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loquaciousquark · 3 months ago

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From @maybethings and @blackestnight: wallflower

From @compels and anonymous: daffodil-flavored spider flower

Wallflower: fidelity in misfortune or adversity

Daffodil: new beginnings

Spider flower: elope with me

And you thought the last fill was indulgent. Have some utterly unrelenting sap, and then an argument, and then more sap. 5800 words.

Gradually, over the course of several minutes, Tav became aware of the fact that she was happy.

Only a handful of times in her memory had she recognized the contentment as it happened. Mostly the realization had come only with idle retrospection—tendays, months, years later—and with a bitter nostalgia that it had all slipped by so easily, without her noticing.

Not this time, though. This time, with Astarion’s cool arms twined around her shoulders, her head tucked firmly against his chest, and their limbs tangled up in both luxurious satin sheets and afterglow, Tav was happy and she knew it.

Gods. Lliira herself would struggle to match this joy, surely. Tav trailed her fingers idly up Astarion’s arm, then cupped his cheek as she kissed the underside of his chin. He gave a drowsy, questioning hum, tightened his arms around her, and buried his nose in her hair with a frank fondness that nearly finished her off altogether.

Tav grappled with her own instinct to succumb, to lay her head back down against his chest and let his shallow, steady breathing carry her off to sleep. The question won, but barely. “Astarion?”

“Hmm?”

Even his voice was relaxed. She felt like she’d chucked a rock at a window to watch it shatter. “Never mind. I’ll go to sleep.”

Astarion’s laugh was a quiet rumble in his throat. “It’s rude to tease if you don’t mean to follow through, darling. Out with it.”

“Oh, hells.”

Tav sat up beside him. The loss of contact was almost painful, but the curiosity was stronger still, and he didn’t seem to mind when she ran her fingers through his hair and tucked a curl behind his ear, only hummed and leaned into the touch. Such a simple affection. Such an honest, simple—

“I enjoyed today,” she said instead, ruthlessly crushing the sentiment. “From start to finish. I had a wonderful time with you.”

“Oh?”

“Mm. I wasn’t sure this morning, when—well, you know—”

“When the door to the bath gave way?” His red eyes flashed with amusement, and Tav groaned. Even now heat rushed to her throat at the memory. A perfectly innocent morning tryst in their room’s private adjoining bath, dawnlight spilling over them both amid the smell of cardamom and jasmine—and the room’s very locked door yielding to a housemaid’s key, followed immediately by the housemaid herself with a stack of laundered towels. Tav didn’t know which of them had been more shocked, though the fact that Tav had nearly drowned herself out of humiliation put the betting odds firmly in her corner. Astarion, of course, had found the whole thing hilarious, even sitting naked in a soapy copper tub.

“Yes, you bastard,” Tav said, covering his eyes with her fingers. “You horrible man. Don’t laugh at me.”

“I’ll laugh at you whenever I like,” Astarion said archly, pulling her hand from his eyes, but his mouth as he kissed her fingertips was gentle. “Besides, you had your little revenge, didn’t you? Your own private prayer to Helm, right in the middle of that lovely expensive market.”

“Hoar, you blaspheming tosser.”

“I don’t care in the slightest.” He pushed up on one elbow to kiss her, very brief and very light, just as her own fingers had been as they’d dipped into his pockets that morning, exchanging every gem and jewel he’d lifted from the shop’s cases for pebbles and bits of broken shell. His face as they’d left the shop—preening pride replaced in an instant with utter indignance—had made her laugh hard enough she’d cried. “I’ll have my own revenge, you know,” he purred. “Try and stop me.”

“Never,” she said against his mouth. He laughed again, then flopped back to the tasseled pillow, one arm thrown carelessly above his head.

Gods, how beautiful he was like this. Happy, sated, boneless as a sack of meal. She could drink in the sight of him for a thousand years and still be thirsty at the end of it.

“You’re staring, darling.”

“I love you,” she said, as if in explanation, and felt him give the little shiver he always did when she said she loved him and meant it. “You were the most handsome man in the room tonight, you know. Not that you need me to tell you.”

“I think I’d like you to tell me anyway.”

