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Deth found themselves standing in front of Astarion’s tent, staring blankly at the entrance, but not moving. It was the kind of night when the world around them seemed too much. They already listened to a twenty minute lecture about Mystra and a stand-off between Wyll and Karlach when they shared their battle stories, competing over who’s got a better one. And not to mention that wretched headache tumbling inside the drow’s head.
In the search for peace and quiet, they ended up here — in front of his tent. It was as if the paladin came here on a pure instinct, drawn to something — or rather someone — inside it, every cell of their body inexplicably craving to hide away by his side.
As they were weighing whether they should disturb the vampire’s rest or not force their company on him, a sound of Lae’zel’s voice — harsh and commanding — reached Deth’s ears. She was scolding the troops for not getting a proper rest, and the drow did not want to be on the receiving end of that. So before they knew it, they were already sneaking into the tent while the githyanki did not yet notice them.
“Well, hello.”
The soft velvet voice made the paladin wince and turn around. Astarion was still up — sitting on the bedroll with a book in his hand. The soft candle light was flickering on his ivory skin, making him look like he just walked out of an oil painting.
“Look what we have here. Come to beg for another taste, have we?” He smirked and raised an eyebrow, looking them over with the stare that whispered trouble.
But the drow’s eyes did not sparkle back with tease or lust — they were just tired. Their posture softened: they looked worn-out in every inch of their small frame, as if they were being pulled down to the ground.
“Can I stay here for a while? I just need a little… escape.”
“Well, if you’re looking to get distracted, you’ve come to the right place, darling,” he purred and put the book away.
“No, it’s not like that.” Deth looked down and smiled softly. “I don’t want anything and I won’t pester you, I promise. I just want to stay here for a bit, if that’s alright with you.”
Astarion suddenly felt the loss for words — the confusion took over. He was expecting a seduction, a plea to entertain: something simple, transactional, something that would require him to perform or provide again. But Deth just stood there — like a lost child looking for a shelter, and he had absolutely no idea how to deal with that.
“Fine,” the elf finally replied.
“Thank you.”
They laid down on the ground at the very edge of the tent, eyes closing heavily, and exhaled loudly, as if they were releasing the weight of the responsibilities along with their breath. There was plenty of space on the bedroll near Astarion, but they chose to settle further on purpose.
“That afraid of me, are you?” He smirked, trying to look unfazed, but the voice cracked just a little. “I wish I could say that I don’t bite, but you already know that I do.”
“I’m already invading your space without an invitation — I don’t want to be a bother.” Their voice was hoarse and tired. “And you can bite if you want to, you know that I don’t mind.”
Astarion scoffed, but did not move. He felt irritation swirling inside him: the drow was always saying things he never expected to hear, and they were stating them as if they were something obvious. Observing people and anticipating their intentions was something the vampire did best — his survival depended on that. But with Deth, it seemed like his every assumption was missing the mark, and that annoyed and perplexed him.
“Suit yourself.” He reached out and picked his book back up.
The elf was turning the pages, but reading none of them. His eyes were locked on the pale figure lying on their back — eyes closed, one hand behind their head, the other resting softly on the ground. He could hear their breathing — quiet and steady — and it was somehow soothing to him.
Astarion tilted his head and looked closer, and that’s when he noticed it: the drow was sleeping. He blinked in disbelief. How can they fall asleep like this — in the tent with an actual monster ? He was right there near them — a predator with killer instincts, sharp teeth and bad intentions. They should be bracing, clutching their weapon under the pillow just in case or maybe just simply stay away . But there they were — so careless, so suddenly peaceful and relaxed.
The elf kept staring at the paladin, desperately trying to understand . He moved in closer and looked at Deth’s face — not a wrinkle. Even the usual crease that sits between their eyebrows when they frown is gone now. The expression is unfamiliarly calm, lips slightly parted, light blush on their cheeks, neck fully exposed. Not a single tense muscle to be seen.
The drow’s head shifted to the side towards him, and a strand of hair fell onto their face, covering one eye. Astarion suddenly felt his heart skip a beat.
“Oh, you absolute menace…” he muttered and instinctively reached out to their face. His hand then froze and hovered there for a moment before he gently moved away the hair and tucked it behind their ear. “And what am I supposed to do now?”
No response followed — only the soft quiet sigh from the paladin, who was sound asleep. The vampire cursed quietly under his breath, and reached for a blanket. He carefully placed it over Deth’s body with a touch so gentle it surprised even him. He winced, annoyed by his own softness, and flopped onto the bedroll, eyes locked on the tent’s ceiling.
He did not intend to fall asleep — not with this tiny person beside him radiating trust like a damn campfire. It was so pure it felt like a trap . And somewhere in between the quiet panic and the spiraling thoughts he drifted off to sleep. Only to wake up in the middle of the night and find Deth curled up into him.
