” Or, at the very least, it would serve as an item to assist with Gale’s… condition, whatever in the hells that might be. “I am not inclined to toss any items of the magical variety, even if it means allowing you to have it.”

Caleb’s aversion for deception morphing into intrigue unfolded a roguish smirk across the vampire’s pale lips. One just as quick to fade as it came, replaced by the shadows of incredulity at the wizard’s mundane nod towards the more ordinary displays of courtesy, which Astarion was so quick to splinter on convenience.

"Please. Let’s not pretend you didn’t do yourself a favour by identifying it as well." Accusatory, a razor-edged truth weighed his words and the pale elf folded his arms defensively across his chest. All tipped chin and flared nostrils. Defiant. "You were just as curious as I was to know what it does."

Despite the underlying strain of tension, Caleb’s assistance had saved the elf a significant amount of time attuning to the artefact prior to unravelling its true worth. For all of his roguish tendencies, Astarion knew Caleb to be a valuable asset...

It would do him some good to keep to the wizard's better side.

"Still, I suppose you did us both a favour in doing so." He admitted with a sigh, loud enough to be heard. "Thank you. Now, shall we look for someone in the grove, or do we look elsewhere? I can spot a rich man from a mile away," Something about the poise and way opulence carried itself among the rich. "and honestly?" Strained neck and a vague look suggested the vampire had already taken to scanning the area in search for any potential targets. "We'd have better luck raiding Gale's silverware back in Waterdeep than finding anything of value that isn't that effigy they've been worshipping around here."

[feuerwizard]

Gale's breathing was ragged as he fought with himself. Every sensible part of him screamed to push Astarion away, to reaffirm the boundaries of their relationship and cling to the safety of what he knew. He was not ready yet, not after Mystra, not ready to open his heart in such a vulnerable manner. But another part of him, a braver Gale, ached for more.

He yearned for the touch that Astarion so skillfully denied him.

As he stared into the vampire's bright crimson eyes, the human’s defenses crumbled like sandcastles before the tide. The hand that had been clutching Astarion's shirt tightly now moved up to cup his face, fingers gently caressing his accented cheekbone. An admission of defeat and acceptance.

"Yes." The wizard managed to whisper between gasps. "Though truthfully, we should not be doing this here." With all their companions so close by, “But who am I to stop you now?”

The elf must have been emboldened by Gale's surrender, Astarion wasted no time in unfastening the last bit of fabric covering the wizard. Trousers and pants discarded in a hurry, and the vampire's cool hands exploring every inch of heated skin that presented itself, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Astarion allowed his body to guide him before his conscience could catch up, burying himself in the moment. It was a fluid dance of mouth and tongue across the wizard’s skin, faithful to curiosity and risk.

The sounds Gale made were a requiem, a flurry of hushed breaths inking into the closed air around them. Fingers slipped past the open flap of the wizard’s untied robe to stroke his chest, riddled with the light asperity of body hair and weathered by the years.

"Well," Astarion's eyes wrinkled pleasantly when he chuckled, skin creasing around his mouth in every way that suggested wine did, in fact, taste better with the years. "I wouldn’t say I’m bored now."

Desire thickened between them, and with it, Astarion’s hand found purchase around the latch keeping the wizard’s trousers together. Fingers toyed with it, lingering almost as if waiting for something. As a patron of decadence, Astarion knew when a body was inviting, but as a victim of assault, he also knew sometimes the mind was not.

"To be bored in a moment like this? Now that, my dear, would be impossible... May I?" Spoken with a sideways cant of his head and the same hypotonic sort of look that gave vampires credit for their dangerously seductive predation.

[feuerwizard]

The wizard brings a finger to his bottom lip, pulling it away for a glimpse of fresh blood coloring his index where Astarion grazed his sharp fang over the soft, supple flesh. He can feel the sting of the wound and taste the faintest hint of iron upon his tongue as he affectionately rolls his eyes to himself. The metallic tang lingers in his mouth, every breath is infused with it.

He just cannot help himself, now can he?

Despite the sensuality of their game, Gale cannot resist leaning into the teasing touch as Astarion curls his index finger under his chin and whispers oh-so-close to his ear. “Well, I am a very curious man, but curiosity killed the wizard, or so the saying goes. Though I suppose, I have never been one to shy away from dangerous curiosities. Quite exciting.”

Next time we meet, Gale echoes Astarion’s words. A tantalizing promise, one that wraps around his heart like a warm embrace and fills it with hope.

“Oh, I am sure it is, but I find any sight of you something exquisite to behold, my love. Whatever side of yourself you are willing to give me.” And, oh, he cannot help himself. Gale Dekarios, a man of quick wit and even quicker tongue—known for his penchant for flowery, romantic language, even in the most inopportune of moments. Words flowing like a babbling brook, smooth and enchanting. Like a peacock displaying its vibrant feathers, Gale cannot resist showcasing his affection through poetic musings.

