"Well, since no one's making use of the wine cellar in the Last Light, it seems like we could make a cozy little spot for ourselves. I believe the door even locks."
Four walls in a place like this? Worth its weight in gold. It certainly wouldn't do to have any intimate entanglements interrupted by some spooky busybody looking for fresh victims. Certainly would set the pulse racing, though, if he still had such a thing.
Hermione, however, might not appreciate the scare as much.
That brings her to a pause. "Huh - you're right, it does. I hadn't even thought about it," she says. Shrugs a little, and admits: "I suppose I kept picturing a meadow with you or something of that type. Soft light, moonlight, and a warm breeze."
But the cellar of Last Light is empty and tucked away, and they cleared it of all those beastlies. They would need to sneak in.
"We'll need to sneak in," she says conspiratorially, but still smiling - a genuine smile, as her excitement grows. "Our own little side-quest, mm?"
"A little late for that, darling. At least until we've made it through this awful place. Assuming we do. Which I am, at the moment. I'm feeling optimistic at present!"
He chuckles, gesturing grandly with one hand before letting it settle at his side once more.
"And if it's sneaking you want, you couldn't have chosen better."
She lets out a laugh at that. "I have been meaning to get better at sneaking, I'll admit. Invisibility potions are for the wealthy, and you can't be wealthy if you've got to spend so much gold on paper."
The struggles of a wizard. She is dexterous, fairly so, but Astarion is just better. She's been asking him to follow her along on every adventure because Hermione Granger has never met a locked door she hasn't wanted to open.
"If we find a locked chest, I promise to applaud. Write stories of your clever fingers."
How that sounds sinks in a second later, and she blushes what she reckons might be beet red at this point. Time to move along - time to move on.
"We'll make it out of here, I'm sure of it." She'll make sure of it. "We'll make it out, we'll see the city again, and find a cure for these little wormlings in our heads. Eh, sorry, I realise talking about the tadpoles is not the most romantic of topics."
As nimble in conversation as he is with his fingers, Astarion cocks his head in thought.
"Once they're out of our heads...what's the first thing you'll do?" He has his own ideas, of course, but it's better to look forward to all the wonderful things they have to look forward to.
Like revenge. That's probably highest on his list at the moment, in truth, but he's wise enough not to say so out loud.
"It depends," she murmurs, frowning slightly at the list of options. "On what we do before we get them out of our heads, and on how many of our companions still want me around."
She rushes past that little sliver of self-doubt. (What is her purpose if she can't be of help to her friends? Even her school friends lost interest in her after they recovered the Tower from under Riddle's control, because they wanted to move on with their magical studies and Hermione wanted to change things.)
Karlach will need her help, Hermione refuses to let the tiefling be forced to return to the Hells, there must be a better way, maybe if they find a better artificer? And Wyll, she promised she'd help him exit his contract with Mizora, and Gale - oh, Gale, there's much to help him with - and she can sum it all up.
"I think I'll keep travelling. I like the adventure, to be sure, but I enjoy helping people more - but okay, that's not my final answer. Final answer, as soon as the tadpoles are out of our heads, I'm taking a three-hour long bubble bath."
"Wouldn't that be nice? Gods, once we reach the city, if we don't find a proper inn to luxuriate in, it'll be a travesty."
Wry amusement touches his lips, even as he rolls his eyes and gestures loosely in the direction that Baldur's Gate must lie. They're getting closer and closer every day, and he's trying not to think about that winding ball of anxiety in the pit of his stomach at the idea.
She follows his line of sight - he must be right about this, she wouldn't know; she envies that darkvision a lot in this realm - and tries to imagine the city being there. Beyond the shaded trees. Beyond the lurking dangers.
"It's a good thing we're both good at improvising," she jokes back, her voice a little on the wry side.
Her expression softens as she spots the campsite in the distance, and she brushes the back of her fingers over his knuckles - touch, gentle and casual, easy as breathing.
"I'm going to help the others with dinner," she says, "but... Find me, when they've gone to sleep?"
"Of course. Just don't tire yourself out, darling."