The words were breezy, but she could hear the faint, tremulous thread of uncertainty beneath. Even Sune’s woven sash couldn’t contain how much she loved him. She wanted to curl over him like a bird, wings spread wide as she could to keep him from all harm. Not that he’d tolerate that sort of glossy protection; he’d just as soon take a hissing, clawed swipe at her himself if she tried. Instead Tav kissed his forehead, then the tip of his nose, and pushed up from the bed.

His voice was outraged. “And where do you think you’re going?”

“Just give me a minute, would you?” Tav stretched, took brief advantage of the silver ewer on the bedside table to clean herself off, and strode over to the quietly crackling hearth.

The fireplace was beautiful, the mantle ornate and elegant, as was the rest of their rented room. The finest suite of the finest lodging-house in the glittering city of Athkatla, decked crown to baseboard in brass and cloth-of-gold and carved oak polished to a mirror shine. Three servants had spirited away their belongings into drawers and wardrobes within minutes of their arrival; two more waited below-stairs, ready for the whim of the bellpull beside the bed. The great window on the west wall, heavy curtains drawn now with night, overlooked the shining bay, which had teemed in the sun this afternoon with merchant-ships flying flags dyed rich as gemstones.

And here, thrown with thoughtless grace over the back of the damask armchair set before the fire, was Astarion’s suit from their evening gala. It was one of her favorites: black worsted wool with gold peacocks stitched over the breast and back, gold piping on the sleeves and belt, more black and gold stitchwork accenting the long, lean cut of his trousers. He’d worn the sapphires she’d given him at his throat and on his fingers, alongside the ring from Avernus which he never removed, and when she’d seen him come from the bathing room fully dressed, idly adjusting a cufflink just so, her mouth had gone dry as the Skyfire Wastes.

Gods, she was flushing now at the memory alone. Tav plucked the trousers from the chair and folded them, along with the starched, ruffled white shirt he’d worn beneath the coat, and set them both atop the gilt table nearby. The jacket itself she slipped over her own shoulders in a moment of fancy. The sleeves were long enough to drown her hands past the fingertips; the hem landed halfway down her thighs. The brass toggles glanced coolly against her bare chest and stomach, like stones skipping down a stream. She turned to Astarion, arms spread. “I don’t think it has the same effect, do you?”

“No, my sweet,” Astarion said slowly, but his eyes had sharpened to a piercing, avid stare, dangerous and hungry as a blade. “I can’t say it’s the same at all.”

Her stomach lurched wonderfully, and a frisson of that same desire from only an hour ago began to coil again in her blood. But she had a point, gods damn, and instead Tav scooped up her own forgotten dress from the floor beside the chair, busying herself with brushing away the dust from the deep cerulean silk, straightening the beautiful lace netting at the wide collar, at the cuffs of the long sleeves. A thousand pearl buttons down the back, and Astarion’s elegant fingers trembling, trembling, as he feverishly worked them open before the fireplace…

“The silk’s already crushed, darling. No need to maim it further.”

Tav laughed, the reverie broken, and eased her grip on the gown. “I told you I didn’t know how to care for such expensive things. I should have hung it up right away.”

The fire in his eyes had tempered, the lust banked to something more patient and smoldering. He propped his head on his hand as he watched her. “And deprive the laundresses of their sole joy and purpose? No, pet, I think your time was much better spent.” He licked his lips lasciviously. “Perhaps I could remind you again. Right now.”

“Do you remember that woman from the party?” Tav said instead, returning the dress to its padded hanger, shutting it away in a wardrobe carved with foxes and hunting dogs. “The one with the silver feathers in her hair, and the necklace made of ropes of rubies?”

His look flickered with surprise, but he only raised a brow. “I suppose she left a vague impression. Painted nails, a very tacky sort of fur stole. A general air of grasping desperation. This is whom you’ve been pondering so acutely all evening?”

“Yes. No. Not all evening.” Tav rolled up her too-long sleeves and went to the sideboard. She poured herself a glass of burgundy wine from a crystal decanter, took a sip, and leaned against the back of the armchair. “She was the richest woman in the room. Did you know that? She could buy every gem in the Diamond Dragon twice over without denting her fortune in the slightest. She practically holds court at the Shadowgates House, even though her mother was only a minor marchioness from the Lathkule family.”

