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“A professional cuddlist?” Astarion fished out his readers, squinting at the weathered coupon’s text, his grimace deepening with each absurd word. The fine print was a nightmare. Consent required. No nudity or ‘inappropriate behavior’ allowed. Hygiene? Mandatory. Payment in gold or–hells below–rare Sword Coast herbs. He clicked his tongue, annoyed. What fresh racket was Baldur’s Gate peddling now?
One line stopped him cold: Expires: Eleint 14th, 1492 DR. Two days left. Shit. Tav ditched him. Left him to fester in camp. Today might be his only shot to use this absurd thing–assuming they all survived whatever nonsense Tav was dragging the others into. He’d rather be anywhere but here, stewing in camp with his own thoughts, attempting to identify which of his shortcomings led Tav to leave him behind today.
Crouching by the equipment trunk, he glanced around. Withers was watching, unblinking, with his resting disapproval-face. But Astarion didn’t care. With a swift hand, he slipped the coupon and some glittering baubles into his pocket, all while Withers’ stare bored into him. If the mummy snitched, he’d just riddle it into some cryptic nonsense anyway.
Ugh. The camp rogue was not accustomed to being left behind. It was boring and, worse yet, gave him space with his own thoughts. Rifling through the camp chest was honestly the least chaotic thing they could expect from him after such a blatant snub.
The rest of the leftover toys in camp were busy enough, what with Karlach and Lae’zel working each other into a lather, eroticizing battle as brutes. Their grousing on about missing the fight hit home, though. Being left behind stung–he was the rogue, not some spare part. Did Tav really need both Gale and Wyll for one mission? Even if it was to rouse a dragon, Astarion had his doubts.
Jaheira’s voice rose above the din he was actively practicing to ignore, “Try not to break the furniture, you two.” Hells below, they were arm wrestling. And grunting. Just spare us the foreplay and fuck already.
Without so much as a word, he slipped out–a rogue-ish goodbye–and tracked down the ivy-choked cottage listed on the coupon. It was all moss and questionable vibes. If looks could smell… Honestly, if there wasn’t the rule about hygiene, he may have torn the coupon up and made a hasty retreat. This place looked like it reeked of celebrating natural body odors. A bell jingled as he pushed the door open. Surprisingly enough, the air smelled of eucalyptus and lavender, not body odor.
“One moment! Coming!” She sounded tired. And old. “Almost there!” Astarion’s eyes narrowed, scanning the herbalist’s shop inside. “Hang on!” Behind the counter, a list of remedies caught his eye:
Feverfew Tincture: Fevers and Headaches ~ 5gp
Willow Bark Tea: Nature’s Painkiller ~ 3gp
Troll’s Toenail Tonic: Stubborn Wounds / Thicken Skin ~ 12gp
Dragon’s Breath Balm: For Close Encounters with Dragons ~ 15gp
His eyes nearly rolled out of his skull at that one. Then came the kicker:
Satyr’s Stamina Elixir: Awaken the Slumbering Beast Within ~ 30gp
A breathless old woman bustled in. “What ails you, sir?” she asked.
“Oh, nothing a good nap and a pint of bl–” he started to snark, before she cut in.
“Maybe some Heart’s Ease Salve—for that restless mind, love.” He opened his mouth to dress her down, but not before she produced a jar and smeared cream on his brow. “Brooding Beauty Balm–for that scowl.”
He dodged her next swipe while pulling out an embroidered handkerchief and the crumpled coupon. “I’m here for, uh…” He extended his arm to read the faded print while wiping his face clean. “The Bear’s Embrace.” He arched an eyebrow, ready to deflect any potion-peddling jabs.
“Oh, of course, love! I’ll grab him.” Astarion considered complaining about a wait before he realized there was nothing time-sensitive to rush back to. Instead, he slumped into a rickety stick-chair, questioning any life choices he made to lead him to this point. Ultimately, the ruling against the Gur people in his magistrate days loomed large–his life’s pivotal fuck-up, apparently.
“Greetings, my friend,” A warm voice pulled Astarion from his downward spiral.
His jaw dropped. Halsin. Right there. Beaming like a gods-damned sunrise.
“A surprise to find you here, Astarion, but a welcome one,” Halsin said.
“Trust me,” Astarion replied, rolling his tongue over a fang, voice dry as bone, “I’m just as shocked.”
Halsin dismissed Elara with a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Astarion, take off your boots and follow me.” Astarion eyed the floor–clean enough–kicked off his boots, and trailed the barefoot cuddlist.
Nestled in the back of the cottage was Halsin’s “cuddlery.” The space featured a large window overlooking the garden, flooding the room with natural light and the scent of blooming flowers. It was furnished with a comfortable bed draped in soft, earth-toned linens, a wooden side table holding a candle, and a nest of pillows in one corner over a woven rug made from natural fibers. A few potted plants and hanging herbs added lush greens with pops of purples, reds and blues. Halsin motioned Astarion to join him in the pillow pile. Astarion dragged a stick-chair from the other side of the room and perched on it next to the pile, like a cat refusing a lap.