He chuckles like he's done a thousand times before, pauses to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, thumb grazing her cheek in a cool whisper of a touch. He doesn't have to do much for her mind to linger on him, he's certain, but what's the point of learning the finer art of seduction if you can't use it on people you actually want to sleep with?
With a wink, he peels away, letting her join up with Gale, who usually takes command over the affairs of seeing everyone fed. Fitting, in a way. With all the random bits of food they collect over their journey, turning any of it into a reasonable meal for six people could be nothing short of wizardry.
She thinks he must enjoy teasing her like this, or why continuously find ways to make her fluster with his flirtation? What were once pick-up lines that she ignored or was oblivious to, are now little compliments - non-verbal though they are - that travel down her spine all tingly.
She huffs at him in mock outrage at his wink, and with a roll of her eyes she picks up the pace and joins Gale by the camp fire.
It takes about an hour to turn the random bits and bobs of edible foodstuffs into a meal that can replenish everyone's energy. Halsin offers goodberries, but somehow a single berry is less appealing than a bowl-full of what might be potato stew. Gale is a magnificent cook - it's quite impressive! Hermione would be eating stale bread by now if not lucky enough to have the Wizard of Waterdeep gracing them with cooked meals on the nightly.
One hour later, everyone settles down for a meal, though she notes with some sadness that there are some companions to choose to take it alone in their own tents (Wyll being one of them, and then Lae'Zel). She chooses to check up on them, before they have a chance to sleep, and make sure they're well - emotionally. It's a difficult place, the Shadow-Cursed Lands, and she can understand that it weighs in on people. What she doesn't expect is for Lae'Zel to admit that she is worried about Shadowheart - but it solves the question of who is coming out tomorrow with her.
Halsin gets a visit as well, if only so she can see how Thaniel is doing - with a heavy heart, she learns the work is not yet fully done. The curse isn't lifted just because Thaniel is healed. Ketheric Thorm will have to be killed - the request to infiltrate Moonrise Towers is now less of a find out more about the Absolute and more of an assassination plot on top.
With all these things on her mind, it's no wonder she is wide awake, lingering by the camp fire even as the others turn in for the night. She starts putting out the fire, when she catches Astarion's tent flap opening from the corner of her eyes, and her heart jumps in her throat.
Oh. Yes. They were going to sneak away together. Carve some time for themselves to... Weave knows. At the moment, she is more in need of a hug than to get laid, and since they're the last ones awake, she doesn't hold back on showing that vulnerability on her open face. She stands up from the fire, dusting her hands on her robes, and looks at him for a moment, before walking up to him. He is much taller - most elves are, in comparison - so she is very much looking up to him. Heart on her sleeve, first bite is free.
He looks mildly uncomfortable for a moment, brow furrowing as his weight shifts back instinctively. Even if he doesn't actually step back. Red eyes flicker over her for signs of distress or hurt and...yes. It does seem something's on her mind besides their little rendezvous.
She draws in a breath, trying very hard to not let it show that she's upset at the news - be cunning and clever and fierce, be what every person wants her to be for them - and exhales it, shakily.
"I'm - sorry, I was maudlin. I spoke to Thaniel, and they say the only way to lift the curse is to kill Thorm, and while something tells me we were bound to fight him anyway because why wouldn't we, why not add that on top of everything, it's one thing to suspect and one thing to be told by sodding Nature that I have to."
She catches her breath for a second, just so her voice doesn't keep pitching upward. "Who says no to Nature? It's not like - I don't like this place, of course I want to lift the curse, but - ugh, I nearly got taken out by a bunch of trees, Astarion, this is absolute pure shit, and I hate it and if you're not opposed to hugging I would really, really appreciate a hug. Please. You can be all...smooth and flirty with me in a bit, if you still want to."
Well. This has rather put a damper on things, hasn't it?
He still looks uncertain, but Hermione does look so wretchedly miserable, and it seems so little to ask. Perhaps things are best put off for another night, he thinks, before sighing and tentatively opening his arms. "Well. Alright, then."
Even for a corpse, his posture is rather stiff. Like he isn't quite sure how to hug, after so long.
She releases a relieved breath, and steps up closer to him. Astarion might not be familiar with how to hug, but Hermione is. She can take the lead, wrapping her arms around his waist, closing the distance between them. Her head fits somewhere under his chin, and her hands find their way to the middle of his back.