“How suddenly you’ve acquired all this information.”

“The duke from Tarm was very drunk and very eager to share.” She took another sip of wine, considering him. “She fell in love with you the moment you walked through the door.”

“Did she?” Ah, there was the badly hidden triumph. He ran his fingers through his curls with absent flair. “Well! Perhaps her taste isn’t beyond redemption.”

“You didn’t notice? She stared at you all night, along with her little flock of gauzy geese. They might have had fishing lines hooked to their noses for how they followed you the whole evening.”

“No, my dear, I can’t say I did.” His expression was at once gloating and aggrieved. “This delightful little tidbit came to you from your Tarmian duke as well, I suppose?”

“No.” Tav was now hiding behind her wineglass like a coward, and she knew it. “She told me that part herself. Right before she offered me fifteen thousand gold danters to leave you and never show my face in Athkatla again.”

All the mirth drained from his expression like she’d opened a tap. He fell carefully, precisely still; his tone went sharp as flint. “Oh? Is that so?”

“I’m afraid it is.”

“And what did you say, my love?”

“I said that I’d sooner drink from a Luskan gutter than consider something so despicable. I said if she ever spoke to either of us again I’d have her face plastered on every public placard from here to the Gate with her direct address and a golden promise to the first person to pinch her jewel-case.” Tav gave a crooked smile. “I wanted to tell her that she was now banned from our duchy, only I couldn’t remember where we’d said we were from.”

“Selgaunt, darling. Sembia.” His eyes glittered dangerously. “And then?”

“And then I stole two of her ruby chains and hid them in the pudding, and I slit the lacings of her gown so that it would all come loose the next time she danced.”

“That explains the flurry of organza during the second gavotte. I did wonder. Come here.”

Her heart in her throat, Tav set down the wineglass and went. Astarion pushed aside the satin sheets and sat up on the edge of the bed as she approached, and as soon as she was within reach he grasped the collar of her borrowed jacket and pulled her down into a kiss.

It was a searching kiss, a question she didn’t know quite how to answer. She tried anyway, cupping his face in both hands, curling her shoulders into him, lingering as long as she could in every touch. His hands gentled on her collar, then slid beneath it to twine around the back of her neck.

Eventually, slowly, he pulled away. Tav blinked dazedly, trying to force the world back into focus, and when she found Astarion’s face again she was surprised to see only a thoughtful appraisal there. His thumb stroked up the line of her throat, bumping over the small divots left among her freckles from many quiet evenings, then down again.

“Astarion? What is it?”

“Fifteen thousand gold danters,” he said slowly, that eyebrow rising once more.

“By all the pride of Memnor,” she sighed. “Don’t tell me you’re going to be smug.”

“Oh? Shouldn’t I be?” He laughed and slid his hands down to loop around her waist beneath the jacket. “To think, the greediest little wretch I’ve ever known still manages to prize my heart above enough coin to buy a small nation. Darling, it’s gratifying, truly.”

“Oh,” she said, momentarily disarmed. She’d expected him to be pleased the woman had offered the sum in the first place, not that Tav had loved him enough to reject it. “Astarion, did you—you can’t have thought for a single moment I’d have taken the money.”

“Of course not. I’m worth at least twice that.”

By all the living gods. He was lying.

Her vision went white, and she yanked away from him like he’d burst into flame. “You bastard. You utter wanker. How dare you think I’d have considered fifteen thousand—thirty thousand—a million gold danters! She could have offered me the keys to all the vaults of Evereska and I would have laughed in her face.”

“For suggesting you needed keys, I’d have laughed right along with you.”