“But I will perform my role, as you say. What would you have me do, Astarion?”

@arcanecast || continued from x

Intelligence often begged for stimulation’s company and Astarion wasn’t one to turn down a challenge. A marriage between the elven vampire and his human archmage lover was akin to street smarts meeting book smarts– a compelling charade of perspicacity and intellect. Self-made criminal and diligent savant. 

Except criminals didn’t like playing fair.

The kiss was delivered with a bite. Fangs scraped pettily over the sensitive skin of those delicious lips upon parting with every intent to cut, as if enough blood hadn’t already been drawn from the man. Framing the underside of that jaw, Astarion brought him back to suck on his bottom lips and help himself to a taste, urging him back on his knees along with the wizard’s compliance.

Delicious.

“What? You want to see me on my knees instead?” Astarion huffed out a chuckle, soundless and cynical, bubbling from the deepest parts of him. “I might even have considered it had it not been for your little stunt there, my dear.”

You brought this upon yourself.

"But I'll give it a thought for the next we meet. If you perform your role decently this time, you just might get to watch an expert perform his the next." A tender caress ran down the angle of Gale's face to perch his chin on a curled index. Lips met the wizard's ear, and his whisper smouldered barely above the man's breath. "I know you've been curious- how you've wondered what it would feel like with me surrendering myself to you."

A smirk, just as dangerous as it was divine, folded around his lips and tightened the corner of his eyes.

"It's quite a sight to behold... or so I've been told."

And for once, he believed it.

[feuerwizard]

Caleb happily leaned into Astarion's touch, a soft sigh escaping his lips as those skilled fingers worked the tension from his muscles. The vampire's hands were a paradox, both cool and soothing against his travel-weary skin, yet igniting a familiar heat deep within him. It was a sensation he had come to crave, a balm to the constant ache in his soul.

"I seek… repentance, Astarion. But my idea of what that looks like has changed since meeting you all. I have changed." The words were heavy on Caleb's tongue, weighted with the gravity of his realization.

For so long, he had been driven by a singular goal—to undo his past mistakes, to erase the sins that stained his hands. But now, with these new bonds forged in the crucible of their shared struggles, he found himself questioning the path he had set for himself. "I thought repentance meant solitude, meant punishing myself for my transgressions. But now…" He trailed off, gaze growing distant as he lost himself in thought.

"Now I am starting to wonder if perhaps true repentance lies in trying to do better, in using what power I have to help others and make some small difference in this world."

It was a daunting prospect, one that went against every instinct ingrained in him by years of self-loathing and guilt. But there was a flicker of something akin to hope kindling in his chest. "I still want to end that… man, badly. But more than anything I don’t any other children to be used as I was."

No more children on the pyre.

"Oh, no... no, no, no. I certainly feel like I deserve happiness just as much as the next person." Though the burden of his sins weighed on him like an oversized coat, Astarion was nowhere near enough righteous to let them stoop his spine or tether his ambitions. "Naturally, after a life like mine, happiness becomes less of a right and more of an indulgence. The sort of thing one glimpses through a gilded window, just beyond their reach." 

The light in his eyes dulled, as if those windows of opportunity had just closed before him. Lowering his face back to the wizard, the vampire situated himself behind him, outside of the bathtub still.

"Though, judging by that voice of yours and the way you wear misery as if it were tailored just for you, I’d say happiness is something you’ve forfeited the moment you stained your hands with your first deadly sin." Killing his own parents, was it?

Had it been anyone else, Astarion might have indulged in a twisted sense of amusement, equal parts wicked and delighted. But this was Caleb. A man who spoke to the vampire’s undead heart in a way to thaw the ice around it. There was no room for vicarious thrill here, no pleasure to entertain from another’s torment.

With Caleb, it was different.

Astarion's stare softened and, for all but a moment, the performance wasn’t for the thrill of it. It was a display of strength where strength had failed his lover. "Well, we all have our sins, don't we?" His voice was soft, silky... it was an ode to warmth and empathy, or about as close to that as a vampire like him could muster.

The pale elf's touch on Caleb's skin landed like an art form. Deft, milk-white fingers glided over the man’s arm with a tender elegance to betray the countless times that vampire might have bathed a lover before. At some point, he’d swapped a wet cloth for a bar of soap, hands exploring and caressing, pressing thumbs into the tension knots around the wizard’s neck with an almost intimate purpose.

“It just pains me to watch this… your struggle, I mean. It’s almost as if I wished you the same happiness I chase for myself regardless of your own... reservations concerning the matter.” The kind that made a martyr out of the wizard.