“I like to chat a bit first–it helps settle things.”
Astarion’s jaw clenched. Cuddling this bear of an elf? Laughable, if it weren’t so… imminent.
“We’ve shared plenty of time together,” Halsin went on, leaning forward, “but this is new territory for us.”
Astarion blew a curl from his eye, arms crossed tight. He could bolt back to camp, but the thought of Jaheira’s nagging–her smug herbal “cures” for his hunger–made him sneer.
“Astarion, this path is yours to choose. Does it call to you, or shall we turn back?” Halsin’s question snapped him back, like waking from a dream’s edge.
“Honestly? I don’t know.” Astarion uncrossed his arms, fists clenching and unclenching–a nervous tic usually burned off in battle.
Halsin nodded, unfazed. “We can try different things–holding hands, being held, or just sitting together. Whatever feels comfortable, let me know when you’re ready, yes?” Astarion gave a small nod.
“Speak if something displeases you, as will I. My needs are my own to tend, so rest easy.” Astarion nodded, skepticism creasing his brow. “Now the space. We can adjust the lighting, maybe light some candles. I can play forest sounds or keep it quiet. And there are calming scents if you’d like.”
Astarion rubbed his neck as he surveyed the room, considering what he would prefer. Having say over any part of his environment had been a novelty since he joined his motley crew. “Umm. The lighting is fine. What sounds?”
“The gentle babble of a brook, the song of birds, the whisper of leaves in the wind. Nature’s calming sounds.”
It felt good to be decisive, even if it was baseless. And to openly mock his dark ‘gift’ with daylight and…“Water. Running water please.” Halsin nodded, getting up and pouring a cup of water into a miniature self-replenishing fountain, initiating the soothing sounds of a babbling brook. “So how do we… Well, how does this start?”
Halsin’s smile warmed the room by several degrees. “The first step is yours, Astarion. How would you like it to begin?”
Astarion was annoyed. Not about answering a question with a question. Halsin was pushing him to be vulnerable. “Oh, I don’t know. With some light spanking and hair pulling?” This was Astarion’s comfort zone: pushing people away with sarcasm and sex. Halsin was either too smart to take the bait or too stupid to catch the sarcasm.
Halsin didn’t flinch. “This is about comfort and connection, not passion. Think of it as a safe, grounding moment.” The brawny elf set an oversized hourglass from some hidden nook somewhere onto the side table next to the bed. “Shall we pause here, or do you wish to continue?”
Earnestness was exhausting. “No.” Astarion sighed dramatically. “We could sit next to each other, I suppose.”
“Good. Where?”
Reticent, Astarion abandoned the chair for the pillow nest, fidgeting–arms crossed, hands clasped, finally settling palms-down on his knees.
Halsin nodded in acknowledgement. “This glass will mark our time, letting us drift. We’ll hear birdsong ten minutes before it ends to ease us out. Does that suit you?”
Nearly cutting off Halsin’s last word, Astarion cut in, “Yes. Oh. Do we need a safe word or… something?”
“Do you feel a safe word would serve us here?”
“I… I don’t know.”
“In this space, I’d encourage us to speak freely, as nature does–no need for coded words. Does that feel right to you?” It took effort, but Astarion managed to keep his eyes from rolling at Halsin’s continued insistence on consent.
“Ahh. Sure.”
“I can offer a cuddle in bear form—it’s strong but gentle, like a protective hug. Just warmth, no claws. Interested?”
Astarion scoffed. “Cuddling a bear? Halsin, darling, I’ve dodged enough beasts in my life without volunteering for a mauling. I’ll stick to pillows that don’t growl, thank you."
“Then as an elf I’ll remain, glad to share this with you.” Halsin turned the hourglass and settled beside the stiff little pale elf. Astarion tensed as their shoulders brushed. Halsin’s gaze softened, catching the rigid line of Astarion’s shoulders. “It’s alright, my friend,” he murmured, eyes closing. “Take a deep breath, let the tension melt away,” Astarion mimicked him, grudgingly.
“Would you like to put your head on my shoulder?” Astarion couldn’t bring himself to answer in any other way than slowly setting his head on Halsin’s shoulder. Halsin shifted slightly, angling his broad shoulder to better support Astarion’s head, like a sturdy oak cradling a wary bird.
“May I hold your hand, Astarion?” Astarion nodded, enjoying the feel of their fingers woven together–his slender and aristocratic, Halsin’s callused and yet soft. His mind began to spin in the face of the comfort. Too close. Too soft. Cazador’s hands were never this kind–always a price, always a trap. This… this was different. Wasn’t it? Astarion’s fingers twitched, a faint tremor betraying his unease. Halsin’s thumb brushed over his knuckles, slow and deliberate, like the steady ripple of a forest stream.