She holds back an amused little huff, and pushes herself up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "It's sweet of you to say," she murmurs, extracting herself from the hug gently, without altogether shaking him off. No attempts are made there.
That hug, strange and awkward though it was, made her feel better. He patted her back - did he notice that she shivered and melted a bit at the touch? Astarion can be very perceptive, she wouldn't put it past him. He's probably realised that she has touch-starved written on her forehead.
"No, I'd like to go," she admits, throwing a cursory glance around the campsite. "I think...getting away from here will help. Carving some time..." She hesitates a bit, returning her gaze towards him, her voice and her expression softening to almost tentatively hopeful, "...for ourselves?"
She takes a small step closer and leans in to whisper: "I don't want you to think that I'm not interested, because I very much do like you." More than like. "But it's your choice."
At that, he almost laughs, some of the tension easing out of his frame again as he waves a hand dismissively. "Darling, it's not that I don't think that you're interested. I think that you're upset. And that's hardly a good foot to set out on," he replies, arching a brow.
"But if you're feeling up to it...well. I can certainly do my best to distract."
He does have a point, but there is something about this that prods at her curiosity. He is good at that, isn't he? Being slippery when it comes to answering whether he wants her.
She has therefore two options: she can insist, clinging onto past needs to be validated and affirmed as much as possible, or she can accept his offer as it is. She's a grown woman, she's absolutely capable of having fun. Sex can be a very effective way to release tension, she knows this!
(And of course, she can absolutely not get any of her feelings hurt in the process. She doesn't need to be loved. She doesn't.)
(It's fine.)
She holds her hand out, trying to shake off her temporary feelings of the world being overwhelming, and nods imperceptibly.
"Do let's explore an abandoned wine cellar together, then."
Love isn't necessary to survive. Thank the gods for that, or he might have starved long before now. But support? Sympathy? Affection of a sort? Those are easier. Those, he feels as if he can lay hands on without burning him like coals, even if the practice of it is still far from natural to him.
He offers her an arm in turn. If she wants to be so open about it? Fine by him. But he'll do things as he knows how.
"Onwards, then," she declares with a sweeping gesture, one to match his exhuberant sass.
Good humour might be like appetite. Sometimes you need to eat to realise you've been hungry. Sometimes you need to laugh to realise you're in sore need of laughter.
The road to the wine cellar is dark, so Hermione sends dancing motes of light ahead of them, because she is still very much prone to jabbing her shins into corners in the dark. The humanity.
The blessing from the pixie that they freed from moon lantern lingers on then, making the curse not cling to them as they step outside the protective circle of the Last Light Inn.
She'll let Astarion sneak them in, of course. Just so he feels smug about it.
There's a surprising lack of smugness coming off of him as they make their way. Instead he has that slightly distant look about him that says he's thinking, that his mind is a million miles away. Still, he smirks and twirls the lockpick in his fingers with a flourish before unlatching the door, letting them into the dusty-but-dry underbelly of the tavern.
A few candles and lanterns remain, easily lit with a flourish of his fingertips. She's not the only one capable of a bit of magic, after all, and his knowing look over his shoulder says as much.
A less timid smile crosses her lips when he lights up lanterns with his own arcane magic, her gaze meeting his.
"Nicely done," she says softly, and steps into the dusty space, taking care to close the door behind them. There, now - privacy.
"You can almost forget the state of the world outside down here." She rolls her shoulders, the little pinpricks from the previous night all but gone, her knots mostly formed from tension. Nerves. She is...nervous to be here alone, with Astarion. Her heartbeat races and the swarm of butterflies in her stomach flutters incessantly. The door to the this dingy place closes, and it is as if there's a mental barrier between whatever is happening outside and what is happening here.
She does allow herself so little time to enjoy the simple human pleasures in life. A crush, or desires, or any stronger emotions than that feel so out of place from her dusty spell scrolls and tomes to study, and yet - Hermione did initiate herself in the arts of bards, after all, for a very good reason. Inside that chest beats not just a feral sort of temper, but a passionate heart.
