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The words were out of his mouth before he could think better of it.
“Once the others are asleep, we’ll find each other.” Cue the crooked smile and a subtle eyebrow raise to accompany his practiced bedroom voice.
She’d nodded, smiled at him — really smiled — and then ran off to catch a glimpse of Rolan’s tedious magic show before Astarion could correct his meaning. What use was he to someone who couldn’t be touched?
Astarion considered, briefly, his other options — Gale, who had no room in his heart for any other than Mystra, Shadowheart, who was much too sly to fall for Astarion’s rakish act, and Lae’zel who, while capable, would not so much as shed a tear for him if her one of bloodthirsty kin struck him down. Wyll did seem particularly vulnerable since his devilish transformation, but Astarion knew his type well — there was no way that man would be receptive to any kind of casual arrangement.
No, Karlach was, for all intents and purposes, Astarion’s best option. His only option, really. So, with a sigh, he began to gather some supplies before he departed for the romantically-lit forest clearing he’d noted during an earlier hunt. The party was beginning to die down, and he made sure Karlach saw which direction he was headed out of camp before departing for the forest.
Astarion’s subsequent preparations were automatic, unthinking. He considered what approach Karlach might best respond to — probably something sickeningly earnest, which wasn’t exactly his forte. No, he’d better stick to the usual script that had served him well all those times before, free of any improvisation or thoughtful details.
He could hear her distant footfalls then, the unmistakable sound of flickering hellfire charring the ground with every step. And it was upon the sound of those flames that his chest grew tighter, until he was thoroughly awash with dread. Because his lines were meant to be no more than a polite, enticing buffer before he could render his mark speechless through well-practiced touches, before he could replace any questions in their head with restless moans. Before his body took over and his mind could rest somewhere far away.
Her footsteps sounded closer and closer. It was too late; there was no time to prepare. The tightness in his chest cinched harder as Astarion slid his shirt over his head, a last-minute decision that would do nothing to disguise the fact he was merely an inept spawn apparently incapable of orchestrating even the most simple of tasks without his master’s direction.
But alas, that was exactly why he needed her to begin with.
* * ❤️🔥 * *
“There you are,” he purred as Karlach approached, her face all eager and trusting.
“Hey, you.” She took in the scene, noting the meticulously curated surroundings. “All this for me?”
“Of course — I have been looking forward to our little rendezvous ever-so-much.” His honeyed drawl felt sticky-sweet in his throat. “You have no idea how I’ve longed to… taste you.” On instinct, he reached to ghost a caress just above her cheek, but even from a distance her flames were too hot to bear for long. Her eyes flared with desire at the gesture nonetheless, and for a moment Astarion felt he’d gained control of the situation. “You’re quite the forbidden fruit, aren’t you?”
“Don’t remind me. If I burn any hotter, I might take this whole forest down with me.”
“So, what is a sinner like me to do with,” he gestured up and down her body, “the very embodiment of chastity?”
She cast her eyes down at that, and clearly he’d said the wrong thing. He clawed at his mind for a line, a joke, anything — but he was fresh out. “This is— well, you know. I have no idea what to do with you.” Please, he thought. Just tell me what you want, so I can provide.
Karlach studied his face closely as he strained to maintain that mask of the suave lover he’d worked so hard to perfect. “We don’t have to do anything. We can just… be.”
Of course, Astarion wasn’t stupid enough to think she’d walked all the way out here just to talk to him. He recalled with a twist of the gut the many people — exhibitionists, virgins, narcissists, and more — who’d he’d gotten off just by letting them touch themselves to his filthy words. At least they’d spared him the chore of touching them. But Karlach was looking at him so infuriatingly sweetly, that he almost found himself tempted to believe she was really that naive. It had to be a facade, honed over the course of a decade living within Zariel’s inner circle, surely. But even then, why? Why toy with him so? Was that what got her going?
“Just be what, exactly?” he asked, the question containing a sharper edge than he’d intended. “Frustrated? Bored? What do we do, if not… that?” He’d phrased it like a rhetorical question, but it wasn’t. It was more of a demand, really, that she clarify her intentions so they could get this whole charade over with.
