Somewhat Clear

deerna
somewhatclear

Rating: SAFE
Fandom: baldur's gate
Relationship: astarion/halsin/staeve
Tags: purring vampires, purring drow, snuggling, comfort, huddling for warmth
Wordcount: 2044 / 1981 on AO3
Notes: staeve belongs to MAF

Summary:
Drows purr. Vampires also purr. Astarion didn't know that.

Excerpt:

“Oh,” he heard Staeve exhale one evening, an odd inflection in his voice, as Astarion let himself almost doze off against his side. “Are you happy, babe?”

{ read on AO3 | read here }

The first time that it happened, it startled Astarion quite a bit.

It was night, and he was pressed up with his back against Staeve in Halsin’s bedroll, listening to his breathing and his heartbeat as he tried to put himself into trance. He had almost managed to slip under, lulled by the soothing motions of his lover’s hand running up and down his side, when he felt a low vibration spreading at the small of his back and along his spine. Alarmed, he froze, wide awake, wracking his brain for possible explanations (was it some piece of enchanted equipment they forgot to take off? Was it a magic attack? Was the earth trembling, readying itself to split open beneath them?) when he realized that it sounded just like—

“Darling,” Astarion inquired, voice a whisper. “Are you purring?”

“Mhrh?” Staeve mumbled, clearly more asleep than Astarion had assumed. “Oh. Yeah, that happens sometimes.”

“So it’s…. Normal for you?”

“For drows, yeah.” Astarion felt his mouth curve into a sleepy smile against the nape of his neck, as he snuggled closer. “It means my body is very happy to be against yours, because I love you very much and I’m happy to be here.”

Astarion huffed a laugh. “Gods save me from you saps. Was that a line?”

“Nu-huh.” The hum of Staeve’s purring seemed to intensify in the beat of silence. “It’s good for you, y’know?“ he continued, drowsily, nuzzling his neck. “Not even my sister complained about me purring at her. Because it’s good for you. Makes you stronger. Heals you.“

“Your sister?” Astarion whispered, gently.

But Staeve was fast asleep already.

*

It became a thing. For whatever reason, not only the familiar rumbling seemed to emerge from Staeve every time he and Astarion were pressed together now, but Astarion had begun to develop a reaction to it as well: he had noticed his limbs grow heavier, his muscles relax, his trances easier to fall into, whenever Staeve started purring.

It was frightening, in a way, realizing that contentment had a sound, and that he could just listen to it, and feel safe. It was lovely, and fragile, and bewildering, and addicting. He wasn’t above taking advantage of it—not when it kept his nightmares away, and made the aches less prominent, and softened the grip of hunger over his mind.

“Oh,” he heard Staeve exhale one evening, an odd inflection in his voice, as Astarion let himself almost doze off against his side. “Are you happy, babe?”

“Be happier if you let me sleep,” Astarion muttered back, but it had no bite in it. He was freshly fed, still relaxed from the bath Halsin had drawn for them, his limbs still liquid from the pleasure of their lovemaking, comforted by the luxury of a real mattress for once; and Staeve was finger-combing his hair, his nails scratching his scalp just right, and he was warm against him, his contented drone almost echoing through Astarion’s rib cage. He was happy.

Staeve said something else, warm and teasing, but Astarion was already falling into a trance with no dreams. Healing.

*

Astarion woke up to the familiar sensation of purring and warmth, so tangled in furs and his lovers’ limbs he didn’t quite know where they started and he finished. Somewhere below him, Halsin’s heartbeat was strong and slow, the comforting flow of his blood a lovely counterpoint to the relaxing hum that surrounded him.

He didn’t know what had pulled him from his trance, but when he cracked one eye open he saw that the ties that kept the tent’s opening closed had come undone, letting a slight draft in through the gap: it must have been that; winter wasn’t a good season to be a vampire. Disturbed by the cold, he shifted a little, burrowing further under the covers.

The fussing made Halsin stir. “My heart,” he rumbled fuzzily. His hand came to rest against Astarion’s neck, gentle and protective. “Are you uncomfortable?”

“I’m fine,” Astarion reassured him, keeping his voice low so they wouldn’t disturb Staeve, surely still asleep. He turned his face into the touch to press a kiss against the druid’s wrist. “I was a little cold, but now I’m just fine.” He smiled at Halsin, snuggling closer against his chest. He and Staeve used to be a little worried about falling asleep on top of the druid—but Halsin claimed he liked feeling the weight of his partners’ bodies on him as he tranced.

The druid sleepily smiled back. “I see.” His fingers traveled down his shoulder, down his back. Astarion closed his eyes, feeling himself slipping under trance already. The purring intensified. Astarion couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s cute that he purrs in his sleep,” he murmured. “Do you think he knows?”

Halsin’s caresses slowed down. “My love—”

The cold draft was back. Astarion shivered, miserably cold once again. He huffed and sat up, begrudgingly determined to get up and close the damn gap himself this time—and found Staeve there, stumbling inside, pulling it closed behind him.

“Oh, sorry,” he apologized, fumbling with the ties. “Didn’t mean to wake you. Too much wine.” He winked, a yawn punctuating his words.

Astarion stared at him, uncomprehending. He turned to look at the bedroll filled with tangled furs, at Halsin. The druid’s expression was carefully, uncharacteristically blank. His hand was still resting on him, warm on Astarion’s thigh, grounding. He looked back at Staeve.

