somewhatclear

deerna
somewhatclear

Rating: SAFE
Fandom: baldur's gate
Relationship: astarion/staeve
Tags: canon, missing moment, spooning
Wordcount: 509
Notes: staeve belongs to Velnna/MAF.

Summary:
the night after astarion's confession

Excerpt:

Staeve longed to press his lips to the nape of his neck just above the collar of his shirt, and trace the line of his spine with his mouth. A kiss for each bony bump, each administered with loving attention, until Astarion melted with pleasure under his care— but that recipe of intimacy didn’t exist anymore. Maybe it never did.

{ read on AO3 | read here }

The noise of fabric being drawn aside pulled Staeve back from the edge of slumber.

He hadn’t even realised he had been falling asleep; he had almost been certain he wouldn’t have been able to, with the conversation from earlier still fresh in his mind and heavy in his heart, wondering if he had done the right thing by giving space in the face of such sudden vulnerability, when maybe he should have offered support— but exhaustion had won.

It did not matter. He was wide awake now, heartbeat loud and fast in his throat, as he listened to the near-silent steps making their way towards the bedroll. He didn’t need to turn around to know that it was Astarion.

Staeve’s breath caught as he felt him sit down on the bedroll, just behind him. Fabric rustled as Astarion fussed with the blanket. He stretched out on the thin mattress, shifted restlessly for a moment, and finally settled with his back against Staeve.

If he knew that Staeve wasn’t actually asleep, he didn’t acknowledge it. Staeve counted thirty deafening heartbeats thumping against the inside of his ears, before giving in to the urge of glancing over his shoulder.

Astarion lay curled up on his side, blanket lightly draped up to his waist, shoulders hunched up and legs bent as if he itched to tuck them against his chest. He was unnervingly unmoving, as always looking more dead than just asleep, but there was an unusual layer of tension in the stillness of his body, in the way his head was so bowed it barely rested on top of the pillow.

Drawing himself a bit closer, Staeve rolled over, carefully draped his arm on top of the blanket, and waited. Astarion didn’t object; he didn’t exactly relax, either, as if caught between the familiarity of being in Staeve’s bed, and the recently confessed memories of discomfort.

Staeve longed to press his lips to the nape of his neck just above the collar of his shirt, and trace the line of his spine with his mouth. A kiss for each bony bump, each administered with loving attention, until Astarion melted with pleasure under his care— but that recipe of intimacy didn’t exist anymore. Maybe it never did.

And yet Astarion came to him, willing to trust. Desperate to try. Wanting something real.

As much as Staeve did.

Feeling helpless, he tightened his arm around Astarion. He rested his cheek at the top of his back and nuzzled at his shoulder, teeth clenched and a muted, distant purr echoing in his throat, wishing he could do so much more, wishing that he could fix everything.

Impossibly, it seemed to help. Astarion’s chest suddenly rose and deflated in a deep, deliberate breath; some of the stiffness went out of his limbs, bringing their bodies together. His hand found Staeve’s and held it to his breastbone, timid fingers locking around his in what felt like a silent thank you.

Staeve squeezed back. He held him like that until morning, throat tight and heart full.