“Shut up. How dare you think there might ever be a price to be put on what we—what we’ve managed, against all odds—” Tav whirled away, arms crossed tight over her chest, gaze darting blindly over the settee, the crystal decanter, the plush hand-dyed rug. She ran out of things to look at and spun back to Astarion, livid. “You bloody—horrible man. Oh, you awful—not even she made me this angry when she asked. I wanted to laugh when she said it. Because the moment she did I looked over at you, and you smiled at me, and I could tell just from looking that you were—that you were happy to see me—really, honestly happy, and I thought—”

“Tavish—”

“Don’t speak. Don’t you dare say a word.” He looked seriously alarmed now, half-risen from the bed, but Tav was too angry to stop. “She asked me how much it would take for me to leave my husband. And in all the confusion of what she wanted I didn’t even question it—didn’t even consider it wasn’t really true. I forgot how much was the party mask and how much was real. She didn’t know the marriage was pretense and for a few minutes, neither did I.”

“Tav, darling—”

“And then when I did realize—when I remembered it was all a farce and that you weren’t really—” She raked her fingers through her hair, dislodging the knot she’d tied, and wound it back up in a frenzy. “Today was so wonderful, Astarion. All of it. The stupid incident in the bath and walking with you through the market district and stealing your lifts and every single second of that awful party. Not because of what we did—but because it was all with you. She asked me to leave my husband and my first thought wasn’t ‘I haven’t got one,’ it was ‘nothing could make me leave him.’ And then when I remembered it wasn’t real, I was shocked by how much I felt—how much I wanted—”

Ilmater’s rack, what she wouldn’t give for the ceiling to crash down around her. Astarion was watching her with wide eyes, lips parted enough she could see the tips of his fangs; his hands were clenched in the sheets. Oh, gods, what a fool she was making of herself, but the words refused to be still. “I love you, you stupid berk. I love you. Every moment I spend with you makes me happy. Even right now, when I’d like to throw you right out the window into the bay—there’s nowhere else in the world I’d rather be. Not for any number of danters, not for every diamond in Amn. I don’t want to be your wife as a lie to get into a ball; I want to be your wife so that the next time someone tries to buy you away from me, I can introduce his teeth to the back of his skull.”

Astarion gave a sudden, hollow sigh. She’d heard it before. It was the sound he made in battle when someone struck the air from his lungs without warning, when he’d failed to anticipate a blow.

Damn and damn and damn. What was she doing? Astarion stared at her as if she’d lost every last part of her mind, his shoulders stone-stiff against her wrath, blank shock painted across his features. His eyebrows had climbed so high they’d nearly disappeared behind the white curls.

Tav’s courage failed like a withered spell. She went back to the sideboard and refilled her wineglass with shaking hands—for the price they were charging a nonexistent duchess, she supposed it had to be excellent—and threw it back in two gulps. Perhaps she had lost her mind. She’d certainly lost her tongue, a lifetime of professional silence capsizing wholesale against some hurt feelings and a little annoyance.

At last she heard him rise, then a whispering shift of silk as he pulled on the ornate dressing gown the servants had laid out for him. She filled her wineglass a third time, but his pale, graceful fingers plucked it from her hand before she could drink. She didn’t fight the theft, but neither was she strong enough to face him; she took a few aimless steps towards the fire instead, her toes sinking into the rich carpet, and wrapped Astarion’s jacket more tightly around her.

The sound of the water lapping against the seawall below them roared like thunder; the fire in the hearth snapped like a whip. She clenched her jaw, trying desperately to keep the waver from her voice. “Astarion. Do you really think I’m that craven?”

“Oh? Is the penitent finally permitted to address the bench?”

He was closer than she’d thought. “You’ve never been penitent in your life.”

“It’s exhausting to always be right. One occasionally must try something new.” He came around the chair to stand between her and the fire, the dressing gown’s quilted lapels pulled snug to his throat, his face carefully blank. His shoulders were thrown back, Tav realized, as if steeling himself for a fight. “I don’t think it’s unfair to suggest you have a particular relationship with the common coin. An avaricious one, I mean, and one that occasionally borders on gluttony.”

She wanted to drink something very badly, but he was still holding her wineglass. “Ouch.”

“Don’t misunderstand me; it’s part of your charm. I’m certainly familiar with insatiable appetites, and if nothing else, it makes holiday shopping for you quite simple.” He hesitated. “But to suggest you would permit your—hunger, shall we say—to overpower the affection I know you hold for me—well. It was an unworthy thought. Unkind of me, and certainly unfair to you.”