Minutes passed. Astarion’s mind raced, vacillating between Halsin's soothing touch and his struggle to be anywhere but inside his body. “Can I talk?” he blurted.
“Your voice is welcome here, always.”
“What’s this all about, then?”
Halsin exhaled slowly. “The city can be isolating, and people forget touch and nature. Here, I bring some balance back, earning coin to shield wild lands forever.” His explanation was measured and soothing. If Astarion had a means to capture his voice, he’d absolutely use it to help him trance at night. “I intend to establish a permanent nature preserve, protected from development. A safe haven for druids and a sanctuary for creatures displaced by urban expansion.” You can hear the smile in his voice. “I find this suits me better than whittling above a tavern.”
“And if Tav suddenly summons you for a quest? Do you just abandon your clients mid-hug?”
Halsin chuckled softly. “I’ve others who can take my place here if needed, but Tav’s managed without me so far. It’s given me room to focus on this work, and I’m glad for it.”
Astarion swallowed about three snarky retorts, letting them die on his tongue. It felt okay.
“May I rest my head upon yours?”
“Mhmm.” Permission slipped out unbidden. Astarion’s head tilted, just a fraction, pressing back against Halsin–a quiet, unconscious invitation for more.
They sat leaning on each other for several minutes, Astarion drifting to what Tav and the gang might be up to and then returning to his breath, his body. And his body ached. “Can we lie down? On the bed?”
“Of course.” Halsin assured. “Please, lead the way.”
Astarion curled up on the bed, his gaze fixed on the garden’s vibrance through the window, anchoring himself in the moment. “May I hold you from behind, my chest to your back?” Halsin asked. Astarion nodded. The bed dipped as Halsin spooned him–arm over his ribs, knees tucked behind his, chest a warm wall against his back. Astarion’s frame stiffened, coiled tight. Halsin’s arm loosened slightly, hovering just above his ribs. “I’m here,” he whispered, “but only as close as you allow.”
No bite came. No demands. Just heat, steady and safe. He hated how the touch eased his tension. He hated even more how vulnerable it felt to pull Halsin’s arm back to his body, the weight steadying and comforting. The rhythmic rise and fall of Halsin’s breathing warmed Astarion’s neck, their breaths slowly syncing as the faint scent of earth and pine from Halsin mingled with the floral breeze drifting through the window. Sunlight spilled into the room, casting a soft golden glow over them, amplifying the quiet intimacy of the moment.
This was danger. Intimacy had always been a trap–Cazador’s appraisals, his unpredictable cruelty. Astarion’s fists clenched. “May I stroke your hair?” Halsin’s gravelly whisper tugged him back.
Panic screamed run. But that speck of longing whispered stay. “Yes,” he breathed, focusing on the whisper. Halsin’s fingers carded through his curls, gentle. Astarion’s fists, clenched tight against the sheets, slowly unfurled. His breath hitched, then deepened, matching the calm rhythm of Halsin’s. Finally, something in Astarion’s gut unclenched. “Legs between mine?” he ventured. Halsin obliged, tangling them together. Astarion’s lips twitched–a fleeting, surprised smile breaking through. He let out a soft exhale, almost a laugh, as if startled by his own comfort.
Entwined, they lingered there–Halsin’s fingers threading gently through his hair–until Astarion slipped into a trance. His body, once rigid with doubt, now sank into Halsin’s warmth, molding to him as if loath to let go. Birdsong roused him–ten minutes left, per the timer. He feigned sleep, savoring Halsin’s light taps on his shoulder, then the warm hand on his ribs. Finally, he stirred.
“How are you feeling now, after this?”
Astarion mumbled, “Fine. Oddly… fine,” his guard lower than usual.
The walk back dragged. Halsin’s fingers in his hair. That warm breath on his neck. Why did it linger? The city’s noise felt sharp against the quiet of his memory, stirring an unfamiliar pang for more.
Tav’s crew stumbled in later, bloody and singed, chattering about an undead lightning dragon. Astarion ignored them, sorting his stash and dealing a solo round of three-dragon ante.
At night, he paced around, orbiting Halsin’s space, fists balled. Walk away, he thought. But the pull of that quiet warmth won. He sidled up to Halsin and began a conversation about nothing as the large elf prepared his space for rest. Astarion lingered near Halsin’s bedroll, hands twitching, debating retreat. “Mind if I sleep nearby? It’s… chilly,” he murmured, a flimsy lie.
Halsin smiled, ignoring the room’s warmth. “You are always welcome in this space, my friend. Rest easy.”
Halsin shifted, leaving room. Astarion settled close–not touching, but near enough to feel the elf’s steady heat. “That bear hug thing… might not be awful. Someday,” he muttered, only half-joking. Halsin’s chuckle softened the silence, and for once, the night felt less empty.