Chapter Text
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The camp was quiet, surrounded only by the sounds of the wilderness.
Astarion had an ache of exhaustion that sunk deep into his bones. An all consuming constant feeling deep inside. The effects of the tadpole had been significant but the hunger never went away, despite the foray into madness where he could walk in the sun freely without incineration.
The night wrapped around the clearing of their camp. Air thick with the scent of damp earth, rich pine sap, and the faint smoke of a dying fire. The others had finally stopped moving about. No more cautious conversations spoken just low enough to test strangers who had become companions by necessity. Now there were only the sounds of the wilderness beyond the trees. Wind moving through the branches. Insects chirring in uneven rhythms.
This rag-tag collection of misfits that he had tethered himself too seemed insistent on doing everything possible to get themselves killed… heroically of course.
Exhaustion pressed into him in a way that felt unfamiliar. This ache was a dull heaviness that clung to his limbs and made every breath feel slow. Two centuries of being a vampire had taught him many things, but weariness like this had rarely been one of them.
Working this hard in the interest of saving others, absolute madness.
The group hadn't suspected anything about him. Who would possibly think a vampire could walk in the sun?
The biggest downside of this arrangement as far as he could see was that despite his multiple attempts, this group clearly wasn’t going to be easily wooed by his persuasion. Their brooding leader was a massive wall of strength and seemed to have no interest outside of his own attempts at valiance.
None of them knew what he truly was.
He watched them with quiet attention. The rise and fall of sleeping chests. The slow shift of someone turning in their bedroll. The soft crackle of embers settling deeper into the fire.
Blood. He needed blood.
The previous night had been successful and he found an unlucky boar to drain under the moonlight. Normally a meal like that would have satiated him for months. After far too long sustaining himself with the few drops that Cazador saw fit to give in the form of rats and other vermin, that should have been a feast, more than enough.
But freedom tasted intoxicating and dangerous.
He had no idea why any of this was possible. The fact that he was still alive felt unlikely enough, and holding onto the hope that it might last longer than a fleeting moment seemed unrealistic at best and impossible at worst. The aches of the day’s efforts pained his body as Astarion readjusted his position near the fire. He hadn’t pushed himself this hard in years. Picking up a bow and arrow and re-learning fighting techniques he thought was just a distant memory from his past.
This tadpole had changed him but the hunger remained. He could feel himself drawing closer to the fire where his companions slept before he was even aware of what he was doing.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
Astarion could almost taste the siren song that thumped in his ears.
I should resist.
The thought came easily enough, clear and sensible, the sort of logic he had relied on for centuries to keep himself alive. Feeding from the strangers who slept only a few paces away was completely reckless. These were not helpless victims dragged into Cazador’s kennels. These were armed adventurers who would not hesitate to drive a stake through his ribs if they caught him looming over their throats in the dark.
He knew this... yet the curiosity refused to quiet.
It crept through his mind like a persistent whisper, impossible to silence. He could smell them from where he sat. Warm blood beneath living skin, steady heartbeats pulsing softly through the night air. The scent alone stirred something sharp in his chest, something hungry that had been growing stronger since dusk. It made his mouth feel dry. His fangs pressed faintly against his lower lip as instinct stirred.
Just one taste.
The thought slipped in before he could stop it.
Just enough to take the edge off.
His gaze drifted across the camp again, lingering on the sleeping forms scattered around the dying fire. A bedroll shifted slightly as someone turned in their sleep, then settled again. No one stirred. They were all so vulnerable like this.
It would be so easy.
The idea felt almost reasonable in his mind, though some distant part of him knew that logic had begun to blur. Hunger had a way of softening caution, smoothing over the sharp edges of common sense until reckless thoughts sounded perfectly harmless.
Maybe?