Arm draped across his chest. Face half-buried in the folds of his shirt. Not just nearby — on him. Like he was a safe thing . Like he was a shelter. Like they meant to do this. Somewhere in that sliver of night, their body made the decision their brain hadn’t dared to voice.
Astarion froze — not moving, not even breathing. An arm hung in the air, as if he was debating whether to touch or to push away. And every instinct compelled him to do the latter — put the distance between them, raise the walls, guard himself with teeth and daggers. Protect himself — not from Deth, but from that uninvited fluttering feeling growing inside him without his consent. But the weight of their body, so trusting and warm, pressed that resistance out of him like air from a balloon.
“This is absurd,” he whispered, rolling his eyes.
He let a long deliberate breath out, trying to calm down. His hand lowered slowly, with quiet reverence, and rested lightly on Deth’s back. They smelled faintly like currant and ginger, and somehow that scent felt to Astarion like home .
“How are you doing this to me?..” he muttered quietly with a note of tired frustration, and dozed off back to sleep.
***
The paladin woke up early, just as the sun was starting to come up. They exhaled softly, soothed by a familiar scent, familiar warmth, familiar… chest. Astarion’s chest.
They opened their eyes in an instant and felt the panic rising. This was not supposed to happen, not like this. Their hand on Astarion’s ribs, their leg tangled with his, their full body pressed into him, so close — as if they belonged there.
“Shit.” A thought echoed in the Deth’s mind like a thunderclap, followed by a whirlwind of self-accusations: “Too much, too close, too clingy… Why did you have to ruin it?”
The drow shifted slowly, carefully trying to untangle themselves without waking the man who, for once, looked peaceful in his sleep. They moved gently, as if trying to disarm a trap with nothing but shame and humiliation.
But despite their effort, Astarion stirred. Not startled, not alarmed — just one crimson eye, slow to open, one brow lifted in quiet amusement.
“Running off already?” the elf drawled, voice all silk and morning rasp. “And here I thought I’d been such a splendid pillow.”
Deth startled, blush instantly blooming over their face and up to the tips of their pointy ears.
“I— I didn’t mean to… I must’ve… I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to make you uncomfortable.” The paladin breathed heavily as they were muttering the excuses that all sounded stupid to them.
“Darling, if I didn’t want you here, you wouldn’t be here.” The vampire smirked, staring shamelessly right into Deth’s bright eyes. “But just so we’re clear: if you're going to fall asleep in my arms again, which I fully endorse , maybe warn me first — I would have worn something silkier.”
The drow blinked for a moment, but then snorted and fell back down on the bedroll, chuckling quietly. They turned to the side, feeling relieved and suddenly fully relaxed again, and looked up at Astarion.
“You are ridiculous, you know that?”
“You carelessly fall asleep in my tent like a sweet helpless little lamb, and I am the ridiculous one?” The elf leaned closer, grinning just enough to show his fangs. “I should give you a lesson on how to properly behave near a vampire spawn if you want to stay alive.”
“I did not fall asleep next to a vampire spawn,” they answered without hesitation. “I fell asleep next to you .”
Astarion’s breath caught, his lips slightly quivered. There it was again — that blunt honesty, with which they said things that seemed like they were meant for someone else. But they were saying it all to him, as easily as if they were just stating a rule of nature.
He did not mean to show it, but Deth saw it anyway — the flicker of pain behind the surprise. And even though their brain commanded them not to do it, the paladin softly brushed his hand with their fingers and shifted closer to him.
“I am not afraid of you, Astarion.”
“Well maybe you should be.” His voice tone lowered, as he closed his eyes and rested his forehead softly against Deth’s.
“You should try at least a little bit harder if you really want to convince me of that…”
The drow lifted their hand, reaching out to gently cup his cheek, but just as their fingers hovered over the pale skin, Karlach’s loud voice blazed in from outside of the tent.
“Hey, has anyone seen Deth?!”
The drow flinched, as if they were just doused with cold water, and pulled their hand back. They held their breath as Astarion’s thick eyelashes lifted and his eyes met Deth’s. They could now feel their heart pounding — as if they were sharply pulled back into reality, where they had overstepped every possible boundary without asking for permission.
“Deth. That’s me,” they stated quietly.
“Yes, darling, they’re definitely looking for you out there.” Astarion smirked. “I’d love to see their faces when you crawl out of my tent, though.”
“Oh, you would, wouldn’t you?” The drow smiled and rolled away.
As they got up ready to leave, the paladin stopped just before exiting.
“Hey.”
“M?”
“Thank you.” They turned to look at the elf. “For letting me stay. I don’t think I’ve ever slept that well, and I certainly haven’t felt so safe and peaceful in forever.”
Deth slipped away quietly before the vampire could answer. As the tent flap closed behind them, Astarion kept looking at it, lying perfectly still, listening to the fading footsteps. He rolled onto his back, lifted his arm and placed it over his eyes, exhaling heavily — like he hadn’t breathed properly in two hundred years. His low voice echoed into nothingness — a confession meant only for him alone:
“Neither have I.”