“More than affection,” Tav mumbled. She pressed her lips together until the prickling behind her eyes faded. “Astarion, I would never.”

“I know,” he said, and if she didn’t know better she would think he was flustered. “But the doubt does creep in every now and then, even for someone this magnificent. So you can imagine that when a perfectly straightforward scolding transfigures itself into one’s lover suggesting a very unexpected—a rather—not necessarily unwelcome—ah.”

He was flustered. And tongue-tied as a schoolboy, that awful impassive mask fracturing under the weight of consternation.

She swallowed. “You think I’m mad.”

“Only in some ways.”

“I suppose it does sound insane when I say it out loud. I don’t know if you—I mean, I’d never once thought about it before—before you. Ever. It always seemed like a thing that only happened to people who owned houses and went out to work every morning and complained about the cost of bread always going up. But then you came along and changed everything about what I thought could be real—” A humiliated laugh slipped out. “Listen, just—just forget the whole thing, all right? I won’t bring it up again. I won’t—”

He took a quick, irritated step forward. “My love, would you kindly shut up? I don’t have marriage proposed to me every day. I’d like to seriously consider it.”

He’d like to—oh.

Oh.

Tav took a stunned, shaky breath. “Well, think out loud then. I don’t propose it very often myself.”

“One hopes not.” He drained the wineglass and set it aside. His voice was pensive, unsteady; he hadn’t fed in almost a day, but his high cheekbones were flushed pink. “I do wonder, though—why now?”

Heart of the Firehair, he meant it. He wasn’t shutting her out; he wasn’t taking flight into the nearest alley. The words tumbled out like a dam had shattered. “Because—gods! Because that awful woman came after you tonight and I wanted to throttle her for trying, no matter how much money she had or how many nobles were watching. Because we’ve been traveling together for months at this point, and if I haven’t stopped loving you by now, I never will. You complain incessantly. You steal my scents. You take all the bedcovers every night and I have to fight you to get them back. You don’t even sleep.”

“Darling, I had no idea you held me in such esteem.”

She batted away his sarcasm. “I wouldn’t change a moment of it, Astarion. Not a single moment. Every gripe, every time I wake up with cold feet, every time I have to steal back something of mine from your pack—it’s all—they’re like jewels to me. Every one of them. I keep—I’ve been hoarding them up like treasures, and it’s not enough, it’s never—I only ever want more. More of the memories. More of you, no matter how much I have already. Even a lifetime wouldn’t be enough.”

Astarion had gone very still. The firelight caught in his red eyes and flickered there; she thought he had stopped breathing. Hesitantly, she closed the distance and took his hands, and she was relieved when his grip instantly tightened.

“Every time I think I’ve begun to understand you,” Astarion started, then trailed off. He looked down, and Tav watched him run his thumb over the ring she had brought him from Avernus, the ring that shielded him from the blinding sun. “My dear, you amaze me. And you tolerate the worst of me, which is rather more impressive.”

“Your worst is still miles better than some people’s best.”

“Let’s not exaggerate for the sake of adoration,” he said, but there was a warmth there that sparked a painful, fragile hope. “You know, I never considered holy matrimony for myself. Not seriously. Oh, I had it offered a few times over the decades, and I suggested it myself here and there as part of a lure, but it only takes a few dozen lovers disappearing into Cazador’s dungeons for the idea to become simply part of the stage dressing.”

Her instinct was to deflect, to retract the idea altogether, but his expression—curious, thoughtful, no fear at all—silenced her. “I’m afraid to admit, darling, that was true even for you. My first friend in two centuries; the first lover in my memory I’ve had the pleasure of enjoying more than once. It simply never crossed my mind.”

She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his knuckles. His eyes softened considerably, and she realized he was breathing again. “I’m beginning to believe that may have been a mistake on my part,” he continued. “In fact, the lapse may have been unforgiveable.”