Each footstep closer to the sleeping Paladin felt like it took an eternity, the echo of nature completely tuned out as the sound of Clive’s heartbeat drew Astarion closer. Astarion moved with careful precision, placing each foot so lightly that the forest floor barely stirred beneath him. The sounds of the wilderness slowly faded from his awareness as he approached. The wind through the branches and the restless murmur of insects became distant, unimportant things. His attention narrowed until only one sound truly remained.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
Hovering inches from his neck the urge was all consuming, he was so close to something his body yearned desperately for but had eternally been denied. It was right there, waiting for him. Just under the soft skin that draped across the nape of his neck. The hollow ache in his throat sharpened as instinct stirred, and Clive’s pulse continued its steady rhythm, completely unaware of the predator standing above him.
The shift in air was minor but in an instant Astarion froze as Clive’s eyes fluttered open and he fumbled to rise in his bedroll
“Shit.”
So THIS is how I die…lovely.
“What are you doing?” Clive rasped from his throat, the proximity and the context of the compromising position he woke up from, making him clearly uncomfortable.
Well it was nice while it lasted I suppose. This man is going to tear me to shreds.
Aware that any explanation would likely be insufficient, Astarion went with something novel, for him at least, the truth.
“It’s not what it looks like,” desperation in his tone as he attempted to explain himself, “I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just needed - well, blood.”
Silence. Torturous silence.
Clive’s face, usually controlled, had become unexpectedly transparent. Astarion watched every small shift with growing tension, his body held perfectly still beside the paladin. Clive’s brow slowly drew together as he tried to make sense of what he was asking. His eyes stared ahead without focus, searching through half-formed thoughts while panic still clung to him. Confusion settled across his features first, followed by the uneasy tension of someone realizing something was wrong.
Astarion felt his stomach tighten.
Clive looked like a man turning over fragments of memory, trying to place together pieces of a puzzle he couldn't see clearly.
Astarion’s gaze flicked to Clive’s hands for the briefest moment. Strong hands. The sort that carried a sword with ease and the sort that would not hesitate if their owner woke to find a vampire crouched inches above his throat.
Gods. What a stupid risk, what was I thinking.
The deep rumble of Clive's voice stopped Astarion's mental spiral.
“My blood? Why?”
Astarion now sitting back giving more distance between him and Clive thought of what to say next. He could lie but this honesty thing seems to be working.
“Well, I drink it.”
More silence.
“I don’t know if you have them from where you are from but… I am,” the last words thick in his mouth, “I am a vampire… well, a vampire spawn to be exact. All of the hunger without any of the perks.” He said with a slight flourish of his hands.
“A vampire, like undead?”
Good, at least he has some frame of reference. “Yes," Astarion continued, “My master never allowed me to feed on thinking creatures but I am so slow from the fights today that I thought…nevermind forgive my intrusion.”
Moments later, a brush of thought rushes into Astarion’s mind, their tadpoles linking in an instant. Astarion watches as the familiar pangs of insatiable hunger rolls through the expression painted on Clive’s face. He didn’t want to let him know how desperate he was, but Clive’s mental presence, once he adjusted to the sensation, was comforting and kind.
“I am too slow with all this valiant rescuing we have been doing and well I thought perhaps...”
Clive sat for a moment and let the silence hang. Likely pondering the multitude of ways this could end badly. Did he believe his intentions or was this the end of his foray into freedom?
Clive looked at Astarion in a way where he saw more than just the surface of a man who worked so hard at pretending that a deeper side of him even existed. Astarion was bare before him and at his mercy with just his gaze. Scarred tissue of his face barely visible in the low light of the campfire. In this rare moment of vulnerability Clive truly saw him… and it was terrifying.
“How can I help?”
Astarion’s jaw slackened as he turned Clive’s question over in his mind, slowly processing the words. Does he actually still trust me or is he a complete idiot? Of all the reactions Astarion expected, this reaction was beyond comprehension.
“Really?” His voice sounded weaker and more desperate than he intended. He adjusted his stance leaning into the personal space that Clive had created when he first woke up. “Do you trust me?” A stupid question but maybe this man could be manipulated into giving Astarion exactly what he wanted.
Clive sat with the question for a moment before he spoke again.
“Honestly… no I don't trust you.”
