Summary: Astarion and Tav are both struggling with their emotions as they journey through the Shadowlands. When Astarion gets injured, Tav takes it upon themselves to nurse him back to health, despite their complicated relationship.
Warnings: Astarion gets hurt, Emotional Constipation, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Massage, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Tav takes care of Astarion, sub!Atarion, Light Dom/sub, bordering minimal really, Porn With Plot, Biting, Blood.
NSFW MINORS DNI
It had been a stray hex, a capricious twist of magic that had hurt him, as told by the doctor responsible for his care in the Last Light Inn. The tendrils of the hex had woven an intricate spell, rendering him unconscious. Right now, as his chest rises and falls rhythmically, you feel something like pain and protectiveness stir in your chest. Although you are aware that your connection is currently purely physical, you can't help but feel a flutter every time your eyes meet or a tightening in your chest whenever he faces danger.
Looking at his peaceful sleeping form, you touch his hair, keeping it out of the way of his eyes. Your fingers trace the contours of his face as you trace down his jawline. You wonder what kind of dreams come to him in these tender moments. Dreams you would love to share. To know all the things that go through the elf's mind.
His eyes suddenly open, and you get slightly startled, your hand hanging mid-air.
"What are you doing?" He raises one judging eyebrow, and squints at you through his eyelashes, but doesn't move out of your touch. His lips are curled into a small, tight grimace, probably still in pain from his wound.
You reach for the mug of water near the bed. "You look so peaceful when you sleep. Maybe you should spend more time like that. I like you way more when you are quiet," You say, a teasing tone lacing your words.
Astarion rolls his eyes, but he's also smiling a little.
"Yeah? Well, if you're so keen on me sleeping why not do me a favor and knock me out? The pain is unbearable as of right now" He says a bit sarcastically, but his voice is still soft and quiet, almost as if talking is painful, so you know there is a bit of truth there. He takes the mug and gulps down the water, then sets the piece back down on the bedside table.
He does appear miserable, even though his beauty remains as striking as ever. His eyes, usually filled with energy and mirth, seem drained of life, carrying heavy bags underneath. Though he is already pale, right now he looks paler than ever, and even his distinctive white locks, typically immaculate, fall disheveled and unkempt over his shoulders.
Your chest tightens at the sight, a vivid flashback of watching him fall during the combat flooding your mind. One moment, he was bravely battling alongside Karlach and the next, he was sprawled on the ground, so unnaturally still that it hinted at something fatally wrong. The memory of that moment lingers—the scream tearing from your throat, the frantic dash to reach him—where the world outside, the lurking shadow monsters, and your companions; all became a blur, drowned out by the overwhelming fear of losing him.
You release a shaky breath, and try to appear nonchalant "Well, I happened to leave my Warhammer outside, but if you give me a moment, we could arrange it," you say, a hint of playful sarcasm masking the genuine worry beneath.
Astarion snorts. "Please, I don't need the Warhammer. Just a firm slap should do it." He says while shifting on his bed. The movement makes the bedsheets rustle and reveals the bandages encasing his torso. His chest had sustained the most damage, with a deep cut that refused to heal and oozed a dark, murky liquid.
"You were out for a tenday," you inform him. "A stray hex hit you during combat and left you out cold. The wound didn't close, even with your vampiric and elf powers, so it had to be taken care of manually."