A thrill jolted through her. “Astarion…”

“It’s only very recently that I’ve permitted myself to imagine a future, you know. Any future at all, much less one with you in it.” His fingers slid along her wrist beneath the jacket’s overlong sleeves, and she realized he was searching for the old, faded marks of his own teeth. “But now that you’ve raised the possibility, I must confess the thought of a little formal acknowledgement of our arrangement—well, it might not be the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

Her hands were shaking. She felt like she was about to race into some great battle, her pulse thundering beneath her skin. “Oh, hells. Just say it straight out, would you?”

Astarion laughed. “I’m already terribly fond of the world knowing you’re mine,” he said, and then he smiled. It was a sweet, sincere smile, without any artifice at all, and his voice grew husky and tender. “And frankly, my love, when it comes down to it, I think I quite like the idea of being yours.”

The entire room seemed to dip underwater. All sound grew abruptly muffled—the hearth, the bay, even Astarion’s voice—and she clung to his cool hands as the only real thing in the world. Gradually, her own heartbeat began to thud again in her ears—very fast, very loud—and from the growing satisfaction on his face, Astarion could hear it too.

Tav forced herself to clear her throat. “You—you don’t have to decide right away. You could take some time, think it over.”

“My dear, I’m the first to admit I’m guilty of a great many things, but excessive planning is not one of them.” He draped her hands over his own shoulders, and Tav leaned into the embrace with a shudder of relief. The quilted lapels of his dressing gown were silky as sin against her cheek. “After two centuries of slavery, I hadn’t thought there were any surprises in the world left for me. I knew exactly what eternity looked like, and I couldn’t say I was excited at the prospect.”

His chin came to rest atop her head. “But you changed all that. You came and shattered every lock holding me down, even when the doors had been rusted shut so long I’d forgotten they were there. You didn’t just show me the possibility of a new world, you walked right into it beside me, and you refused to let me bring any of my chains with me on the way.”

Goldheart’s grace. He held her lightly, but Tav felt weightless as a bird, as if one strong breeze might carry her wholly off her feet. Her voice hardly sounded like her own. “You’re giving me a lot of credit for things you did yourself.”

“Don’t interrupt. You told me once that I was part of every future you could dream up for yourself. I’m trying to say that for some months now, I’ve had precisely the same notion about you.” He pulled back to look her in the eyes, and Tav realized with a shock that he was nervous. “You’re it, my darling. For better or worse.”

“Astarion,” Tav sighed, dizzy with joy, and she traced her thumbs over his beautiful cheekbones. “I love you so much more than fifteen thousand gold danters.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, oh, you louse. I wouldn’t give you up if Selûne herself spread the heavens at my feet.”

He laughed, but his arms tightened around her. “I rather like hearing that.”

“I mean it. If you ever again think for a single second that I’d simply trade you away, I’ll shave off every pomaded hair on your head. Eyebrows included.”

He made a noise of disgust, but when she twined her arms back around his neck, his smile squeezed Tav’s heart like a vise. She’d done that. She’d made him so happy he couldn’t hide it, had put that look of unvarnished, shining elation in his eyes. And if she had her way—if Tymora could spare them a single scrap of luck—she’d put it there again, and again and again, beyond counting, for the rest of her life.

His voice was low, rich. “Kiss me, darling.”

“Yes,” Tav gasped, and she surged up to his mouth.

Of course. Of course. Now she understood what he’d been searching for earlier, what her heart had fumbled to say. I’m here for good. Forever, for as long as you’ll have me. I’d have thrown her in the punchbowl if I’d thought we could get away after.

The kiss grew hot, her urgency flooding through every touch. He cradled her face like he was afraid to break her, but his fangs were sharp and pricking carelessly, and she didn’t care, she didn’t care. She loved his fangs and his temper and his complaints and every part of his bruised, scarred heart. He’d let her take it from him despite the pain, let her cup it in the cage of her fingers and hold it close, let her learn to keep it safe from all the world.

It will always be you. I will always, always, always choose you.

Astarion broke away, breathing hard. His palm rested along her throat, pressed to the hammer of her heartbeat. Tav laid her hand over his and couldn’t tell who trembled more.

“How lucky I am. The handsomest man I’ve ever seen, the most beautiful person in the room.” She hesitated, then blazed forward. “Mine for good.”