She just needs to take the first step, really, to let it shine.
"You'd think I would be used by now to how beautiful you look in candlelight," she says, taking a step into the room and closer to him.
His lips curve higher, as she steps closer, and the scent of her washes over him. The drumming of her heart in his ears, quickening, a familiar stiffness in her frame betraying not reluctance but an anxious energy. Here they stand, on the precipice of...well. Something.
"Breathe, darling."
Astarion chuckles, reaching out to trace his fingers against the edge of her cheek. "It's just us, now. I'm all yours. That's what you want, isn't it?"
Indeed, here they are. There is a blissful sort of silence that settles in her mind as soon as he brushes his fingers against her cheek, her breath coming out calmly on the next exhale, the awkward tension ebbing away.
"Yes," she answers, reaching up to circle his wrist with her hand, to lean her cheek into his palm, her gaze open and interested and fixed on his face now.
"You're who I want," she murmurs, just to specify. She presses a kiss to the inside of his palm and tips her head up. "Kiss me?"
That comes as easy as anything. His lips tug a little higher, as he gently tips her head to meet him as he leans in. He can feel the faint tremble of her warm lips against his, the sweetness of her skin slowly flooding his senses. The thrum of her pulse close at hand, reassuring rather than distracting.
He's mindful, still, when his free hand cups her hip and draws her in closer against him. Though there's little warmth to him, his hold is firm, and soon? She'll be warm enough for the both of them.
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Four walls in a place like this? Worth its weight in gold. It certainly wouldn't do to have any intimate entanglements interrupted by some spooky busybody looking for fresh victims. Certainly would set the pulse racing, though, if he still had such a thing.
Hermione, however, might not appreciate the scare as much.
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But the cellar of Last Light is empty and tucked away, and they cleared it of all those beastlies. They would need to sneak in.
"We'll need to sneak in," she says conspiratorially, but still smiling - a genuine smile, as her excitement grows. "Our own little side-quest, mm?"
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He chuckles, gesturing grandly with one hand before letting it settle at his side once more.
"And if it's sneaking you want, you couldn't have chosen better."
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The struggles of a wizard. She is dexterous, fairly so, but Astarion is just better. She's been asking him to follow her along on every adventure because Hermione Granger has never met a locked door she hasn't wanted to open.
"If we find a locked chest, I promise to applaud. Write stories of your clever fingers."
How that sounds sinks in a second later, and she blushes what she reckons might be beet red at this point. Time to move along - time to move on.
"We'll make it out of here, I'm sure of it." She'll make sure of it. "We'll make it out, we'll see the city again, and find a cure for these little wormlings in our heads. Eh, sorry, I realise talking about the tadpoles is not the most romantic of topics."
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As nimble in conversation as he is with his fingers, Astarion cocks his head in thought.
"Once they're out of our heads...what's the first thing you'll do?" He has his own ideas, of course, but it's better to look forward to all the wonderful things they have to look forward to.
Like revenge. That's probably highest on his list at the moment, in truth, but he's wise enough not to say so out loud.
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She rushes past that little sliver of self-doubt. (What is her purpose if she can't be of help to her friends? Even her school friends lost interest in her after they recovered the Tower from under Riddle's control, because they wanted to move on with their magical studies and Hermione wanted to change things.)
Karlach will need her help, Hermione refuses to let the tiefling be forced to return to the Hells, there must be a better way, maybe if they find a better artificer? And Wyll, she promised she'd help him exit his contract with Mizora, and Gale - oh, Gale, there's much to help him with - and she can sum it all up.
"I think I'll keep travelling. I like the adventure, to be sure, but I enjoy helping people more - but okay, that's not my final answer. Final answer, as soon as the tadpoles are out of our heads, I'm taking a three-hour long bubble bath."
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Wry amusement touches his lips, even as he rolls his eyes and gestures loosely in the direction that Baldur's Gate must lie. They're getting closer and closer every day, and he's trying not to think about that winding ball of anxiety in the pit of his stomach at the idea.
"Alas that we'll have to make do, for now."
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"It's a good thing we're both good at improvising," she jokes back, her voice a little on the wry side.