[feuerwizard]

Caleb's chest clenches at the vulnerability in Astarion's confession, at the echoes of trauma that still haunted the elf even centuries later. He knew all too well the fear, perhaps even guilt, of good things, the certainty they would be ripped away at any moment.

It was a feeling that had dogged his own steps for years, a constant companion in the shadows of his mind.

With a gentle squeeze of Astarion's proffered hand, the wizard allowed himself to be guided into the warm embrace of the bathwater. A soft sigh escaped his lips as he sank down, the heat seeping into his travel-weary muscles and soothing away the aches and pains of the day.

"Nein, it is not stupid at all," Caleb murmured, tilting his head back to meet Astarion's crimson gaze. "I understand. The certainty that happiness is fleeting, or even, the insecurity of believing you are not worthy of it somehow."

He had lived with that feeling for so long, had let it shape his every action and decision. In many ways, he still did and might never stop. The idea of moving on from his sins almost felt like a betrayal to his parents.

"I am not that filthy," Caleb felt Astarion’s hands as they began to work the grime from his skin, pale fingers massaging soap into the wizard's shoulders and down his back. The vampire was uncharacteristically quiet.

A wounded animal’s instinct gripped him in a flinch when Caleb’s fingers feathered over his scars, and Astarion cursed under his breath at his inability to keep still. It was far easier to neglect them during sex, but vulnerability beckoned in the quiet moments, and in turn, it demanded to be acknowledged. Felt… Seen.

And oh, how it burned.

Sucking in a sharp inhale through clenched teeth, as if doing as much was part of a recipe to dull the sting, Astarion approached the bathtub and clutched its edges.

“I know.” Even before Caleb’s confession, Astarion had already sensed the unspoken bond between the two. A fragile thread of entwined fates they had yet to slap a label to. Likely never would. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Astarion delivered with a sigh. “Now, get into the bathtub and let me scrub that grime off you. With all the muck clinging to your skin, I wouldn’t be surprised if this turned into a mud bath after all.”

It was difficult to address fragility when its sting made him weak, and Astarion had spent far too many centuries in helplessness not to fear its coming.

“You spend long enough living only in defeat, and suddenly you're afraid when good things that come your way are just too good to be true.” The pale elf elaborated, holding out a hand for Caleb to take so he would usher him into those lukewarm waters. “It's stupid, I know...” He trailed off.

The echo of trauma was a harrowing presence in the vampire's life, and so it would remain for as long as its source still drew breath. Metaphorically speaking.

[feuerwizard]

The sharp snap of the belt against Caleb's chest served as a startling contrast to Astarion's earlier tenderness, the wizard's breath hitching in his throat at the sudden sting. He could only blink in bewilderment as the vampire jabbed an accusatory finger at him, crimson eyes flashing with a tumultuous mix of frustration and something else, something raw and vulnerable.

"Astarion," Caleb faltered, struggling to find the right words in the face of the elf's unexpected outburst. He had never meant to cause such turmoil, to burden Astarion with the weight of worry and uncertainty. The very thought of it sent a pang of unwelcome guilt through his chest, as sharp as any physical blow.

It was tired work—caring for someone other than yourself.

As the vampire turned his back, arms folded in a defensive posture, Caleb couldn't help but admire the eternal beauty of those elven features, even marred by a scowl. He took a tentative step forward, one hand reaching out to gently rest against the pale expanse of Astarion's back, fingertips tracing the scars that told a story of centuries of suffering.

"I am sorry," he murmured, voice low and earnest. "I never meant to cause you distress. But perhaps that is the nature of this… thing between us. It is messy and complicated, ja. But it is also… precious to me, in a way I cannot fully express."

“Do I, now?” the vampire retorted, voice sharp enough to cut through stone. “Because all I seem to feel these days is this weight in my chest every time you trot off with the others, leaving me to stew in camp and wonder if you’ll come back to me in one piece.”

As if Caleb himself had orchestrated this misery, Astarion yanked the wizard’s belt free from its loop with a swift flick, snapping it lightly against the man's chest before pointing an index right at his nose.

“And you’re the one who’s done this to me. Wasn’t love supposed to be light and carefree?” Or so the fairytales, and every lovesick fool in the realm, would have you believe, which only led Astarion to conclude that this whole business was far more charming on paper than in practice. Reality hit different, and his heart, while very much undead and unbeating still, wasn't quite made of stone.

At least not in its entirety.

Turning his back on Caleb, Astarion left the man to wriggle free of his own trousers and folded his arms anew as he faced the bathtub. Even with a frown etched across his face, all the beauty of those elven features, eternalised by a curse, remained unchanged.

“It’s awful.”