The quiet admission made Astarion’s fragile hope falter. The spark of anticipation that had begun to creep into his expression dimmed almost immediately, his posture stiffening as disappointment settled in.
“However,” Clive continued, steady and firm, “if the hunger you’re feeling will put the rest of us in danger, then I want to help. I won’t allow someone under my leadership to suffer.”
The words struck Astarion harder than he expected.
His eyes widened slightly as he took in the paladin before him, caught completely off guard. For a moment he simply listened to the echo of the offer in his mind, trying to make sense of it.
Was he truly that selfless?
People did not offer themselves so easily. Not without expectation. Not without some hidden cost waiting beneath the surface. He searched Clive’s expression for it and found nothing except calm resolve.
“I promise I only need a taste…” Astarion said quietly.
The words sounded like a simple reassurance, a soft plea meant to ease Clive’s concern. Yet as they left his mouth, Astarion realized the promise was just as much for himself.
I can control myself.
Clive responded by relaxing and leaning back on his elbows. Repositioning his body granting easier access to the sweet nectar beating inches away. This is really happening, Astarion thought. He had a willing participant for an act he never dared indulge in. His master never let him savor the essence of any of his former victims and the tantalizing proposition of finally having something he so longed for was mouthwatering.
Astarion braced himself by putting his arm on the ground behind Clive’s left shoulder. Cautiously leaning in closer to gain access to the bounty before him.
Clive’s neck was tantalizing.
His thick muscles tensed, sliding delicately beneath the tender skin on display. The sounds that had been faintly existing in the background were completely washed away as his focus became all consumed.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
Baring his fangs, he glanced up at Clive’s face one last time. Seeking assurance that this was welcome and a wooden stake was not waiting for him moments after he indulged. Clive's expression was one that Astarion couldn't place. Not confusion or apprehension, not even fear. It was softer, akin to the same kindness that always seemed to fill this man’s eyes. He didn't know the emotion because he had never felt it but it was something similar to what he imagined compassion to look like.
Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.
Every fiber of his being pulled him closer. The hunger that had been whispering all evening now surged through him in a sharp, electric wave. Anticipation prickled along his skin and down his spine, setting his nerves alight. His fangs ached with it, pressing against his lip as the scent of warm blood filled his senses.
For a brief moment he hesitated, clinging to the last thin thread of restraint.
Then it snapped.
Astarion leaned in and bit.
Clive’s reaction was small. Little more than a mild tightening of muscle beneath Astarion’s lips as his teeth pierced his skin.
The instant blood touched his tongue, the rest of the world vanished.
Warmth flooded his mouth, rich and thick, carrying a taste so vivid it made his breath hitch. It slid down his throat in slow, intoxicating swallows that spread heat through his chest with every drop. The flavor was deep and bright all at once, copper threaded with something vibrant and alive that made his senses sharpen.
The warmth gathered in his chest, filling a space that had felt hollow for so long. From there it spread outward through his body in slow waves, sinking into cold limbs and stiff muscles until every nerve hummed with new life. His fingers wrapped slowly around the back of Clive's neck, pulling his face closer into his shoulder without even registering the tender motion.
Beneath him, Clive’s breathing rose and fell in a steady rhythm. Each breath shifted warm skin against Astarion’s lips. Each pulse beneath the bite pressed fresh life into his mouth. The sensation blurred together until he could feel the paladin’s heartbeat almost as if it were his own, strong and constant against his senses. Overwhelming in the best possible way.
The sensations pooled beneath his ribs, spreading through him until his body felt almost weightless with it. The quiet ache of hunger dissolved into something deeper and far more dangerous. Something close to bliss.
For a moment Astarion simply drank, lost in the warmth filling him drop by precious drop, the world reduced to the rhythm of breath, pulse, and the living heat flowing into him. He wanted to drown in this feeling, to cover himself entirely in the emotions flowing through him.
“Astarion.” Clive’s voice brushed against his ear, quiet and close, the sound only inches from his face. It cut through the haze just enough to reach him.