She stood there, silent, and it was taking all Astarion had to not shake her by the shoulders; he probably would’ve if it wouldn’t have burnt him to a crisp. Why is this so difficult? He blinked upon realizing he’d said the question aloud. “I would’ve already bedded you twice if you were normal.”
The barb hit its mark, and Karlach furrowed her brow. “Twice, in such a short amount of time? Sounds unsatisfying.”
A laugh escaped his throat despite himself, and he suddenly couldn’t resist the urge to twist the knife. “Karlach! You know what I mean… Or maybe you don’t. There may be an inferno in you, but at the end of the day — you’ve been frigid for a decade. Isn’t that right?”
She watched him intently, and for a moment he felt a rush of relief when looked like she was about to yell, or cry, or just walk away. “You want to try that again? Without being a jackass, maybe?”
He had to admire her spark, her wit in the face of his cruelty — a trait he had so long admired in himself. And yet, the nerve of this— this naive idiot, commanding him to dance to her tune. “This is impossible.” He pointed towards her accusatorially, feeling her flames graze the tip of his index finger where it lingered near her face. “You’re impossible.” Because I don’t know what you want.
His mind went blissfully still the moment he saw the look of hurt on her face. Features so unguarded, a body so shielded yet containing a psyche so utterly vulnerable… she’d learn better soon enough. Just as he had.
And yet.
Within that soft expression was, he reminded himself, was the key to his safety. That irritatingly simple heart could be so easily wound around his finger, if he could only rid himself of the bad taste in his mouth while doing so.
“I’m sorry, Karlach. It’s just…” he tried to string together any assortment of words that would be a remotely believable explanation of his outburst. “Not being able to touch you, having to slow down, it’s—” Unfathomable? Inexplicable? Suspiciously… pleasant? “I’m just not used to it. So, can you, I don’t know… help?” He’d never asked such a question of a prospective lover before, he realized. His job was to satiate their desires almost clairvoyantly, to provide and satisfy with a well-studied performance. But to give Karlach the illusion of control, for a night… perhaps this was what he must do.
“We can just talk. As long as we want. And then we can sleep. Near, but not too near.”
“Karlach, champion of the Hells, wants to talk and then fall asleep? My dear,” he sighed, taking a moment of gratitude for this blissful moron, who had no idea how utterly misguided a target for such childish affections he was. “You’re much more boring than I gave you credit for.” No complaints on his part, though. He was getting the night off. He softened his tone and sighed in defeat. “But maybe that’s not a bad thing. Alright, Karlach, let’s try it your way.”
* * ❤️🔥 * *
She led him to the bedrolls he’d laid out and gestured for him to sit. As he sat beside her, Astarion had to admit there was a sort of comfort to be found in the warmth Karlach emitted, even from a distance. Not unlike sitting out under the sun.
“I have to admit, I was a bit surprised you took me up on my offer tonight,” he started, filling the silence. “People don’t usually seek me out solely for my conversational abilities.”
She snorted. “Maybe they should. You are quite the talker.”
“Is that so?”
“Oh, yeah. You remind me of some of my… erm, not exactly friends… friendly acquaintances, maybe? That I met in Avernus. Smooth talking, funny, seen some real shit, too. Got a thousand secrets hidden inside that pretty head of yours for sure.”
“How delightful. I’ve always longed to be compared to a devil.”
“‘Course, you still have a soul, so you’ve already got them beat in terms of relationship potential. Not— y’know what I mean. I can trust you, is all, which I more than I could say for any of that lot.”
So he had earned her trust. Interesting. And then, as if to further illustrate that point, she laid back, resting her weight on her palms, and asked him an even more ridiculous question.
“Isn’t it mad, how good life is?”
He turned towards her, just so he could actually laugh in her face this time. “Worms in our heads, Cazador’s lackeys lurking around every corner, hunted by lunatic cultists and rabid Gith alike? You’ve an interesting definition of the word good, my dear.”
