Somewhat Clear

deerna
somewhatclear

Rating: SAFE
Fandom: baldur's gate
Relationship: astarion/elior
Tags: What-If, Vampire Bites, Blood and Injury
Wordcount: 840
Notes: happy birthday k_ecus! ♥

Summary:
astarion cannot use healing potions (or so he thinks). a different take on the first he bites a thinking creature.

Excerpt:

“I can bleed some into a cup, if it makes you more comfortable,” Elior said, misunderstanding Astarion’s silence.

“That would be a waste of perfectly good blood.” Astarion’s mouth felt both dry as bone, and drenched with drool, like a beast getting ready to tear into its prey. “I will gladly bite you."

{ read on AO3 | read here }

“Darling, I promise I’m fine,” Astarion huffed, waving Elior’s fussing away with an airy gesture of his hand.

“I can see the blood soaking through your shirt, Astarion.”

Astarion’s entire flank felt like liquid fire; he had spent too long without hunting in the forest. His normally enhanced healing flowed through his body thick as tar… too slow. “Just a flesh wound.”

“We have plenty of healing potions. You needn't suffer like that.”

“I’m… allergic to healing potions.” Astarion remembered the acid-like feeling of it gargling down his throat with a shiver, that one time he had stolen one in an attempt to soothe the pains from Cazador’s tortures. How was he supposed to know that wares made for the living did not work on the undead? He needed blood. He could not get blood, until Elior went to sleep. “Don’t worry about a thing, I will be as good as rain by morning.”

Elior fixed him with an oddly intense stare. “I cannot help you, if you don’t tell me the truth,” he murmured. His tone was neutral like a medical diagnosis. “What is the truth, Astarion?”

In the middle of camp, among their asleep companions, hurt and famished and unable to run, Astarion made a split-second decision.

“I’m a vampire,” he confessed.

The relief flooding his chest was unexpected, and yet it made sense. The cat was out of the bag. He did not have to hide anymore. He had been wondering what was going to happen the day he’d been found out, and now he was going to know. “There. Now you know.”

Elior’s expression did not change. He tilted his head, like he was lost in thought, realigning some fundamental truths in his mind. Astarion hoped he was not trying to figure out the most effective way to kill him.

“Blood,” Elior finally said, looking still pensive.

Astarion almost laughed in his face. “Yes, darling. I need blood. That’s what being a vampire means.”

Elior shook his head. “Forgive me. I was just thinking about the best way to obtain some for you.”

“I was planning on going out to hunt, before you interrupted me,” Astarion pointed out, sharp and snarky.

“Nonsense,” Elior replied, “you’re too hurt to hunt. I was thinking of offering you to bite me.”

Astarion stared, a million confused thoughts swimming through his mind. He wasn’t unaware that some people found the idea of being bitten intriguing, but Elior was sounding very matter of fact about it, like he was doing it entirely as a favour to Astarion. Not that he was going to be able to take advantage of it, thanks to his Master’s compulsion—but Astarion had been free to go wherever he wanted, to do whatever he wanted.

Could he also drink from thinking creatures, like he had been able to walk across rivers, through houses’ thresholds and into the sun?

Healing potions might have worked as well, according to the same logic—but given this chance on a silver platter, Astarion was not going to pass it up.

“I can bleed some into a cup, if it makes you more comfortable,” Elior said, misunderstanding Astarion’s silence.

“That would be a waste of perfectly good blood.” Astarion’s mouth felt both dry as bone, and drenched with drool, like a beast getting ready to tear into its prey. “I will gladly bite you. Unless it makes youa uncomfortable,” he tacked on, courteously.

Elior smiled, and knelt closer, nudging the collar of his shirt away from his shoulder to free up his neck. “Go ahead.”

Astarion didn’t hesitate. For the first time in his life, he sank his fangs into a thinking creature’s flesh. A moan escaped his throat when the taste of blood touched the back of his tongue—rich, warm, vital. He lost himself in the flavour of it, in the arcane feeling of his body coming back alive for a moment. A hand gripped gently the back of his neck—scratching gently through his curls, rather than yanking like he expected, but grounding nonetheless, reminding him of being aware of what he was doing.

Elior sighed when Astarion instinctively licked over the puncture wounds, catching the last drops of blood, and immediately drooped a little to his left. Astarion caught him with a fond chuckle, supporting him until he was lying on his side.

“Oof, I think I’m going to need a nap. I didn’t expect it to feel so… draining,” Elior said, chuckling at his own choice of words. He beamed at Astarion. “But you look so much better, already. How are you feeling?”

“Happy,” Astarion said, unthinkingly, the high of feeding removing every filter between his brain and his mouth.

Elior smiled, his eyes drooping shut with exhaustion. “I’m glad.”

Astarion didn’t know if Elior was already asleep, but he leaned over his prone form all the same. “This was a gift,” he whispered. “I won’t forget it.”

With his chest heavy with unnamed emotions, Astarion got up and stalked off in the forest, feeling stronger than he’d ever felt before.