not dreaming

[deerna]

Rating: NSFW
Fandom: baldur's gate
Relationship: astarion/halsin/staeve
Tags: injury recovery, accidental voyeurism, eavesdropping, masturbation, sexual content, nightmares
Wordcount: 712
Notes: staeve belongs to MAF

Summary:
the one where staeve gets hurt and tries to sleep it off, and finds out he can count on his partners to get care of themselves

Excerpt:

“Do you want me to get Staeve?“ Halsin’s deep voice rumbled, close and strong. Oh. Staeve wasn’t asleep. Astarion had a nightmare for real. “Gods, no, let him sleep, he needs the rest,” Astarion answered, his voice scraped and broken.

{ read on AO3 | read here }

Hours later, pain still tore at Staeve’s guts. His insides had been knitted together by timely application of healing potions and spells, but somehow they still burned like when he’d gotten knifed during the fight.

He’d gotten some serious injuries in his life (everyone knew that; it wasn’t like he ever went out of his way to hide the scar on his damn face), so he knew that this too shall have passed at some point, or some shit like that; but he still went to sleep with a heavy heart, for having scared Astarion and Halsin and the others so badly, and with dread at the back of his throat, for the shit-awful, potion-induced horrid rest he knew he was going to experience, as it was always the case when he got banged up so badly.

He had been asleep for less than an hour, when he started getting the first nightmares: Astarion at the corner of his vision, tossing and turning in his trance, gasping for air that he didn’t need, some horrible vision from his past coming back to haunt him; and Staeve was paralyzed in his bedroll, too far away to reach him and unable to move, unable to help, too groggy from the potions, from the pain— always unable to help, always unable to save them—

But Halsin was there. Staeve’s heart skipped a beat. Thank the Gods. Halsin. Halsin—

“Do you want me to get Staeve?“ Halsin rumbled, close and strong.

Oh. Staeve wasn’t asleep. Astarion had a nightmare for real.

“Gods, no, let him sleep, he needs the rest,” Astarion answered, his voice scraped thin and cracked at the edges. “He’s already going to wake up in a miserable mood, he always has a rough time with healing potions.”

He was going to wake up in a miserable mood because he hadn’t been able to be there for Astarion, Staeve thought, forlorn; but at the same time he was touched by Astarion’s concern. Also, Halsin was there; it was going to be fine. It was going to be fine.

“What do you need?” Halsin asked, and Staeve wanted to drag himself over and kiss him, aches and dizziness be damned.

Astarion, as usual, sounded stumped by the question. “I… don’t know.”

“You’re so tense, my love. I could try and loosen your shoulders?”

A beat. “Thank you, dear. I guess I could use some…. relaxing.”

Just from those few words, Staeve could hear how unconvinced he was; but there was some rustling as Halsin and Astarion adjusted their positions around each other, presumably so the druid could stroke his back.

It was quiet for a few minutes, only the gentle sounds of Halsin pouring oil over his hands and preparing for a massage filtering through the silence. They were so familiar, Staeve could practically see him going through the movements. Staeve kept still, curled up on his side under the covers, letting himself be soothed by the routine; then Astarion made a sound.

“Halsin,“ Astarion said, low and breathy, a trace of both amusement and exasperation laced through his tone. “Those aren't my shoulders.”

A shiver ran down Staeve’s spine. He knew that voice from Astarion very well.

“Apologies— it seemed like you were responding well. Shall I stop?” A beat. “You generally have an easier time trancing after climaxing, don’t you?”

He did. There was something oddly comforting in the fact that Halsin had also noticed that, even if they were still so new at this thing between the three of them.

“Fine, but just keep– I like your hands there. I’ll take care of the rest myself,” Astarion answered, surprising Staeve.

“As you wish, my heart,” Halsin replied, solemn like he’d just sworn an oath.

Astarion’s first groan — the slightly choked out one he always made when he was touching himself, like he didn’t like that he was being noisy but couldn’t really help it — loosened some knot inside Staeve’s chest; he tried to keep himself conscious suddenly eager to hear more, but his limbs felt heavy now, like the furs surrounding him had turned into sheets of lead.

Staeve ended up falling back asleep, cradled by soft sounds of pleasure from Astarion and sweet encouragements from Halsin, and he did not dream.