“Oh c’mon, don’t be that way. I’m not saying we don’t have our share of struggles, but you and I? We’re free. All thanks to mind flayers. It’s mad, but… you can’t tell me that’s not a lucky break.”
“I do admire your optimism, I suppose.”
“Hey, you’re the one who’s been more keen on the whole brain-worm business than any of us.”
“I need all the power I can get if I want to stay free of Cazador when this is all over.” It wasn’t as if he delighted in putting more worms in his eye; it was… a necessary evil. An unpleasant means to an end. And he didn’t owe her any kind of explanation, anyway.
But he remembered his purpose and attempted to redirect the conversation along a more fruitful tack. “I’m sure it would be easier to share your… joie de vive if I wasn’t always looking over my shoulder. But our companions, well…” he made a show of looking around suspiciously. “I mean, Wyll is a monster hunter, for gods’ sakes.”
His bait went down ever-so-smoothly. “Hey, you don’t need to worry about them, Astarion. Wyll’s a nice enough guy, really, and you're not getting hurt on my watch. Not by Cazador or the Absolute, and definitely not by any monster hunters. I protect my people.”
Perfect. “How… sweet. Thank you, Karlach. I appreciate that,” purred Astarion, stretching out like a contented cat, savoring the sensation of this evening’s unexpected win. He rolled over onto his stomach to look up at her, maybe bat his eyelashes gratefully… but for the second time that night, he’d made a critical error. He heard Karlach gasp softly.
“You… Your scars.” Hells. Anything but this conversation. “Why do you have Infernal runes on your back?”
“I—” Infernal runes? Astarion scrambled to hide his shock — and his back — from view. Maybe if he gave a sufficiently boring answer, she’d drop the subject. “It’s a… poem. A gift, from Cazador. He fancied himself quite the artist. Wrote that one over the course of a night.”
Astarion could practically hear the sound of the dagger carving through his flesh, remembered the way his body had writhed and pulled away from the pain at first, uncontrollably, instinctually. Of course, this only meant Cazador would heal the wounds and begin inflicting again them from scratch, chastising Astarion for “ruining his work,” until he eventually learned, somehow, how to keep still despite the pain. How long had it taken? Hours? A tenday? Astarion couldn’t be sure. There was no light to mark the time inside the Szarr palace — only blackest night. “He made a lot of revisions as he went.”
“Do you know what it says?”
Astarion scoffed. “Obviously not. It’s not like I can look in a mirror.”
“Do you… want me to read it?”
Astarion suddenly felt terribly tired. Hadn’t this nosy little tiefling mentioned a sleep portion of this evening’s festivities? Surely this had been enough heartfelt conversation to satisfy her inscrutable interests?
“Another time, perhaps,” he murmured, flashing what he hoped was a disarming smile and moving in as close to Karlach’s smoldering body as he safely could. Keep her wanting more. “But I was wondering if you’d do me the honor of letting me at least pretend I get to rest here with your perfect body in my arms?”
She nodded, settling in on her bedroll a safe distance away. After an unsurprising amount of tossing and turning, she turned to him with that horrible look of admiration once more. “Hey, I’m — I like you, you know. I’m glad I met you.”
Some pitiful part of himself wanted to tell her how many people had said those exact words to him before — and right before their untimely demise, to boot. But instead, he softened his gaze, as if touched by her words. “The feeling is very mutual, my dear,” he whispered, and it felt like sap in his throat. “Sweet dreams.”
Astarion managed to slip into his trance for only a short time until Karlach’s snores wrested him awake. Finding himself with nothing to do, he settled on studying his mark, and watched her for a time. Her expression was so confusingly peaceful — serene, even. Despite the fact that she was asleep next to a vampire; despite the fact that they were both lying there with all their clothes still on.
He considered taking the opportunity to sneak away to his tent, but… there were reasons to stay, he supposed. It would help sell his act of devotion, most importantly. And there also really was something undeniably pleasant about basking in the warmth she emitted.
A fitting act, he supposed, for the serpent that he was.