“For good, for bad, and for all the fun parts between.” He rested his forehead against hers and shut his eyes. “My lovely, foolish, perfect idiot. Impossible fortune may have finally found one of us, but I promise it wasn’t you.”

Her heart brimmed full enough to burst. She kissed him again instead, as tender as she knew how to make it. He made a soft, fervent, wanting noise as he pressed eagerly back against her, and she felt the moment settle itself like stained glass, beautiful and enduring, in the deepest part of her heart.

Yes. She’d make sure this moment stayed. This one would never slip away.

“I don’t have a ring yet,” she said at last against his mouth. “I’ll get one soon. Perhaps I’ll even pay for it.”

“You’ll do no such thing. Between your Reithwin scavenging and your little field trip to Avernus, it is decidedly my turn. Besides,” he added with faint uncertainty, “I think I’d rather like to do this properly. To have something made for you—only for you. Something that’s as beautiful as you are.”

“Astarion!”

“Oh, I quite mean it. If I failed to notice that covetous harpy at the gala tonight, it was because my attention was wholly absorbed by you. You were as brilliant as the sun, my dear, and lovelier than a waterfall of roses. I could hardly bear to look away.”

“Sune’s holy laurels,” Tav gasped, and she clutched at her chest. “You can’t just say things like that. You’ll kill me stone dead.”

His smile was smug and perfect. “You’ll have to get used to it, I’m afraid. You have a lifetime to try. And if you’re still not acclimated by the end of it—well! You’ll simply have to live forever.”

Tav brushed a wayward curl from his eyes. He let her, and she lingered, running her fingers through his velvet-soft hair. “I’m sorry I shouted at you.”

“And I ought not have doubted. I sincerely apologize.” He turned his head and kissed her fingertips. “There. Such a sturdy foundation for our future laid already.”

“You idiot,” Tav sighed, but his hands were playing now at the hem of her borrowed jacket, and his crimson eyes had taken on an unmistakable glint. All the ornate luxury of their suite seemed to vanish at once, save the enormous crown-canopy bed and its tousled satin sheets. His hands climbed further, his mouth dipping to her throat, and she gave a breathless laugh. “We’ll have to watch the time.”

“Oh? Why’s that?”

“I overheard the house staff after dinner tonight. They’re bringing the bill first thing in the morning.”

“Darling, I can’t say I care in the slightest.” His fangs scraped over her pulse-point, and she shuddered. “Perhaps we’ll sneak out before they arrive. Perhaps we won’t. Perhaps you’ll talk them down with that silver tongue of yours—or perhaps we’ll simply pay what they ask, hm? It might be a novel experience.”

The happiness was so bright she could hardly speak. How stupid that she had thought the day wonderful before, when it had only been the palest candle. His voice was fiercely warm, blatantly affectionate, and his hands sliding the black jacket from her shoulders were gentle enough to give her goosebumps.

Astarion, who could kill a man with a knife at sixty paces and complain about a chipped nail after; Astarion, who’d fought with her and for her from the moment they’d met, who loved her and would make a ring for her and marry her. Who trusted her, enough to kill the doubt for good.

She took his face in her hands. “I’ll never pay full price,” she breathed.

He laughed, delighted, and kissed her. His strong, graceful fingers slid between hers, taking her hand as surely as he’d stolen her heart, as surely as he’d given her his own in its place: the most perfect treasure she could imagine, no matter its cold stillness. Like a dream, the question that had started all this—the question she’d never actually asked��floated back through her mind. I had a wonderful time with you today. And you, Astarion? Did you, with me?

He tugged her down to the bed in a cloud of satin sheets. The answer burst through every stroke of his fingers, every careful brush of his lips. Yes, he said, yes, yes, and she gave herself up to the joy.

—

end.

#astarion #tav #baldur's gate 3 #tavstarion #i think i have enough prompts left to do one more fill #and then i'll put them all up on ao3!#i initially thought i'd do a prompt collections because the previous two were shorter but honestly at this point i'll probably just do #standalone oneshots #keep an eye out!#quark writes #flower prompt meme #caretaker meme

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