Her expression softens as she spots the campsite in the distance, and she brushes the back of her fingers over his knuckles - touch, gentle and casual, easy as breathing.
"I'm going to help the others with dinner," she says, "but... Find me, when they've gone to sleep?"
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He chuckles like he's done a thousand times before, pauses to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear, thumb grazing her cheek in a cool whisper of a touch. He doesn't have to do much for her mind to linger on him, he's certain, but what's the point of learning the finer art of seduction if you can't use it on people you actually want to sleep with?
With a wink, he peels away, letting her join up with Gale, who usually takes command over the affairs of seeing everyone fed. Fitting, in a way. With all the random bits of food they collect over their journey, turning any of it into a reasonable meal for six people could be nothing short of wizardry.
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She huffs at him in mock outrage at his wink, and with a roll of her eyes she picks up the pace and joins Gale by the camp fire.
It takes about an hour to turn the random bits and bobs of edible foodstuffs into a meal that can replenish everyone's energy. Halsin offers goodberries, but somehow a single berry is less appealing than a bowl-full of what might be potato stew. Gale is a magnificent cook - it's quite impressive! Hermione would be eating stale bread by now if not lucky enough to have the Wizard of Waterdeep gracing them with cooked meals on the nightly.
One hour later, everyone settles down for a meal, though she notes with some sadness that there are some companions to choose to take it alone in their own tents (Wyll being one of them, and then Lae'Zel). She chooses to check up on them, before they have a chance to sleep, and make sure they're well - emotionally. It's a difficult place, the Shadow-Cursed Lands, and she can understand that it weighs in on people. What she doesn't expect is for Lae'Zel to admit that she is worried about Shadowheart - but it solves the question of who is coming out tomorrow with her.
Halsin gets a visit as well, if only so she can see how Thaniel is doing - with a heavy heart, she learns the work is not yet fully done. The curse isn't lifted just because Thaniel is healed. Ketheric Thorm will have to be killed - the request to infiltrate Moonrise Towers is now less of a find out more about the Absolute and more of an assassination plot on top.
With all these things on her mind, it's no wonder she is wide awake, lingering by the camp fire even as the others turn in for the night. She starts putting out the fire, when she catches Astarion's tent flap opening from the corner of her eyes, and her heart jumps in her throat.
Oh. Yes. They were going to sneak away together. Carve some time for themselves to... Weave knows. At the moment, she is more in need of a hug than to get laid, and since they're the last ones awake, she doesn't hold back on showing that vulnerability on her open face. She stands up from the fire, dusting her hands on her robes, and looks at him for a moment, before walking up to him. He is much taller - most elves are, in comparison - so she is very much looking up to him. Heart on her sleeve, first bite is free.
"Are you opposed to hugging?"
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He looks mildly uncomfortable for a moment, brow furrowing as his weight shifts back instinctively. Even if he doesn't actually step back. Red eyes flicker over her for signs of distress or hurt and...yes. It does seem something's on her mind besides their little rendezvous.
"Not entirely, I suppose. Why? What's happened?"
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"I'm - sorry, I was maudlin. I spoke to Thaniel, and they say the only way to lift the curse is to kill Thorm, and while something tells me we were bound to fight him anyway because why wouldn't we, why not add that on top of everything, it's one thing to suspect and one thing to be told by sodding Nature that I have to."
She catches her breath for a second, just so her voice doesn't keep pitching upward. "Who says no to Nature? It's not like - I don't like this place, of course I want to lift the curse, but - ugh, I nearly got taken out by a bunch of trees, Astarion, this is absolute pure shit, and I hate it and if you're not opposed to hugging I would really, really appreciate a hug. Please. You can be all...smooth and flirty with me in a bit, if you still want to."
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He still looks uncertain, but Hermione does look so wretchedly miserable, and it seems so little to ask. Perhaps things are best put off for another night, he thinks, before sighing and tentatively opening his arms. "Well. Alright, then."
Even for a corpse, his posture is rather stiff. Like he isn't quite sure how to hug, after so long.
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They hug. She hugs him.
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Funny, that this should be the first time he can ever remember being hugged. It's awful. Who finds this comforting?
