#hc that he gets callouses on his thumbs when he isn't flayed and forced to regrow his skin

[bhaalsdeepbat]

A little durgestarion drabble just to get me writing while i think through some stuff for the fic i'm working on. just getting a feel for some body language stuff. SWF and may not actually be part of mercy's canon. i just wanted to write without a plan lol

Astarion's thumb was surprisingly calloused.

The thick, hard skin layering the pad of his thumb protectively was a rough contrast to the soft tips of fingers. Hands that had just helped the sorcerer slaughter their way through Moonrise, and then through the Mindflayer Colony beneath Moonrise's looming towers, cupped the sorcerer's cheeks gently. His left thumb traced along the scar carved into the sorcerer's right cheek. He followed the curve of it under their eye and around the arc of the deep scar following the curve of their face, then down their otherwise pretty cheek.

The two were soaking up one another's presence in the safety of Astarion's tent. Motes of dim light twinkled across the tent's ceiling like stars, Mercy's magic filling the air with the scent of a storm that would never come. Astarion was stretched out on his bed, back lounging against a pile of pillows Mercy had put together since they had taken residence alongside him in the space. The sorcerer had crawled over him to give him a peck on the cheek when he stopped them by reaching out to hold their face in his hands. They were frozen in place, bed dipping were their weight pressed into their palms, as he held their gaze.

Mercy leaned into the touch, their eyes narrowing into a contented look as a soft purr rumbled in the back of their throat. The tip of their tail twitched with the same peaceful joy that filled their expression. It was a moment of quiet, their mind silenced, pleased by the amount of blood spilled. A playful smirk tugged at the corner of Astarion's lips, though the intensity of his gaze betrayed the seriousness of whatever thought was on his mind as he stared at them.

With another flick of their tail, the sorcerer's brows furrowed. Mercy shook their head, pulling away from Astarion's hold. His hands were hesitant to release them, but he dropped his arms to rest across his torso. He watched the sorcerer closely, like he was afraid to take his eyes off them.

Mercy let out a soft little huff, tail falling limp against the bed. "Don't look at me like that," they grumbled, averting their gaze.

"Look at you like what, darling?" Astarion's sly smile was plastered across his face with practiced ease. "Like you did something stupid back at Moonrise? Correct me if I'm wrong, but you did do something stupid."

Mercy scowled at him, though they couldn't exactly argue that he was wrong. They had done something absolutely stupid at Moonrise, but they had also made damn sure not to repeat the mistake after Z'rell's goading led to a lucky shot that took the sorcerer down. It was temporary, lasting all but the time needed for their companions to descend on the cultists surrounding Mercy's crumpled form.

All Astarion could do was notch another arrow and send it flying as he raced across the rafters, too far to be of any use beyond covering Shadowheart and Lae'zel as they raced to his paramour's aide.

Mercy grimaced, cheeks flushing with embarrassment as they averted their gaze. They clicked their tongue against the back of their teeth dismissively. "I don't need a lecture from you. Shadowheart and Lae'zel had that covered."

"Good. Because I wasn't going to lecture you. You're not a child." Astarion's nose wrinkled in disgust as the word left his lips. He watched Mercy with clear disapproval writ in the furrow of his brow. The corner of his lips turned down into a displeased frown. "Yet, you nearly got yourself killed because you're impulsive like one."

Mercy's tail flicked like a viper's, frustration bubbling over into the whip of the appendage as they lifted their gaze to meet Astarion's. "I thought this wasn't a lecture."

"It's not." Astarion snaked his arms around the sorcerer's torso, pulling them down flush against him. He held them tightly, burying his face into the top of their head and inhaling deeply. "Then we met that vile woman. All I could imagine is your anger making you do something impulsive again."

Mercy's entire body tensed for a moment. The spikes along the sides of their tail bristled for a moment, but shrunk back down to their smaller size the sorcerer forced themself to relax into his embrace. They could feel the unnatural rise of his chest as their scent filled the empty cavity where his dead heart lay still.

"You were worried." It was a question, but it came out a breathy, surprised statement as they watched him. It wasn't like they hadn't been injured before, and it was certainly not the worst during their travels so far, but it was the first time they had taken a since his confession.

It was the first time he had nearly lost the sorcerer since making it clear his feelings for them were real.

Mercy rolled their eyes, a heavy sigh shrinking them down as the air left their lungs, making them feel small in Astarion's embrace. He gave them a gentle squeeze, their only acknowledgement that he heard them.

Astarion reclined back against the pillows once more, his gaze coming to settle on Mercy's when their head tilted back so they could peer at him. The sorcerer's eyes squinted, watching him warily for a moment, then slid their hands down to press against the mattress again. They slid themself up then took his calloused hand and pressed it against their heart, palm flat where it beat against their ridged chest.

"We've both done stupid shit," they reminded him with a pointed look that had him shrinking beneath their gaze, "but we made it. All I can promise is that I will not make that mistake twice." Mercy's eyes softened as they watched Astarion. His own concern seemed to seep out of his tensed muscles, allowing him to relax against the sorcerer's hoard of pillows.

Astarion glanced at their throat where dark crimson dots and angry red skin marked where he had supped their ichor, at Mercy's insistence. The taste of their blood still on his lips, their very essence was now touching across every sense he had. Astarion let out an exasperated sigh, though his hand lingered for a moment longer before he tugged Mercy down to nestle in the crook of his arm.

"Good. It was a waste of perfectly good blood." He licked his lips hungrily as he hummed a displeased little noise.

Mercy propped their head against his chest, mindful of the horns curling above their crown. "Perhaps, but you can't say you didn't enjoy watching that one guy choke on his own blood. You become such an excellent shot when you think I need help," they teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"Oh, yes. That was absolutely delightful." Astarion snickered, his dangerous smile widening to flash sharp teeth. "I didn't think you needed help. You needed help. Don't be obtuse." He lifted his hand opposite of the one cradling Mercy and pressed his pointer to their forehead, giving it a gentle poke.

Mercy's nose wrinkled. "I know," they sighed as they batted the hand away.

"You should probably get some rest. I doubt Karlach will carry you if you're too tired to walk tomorrow." Astarion snorted and lowered his arm to rest across his chest. He extended his fingers out to the sorcerer. Mercy slid one of their hands over to take his, fingers curling to link with Astarion's.

Mercy rolled their eyes at him, though the sorcerer snickered. "Yeah, yeah." They waved their free hand dismissively. The movement caused the lights above to suddenly disappear, dark shadows devouring everything but the glow of Mercy's mismatched eyes.

Mercy stole one final kiss, a gentle peck to the corner of Astarion's lips, before they settled against him. Eyes drifting shut, they felt both his arms wrap around them, holding their form tightly against him. He'd hold them through the night, until the moment their Urges would strike.