“What’s wrong?” Staeve asked as he slipped back under the covers, under Halsin’s other arm, reaching out to rub Astarion’s back. His playful, sleep-softened grin had given way to a somber frown, his pale eyes attentive and worried. “Nightmares?”

“Oh. No, no,” Astarion reassured him. He shook his head, more in an attempt to clear it than as a way to answer. “I mean, I guess I am dreaming things, but—” he chuckled at himself. “I had a dream about you purring. I think. I was half-trancing, maybe—thought you were still in bed with us.” It was a little ridiculous, wasn’t it? “I was really surprised to see you coming in.”

Staeve’s expression cleared, relieved. His mouth curled into a mischievous, teasing grin. “Did you mistake your own purring for mine?“

“Darling, I don’t purr,” he laughed. “I’m not a drow.”

“I—of course you’re not a drow, but you do—” Staeve’s voice went careful again. “You didn’t know.”

“I don’t purr,” Astarion repeated again, reflexively. “Do I?”

Both Staeve and Halsin were very quiet.

There was no tell-tale low-pitched hum anywhere, at that moment. It had stopped when— Astarion had noticed Staeve come into the tent, his contentment getting replaced by confusion and alarm. Gods.

Astarion instinctively brought both hands to his stomach—mirroring what he sometimes did to Staeve when he was spooning with his back against his front, to better feel the vibration resonate in the bones of his wrists and up his arms.

Nothing happened, obviously: even if he had been able to purr, he wouldn’t have while he was upset.

“You— either of you never thought of mentioning it until now?” he snapped, the enormity of the truth squeezing his lungs.

Staeve shrugged, but he did look a little sheepish. “I thought maybe you did know, but didn’t want me to point it out. Or—I don’t know what I was thinking, to be honest,“ he admitted. “You seemed—okay with it. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. I didn’t think you would want me to make a big deal out of it.”

Unfortunately, Staeve was correct. Astarion wanted to hate him for it so badly.

They had a conversation before, about all the changes Astarion had to get used to when he first got turned; how uncomfortable and alien it had been, not to know how his own body worked and what it needed; how long it took him to adapt, whenever he stumbled across a new thing that had not been there before.

And there it was again, that familiar, visceral panic that clawed him to the core, that made him want to run and hide and be scared—because it didn’t feel right, it had not been happening for two hundred years, so why did he have to deal with it now?

But of course he knew why—Staeve himself had told him, that one time.

“It does feel supremely silly to make a big deal out of being happy—but it wouldn’t be my first time.” Astarion gave him a tight smile, fangs in full display. He sighed. “Hells, I don’t even know why it feels so—” his voice hitched. “Frightening. This is a good thing, isn’t it? I don’t mean to be dramatic about it.”

A shadow flitted through Staeve’s expression. He was smiling, but there was something fragile about it. “Let me be dramatic about it, then.”

He took Astarion’s hands in his own. “I have very good memories of—” he started, then clammed up. His brown, freckled knuckles turned ashen around Astarion’s eternally pale ones. “I have good memories—of feeling someone purring next to me,” he tried again, his gaze slightly unfocused, the line of his mouth still soft but uncertain.

Astarion stilled; he knew without asking that this was about his family—his siblings, the one Staeve never talked about, but whose presence sometimes bled through the cracks, tadpole or no tadpole.

“I miss them so much,” Staeve continued, “but having something like this again after so long, with you—” He met Astarion’s eyes, intense and determined. “It made me happy. It makes me happy.” His smile looked as tight as the one Astarion’s had felt on his face earlier, but it was real enough, now. “If it makes you feel better?”

“It does, actually.“ Astarion stroked a thumb over his knuckles, a wordless acknowledgment. ”This has been very good for me, too,” he admitted. “I have been resting more easily.”

“There’s empiric proof that purring developed in animals as a form of healing,” Halsin intervened, breaking the tension a little, his hand rubbing comforting circles where it rested on Astarion’s leg. “Some druids dedicate their whole lives studying it.”

Astarion chuckled. “Of course. Why am I surprised?“

Staeve cocked his head. “Are you telling me you can also purr, Halsin? Have you been holding out on me?” he quipped, sounding once again easy and light, a playful finger pointed at him in mock-outrage.

Halsin cradled Staeve’s cheek, fond and amused, laughter rumbling deep in his chest. “My bad, dear heart. I shall make it up to you immediately.”

There was a flash, the scent and buzz of magic filling the tent, and in place of Halsin’s familiar frame appeared a massive cat, his fluffy tail almost larger than the rest of his body. The feline slithered between them and rubbed his small head against them in turn, before curling up in Astarion’s lap, looking as smug as only cats managed to look, and purring up a storm.

A delighted, startled gasp burst from Staeve. “That’s cheating!” he declared, but giggles were already bubbling up in his chest as he scooted closer and reached out to pet Halsin’s silky fur, scratching him behind the ears and under his chin. Astarion could already hear the familiar drone of his purring mingling with Halsin’s.

Astarion watched them quietly, so painfully, helplessly fond he didn’t know what to do with himself. He buried trembling fingers in Halsin’s soft fur, to occupy his hands. He was sitting so close to Staeve he could have easily joined their foreheads together—so he did just that. Frightening, alien, and so, so right—a knot of something stuttered and loosened in his stomach, just below his rib cage.

Staeve didn’t say anything. He just nuzzled closer, a wide grin splitting his face in half, brighter than the sun. Happy.