"If we should put tonight off, I would understand," he finally remarks, after a moment or two has passed and the quiet starts to needle at him.
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That hug, strange and awkward though it was, made her feel better. He patted her back - did he notice that she shivered and melted a bit at the touch? Astarion can be very perceptive, she wouldn't put it past him. He's probably realised that she has touch-starved written on her forehead.
"No, I'd like to go," she admits, throwing a cursory glance around the campsite. "I think...getting away from here will help. Carving some time..." She hesitates a bit, returning her gaze towards him, her voice and her expression softening to almost tentatively hopeful, "...for ourselves?"
She takes a small step closer and leans in to whisper: "I don't want you to think that I'm not interested, because I very much do like you." More than like. "But it's your choice."
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"But if you're feeling up to it...well. I can certainly do my best to distract."
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She has therefore two options: she can insist, clinging onto past needs to be validated and affirmed as much as possible, or she can accept his offer as it is. She's a grown woman, she's absolutely capable of having fun. Sex can be a very effective way to release tension, she knows this!
(And of course, she can absolutely not get any of her feelings hurt in the process. She doesn't need to be loved. She doesn't.)
(It's fine.)
She holds her hand out, trying to shake off her temporary feelings of the world being overwhelming, and nods imperceptibly.
"Do let's explore an abandoned wine cellar together, then."
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He offers her an arm in turn. If she wants to be so open about it? Fine by him. But he'll do things as he knows how.
"An excellent idea. Shall we?"
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Good humour might be like appetite. Sometimes you need to eat to realise you've been hungry. Sometimes you need to laugh to realise you're in sore need of laughter.
The road to the wine cellar is dark, so Hermione sends dancing motes of light ahead of them, because she is still very much prone to jabbing her shins into corners in the dark. The humanity.
The blessing from the pixie that they freed from moon lantern lingers on then, making the curse not cling to them as they step outside the protective circle of the Last Light Inn.
She'll let Astarion sneak them in, of course. Just so he feels smug about it.
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A few candles and lanterns remain, easily lit with a flourish of his fingertips. She's not the only one capable of a bit of magic, after all, and his knowing look over his shoulder says as much.
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"Nicely done," she says softly, and steps into the dusty space, taking care to close the door behind them. There, now - privacy.
"You can almost forget the state of the world outside down here." She rolls her shoulders, the little pinpricks from the previous night all but gone, her knots mostly formed from tension. Nerves. She is...nervous to be here alone, with Astarion. Her heartbeat races and the swarm of butterflies in her stomach flutters incessantly. The door to the this dingy place closes, and it is as if there's a mental barrier between whatever is happening outside and what is happening here.
She does allow herself so little time to enjoy the simple human pleasures in life. A crush, or desires, or any stronger emotions than that feel so out of place from her dusty spell scrolls and tomes to study, and yet - Hermione did initiate herself in the arts of bards, after all, for a very good reason. Inside that chest beats not just a feral sort of temper, but a passionate heart.
She just needs to take the first step, really, to let it shine.
"You'd think I would be used by now to how beautiful you look in candlelight," she says, taking a step into the room and closer to him.
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His lips curve higher, as she steps closer, and the scent of her washes over him. The drumming of her heart in his ears, quickening, a familiar stiffness in her frame betraying not reluctance but an anxious energy. Here they stand, on the precipice of...well. Something.
"Breathe, darling."
Astarion chuckles, reaching out to trace his fingers against the edge of her cheek. "It's just us, now. I'm all yours. That's what you want, isn't it?"
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"Yes," she answers, reaching up to circle his wrist with her hand, to lean her cheek into his palm, her gaze open and interested and fixed on his face now.
"You're who I want," she murmurs, just to specify. She presses a kiss to the inside of his palm and tips her head up. "Kiss me?"
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That comes as easy as anything. His lips tug a little higher, as he gently tips her head to meet him as he leans in. He can feel the faint tremble of her warm lips against his, the sweetness of her skin slowly flooding his senses. The thrum of her pulse close at hand, reassuring rather than distracting.
He's mindful, still, when his free hand cups her hip and draws her in closer against him. Though there's little warmth to him, his hold is firm, and soon? She'll be warm enough for the both of them.
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