For a moment Astarion struggled to understand what he was hearing. His mind was still wrapped tightly around the warmth pouring down his throat, every swallow sending another wave of heat through his chest. He did not want to stop. The hunger that had tormented him for so long had finally quieted, replaced by a deep, intoxicating satisfaction that made it almost impossible to pull away.
His body resisted the idea immediately. He wanted another mouthful. Another pulse of warmth. Just a little more of that blissful fullness spreading through his limbs.
Beneath him, Clive shifted again and let out a rough cough.
The movement forced Astarion to notice things he had been ignoring. The paladin’s body had grown heavier beneath him, the steady strength in his posture beginning to sag. Even in the dim light Astarion could see the change in his complexion. The healthy warmth had faded from Clive’s skin, leaving behind a creeping pallor that seemed to grow more pronounced with every passing second.
“Astarion.” Clive said his name again, this time with more conviction. His free arm lifted and settled firmly on Astarion’s shoulder, the grip steady despite the weakness creeping into his body. Clive then pushed the vampire back, away from his throat in a swift, firm motion.
“Yes… sorry,” Astarion murmured as he finally pulled his fangs free. Greedy drops dripping from the corners of his mouth.
The warmth vanished the instant Astarion drew back. Cold emptiness rushed in to replace it, sharp and immediate, leaving his mind grasping for the sensation that had filled him only moments before. The hunger stirred again at the edges of his thoughts. Two small droplets of blood welled from the punctures and began to trail slowly down Clive’s neck.
The thin scarlet lines lingered on Clive’s skin and Astarion leaned forward impulsively, drunk on the sensation.
His tongue traced along the thin trails of blood, gathering the remaining drops with careful precision. The motion was slow and curiously intimate. Each lingering taste sent a faint echo of warmth through him, just enough to quiet the returning ache for a moment longer.
Clive reacted to the touch and rushed to lean back on his elbows in an effort to create more distance.
Shit, was that too much?
“Apologies, I just…” the rest of his words stuck in his throat. Panic on his face he had taken Clive’s generosity too far.
Clive, visually uncomfortable at the level of intimacy that Astarion was offering him, tried to gain his composure.
“So how do you feel?” Clive asked, clearing his throat.
“Amazing,” the word like satin on his tongue, another word didn’t exist to describe this feeling. He was in amazement of how all this felt.
“My head is more clear than it has been this entire nightmare of a trip.” Astarion said, speaking more unbridled truth in his blood drunk state.
Astarion straightened, the movement unhurried as he rose from where he had been crouched atop of the muscular man. The embers cast a low orange glow across the clearing, their light flickering over the scattered bedrolls and the dark shapes of the surrounding trees. Night pressed in from every side, thick and cool after the lingering warmth still humming faintly through his body.
He brushed the dirt from his trousers out of habit, smoothing the material with a distracted motion. The simple action gave him a moment to collect himself, to push down the lingering pull of hunger that still lingered faintly in the back of his mind.
When he looked up again, his eyes met Clive’s.
The paladin was still seated near the fire where Astarion had left him, his posture steady despite the visible drain of color from his face. The firelight caught in his features, casting sharp shadows along the lines of his jaw and brow. Even now his gaze remained firm and direct, watching Astarion with a quiet intensity that was difficult to ignore.
“I am going to go hunting now,” Astarion said at last, his voice softer than usual in the quiet camp. He hesitated for the briefest moment before continuing. “But… thank you.” The words that followed felt unfamiliar on his tongue but they escaped before he could reconsider them. “This is a gift, you know,” he added quietly. “I won’t forget it.”
For a moment the night seemed to settle around them, the crackle of the fire and the distant murmur of the forest filling the silence that followed. Clive held his gaze, his expression steady and unreadable. After a moment, he gave a single firm nod.
The rush of sensations and sounds were flooding every aspect of Astarion’s cognition. The warmth of Clive’s blood still pulsing inside of him. The feelings were so intense and he felt more alive than he had in over two centuries. Perhaps ever.
Slinking into the darkness of the shadows, he was off to find more blood.
Wonder if he will let me do this again… Astarion pondered as he faded into the night.