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brewstersbru · 7 months

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More scribbles, this time karlachstarion? Astarlach? Whatever the hell they’re called?

It’s done. Finally, after what must have been years of excruciating waiting, Karlach’s heart is fixed. Or, rather, stabilized might be a better word for it.

After talking with Dammon in the druid grove and giving him their only piece of infernal iron- witnessing the sheer joy on Karlach’s face as she realized she was one step closer to touching someone again- Astarion knew he’d do practically anything to find another.

He’d scoured every crypt they’d crawled through, every traveler’s chest abandoned on the side of the road, hells, even some oblivious people’s pockets. Karlach had been searching too, of course, but nothing could compare to the sheer single-minded focus with which Astarion dedicated himself to the task.

Karlach had been kind to him, was the first to stand up for him when his true nature was revealed. She’s never looked at him strangely or doubted his intentions, even when she maybe should have.

The two of them have fallen into a sort of flirtatious tryst- a kind of relationship that Astarion is well acquainted with- but without any of the touching usually involved (a concept less familiar to him). He’s not quite sure how it all came to be as it is now; all he remembers is feeling safe and comfortable enough with her to drop his polite facade.

It was a clear summer’s night and Wyll had been exceptionally, annoyingly heroic that day. Astarion hadn’t eaten for a couple of days and- now spoiled, and fat with all of his current freedoms- found himself quite cross with no sufficient reason why. Still, the bastard he is, he’d called Wyll an ‘intolerable boy scout with raisins for brains’ at the fire that night.

God knows how he came up with that one, but Karlach had laughed something warm and hearty. Grin wide, eyes squinted in mirth. She shined in the firelight. She’d gone to clap Astarion on the shoulder in camaraderie but paused just before making contact, expression falling for a moment. Inexplicably, he’d needed her to be smiling again, so he’d cracked another wise one at Wyll’s expense- who took it with a smile and all the infuriating grace you’d expect- and turned easily to shuffle closer. Not touching, but close enough, he’d hoped, that his presence was clear, despite his cold, dead body.

He’d hated himself for it. For the soft weakness unfurling inside of him, growing larger with each passing day that he spent with these do-gooders. The abundance of food, the absence of his master and the sheer, intoxicating autonomy he’d found here was making him docile.

Still, when- after that night- Karlach had latched onto him, sidling up and walking beside him as they trekked through the trees (she’d shortened her usual lumbering steps), sitting beside him at the campfire, trading quips and jokes almost as if they were sparring. He’d let her. And he’d liked it.

It was freeing, in a way, to be able to just be with someone. When they physically couldn’t ask him for more. Maybe it makes him a bad person for finding comfort in the thing that’s tormented her for years, taken away her own autonomy. But he’s never claimed to be good.

He enjoyed the long nights they spent together, laying half a foot away from each other and staring up at the stars. Talking until the sun rose, or until Karlach fell (adorably) asleep. She snores. Loudly. And Astarion vehemently dislikes the fact that he finds it so damned endearing.

Still, centuries of having the idea that nothing is freely given pounded into his head have left a mark. And Astarion knows that the only currency that he has that’s worth anything in this kind of situation is his body, especially when Karlach hasn’t been able to touch anyone in years. He feels like he owes her this, after all of the kindnesses she’s afforded him, and who knows? He might even enjoy it. He could see himself enjoying it, if he did it right.

He searches so feverishly for two reasons. One, he hates being indebted to people, it makes something cold and wriggling appear in his stomach. Two, Karlach deserves to be free, and he knows that the smile she’ll be sporting when her engine is fully fixed will have been worth all of the painstaking searching and more.

Naturally, he’d found the metal. They’d gone to Dammon, once they found him in the shadowlands, and now here they are. And her smile is so much more than worth it.

Karlach is beaming over at him and he smiles back warm, but a little distant. The implications of this are just now starting to sink in; Karlach will want to get started soon, he’ll need to prepare himself. This needs to be perfect.

A low thrum of anxiety buzzes at the pit of his stomach for the entirety of the walk back to camp. Karlach is walking astride him, making wide sweeping gestures as she babbles on about all of the things she’s excited to do now, no longer over-careful of where her hands go. Catch a squirrel and pet it, give Wyll the noogie of a lifetime, have Shadowheart teach her to braid, kiss Astarion.

He smiles something a little more practiced, almost seductive at this and purrs a few words he could not be held at knifepoint to remember. His body feels miles away but the thought of kissing Karlach is vaguely compelling.

Something old and wretched within him surges forward and overtakes his body. Jerking his lips upward into a smirk, lidding his eyes invitingly. When they make it to camp, the thing that he is now grasps at Karlach’s arm and asks if she’d like to ‘go clean up’ in a voice almost more rumble than words. She agrees, staring at his hand on her arm, and, after collecting some soap and a change of clothes, she follows him to the stream.

It’s cute that she brought soap, as if they’re actually going to ‘clean up’. The naivety of her actions almost bring Astarion back into his body, but he focuses on the pit in his stomach and retreats. This needs to be perfect. And it can’t be perfect if Astarion is all needy and bitchy about being touched like that.

His body moves through the motions of undressing himself, a kind of rehearsed efficiency/allure to his movements. Karlach whistles lowly at the display, but once he turns towards the water, she’s already waist deep and gesturing for him to join her, soap bar in hand.

“Get over here, soldier! You’re covered in dirt.”

… Really? It’s the only thought he can muster at the moment. So she really thought they were just going to clean themselves up? Or perhaps she wants him to work for it a little more, that’s alright. He can earn it.

“Oh I know, absolutely filthy, aren’t I? You’ll make it better, won’t you?” His voice lilts as he wades into the water, muscles tensed, jaw tilted to it’s best angle in an attempt to seem as touchable as possible. If only she’d actually do it.

Karlach snorts and splashes him with water. He stares at her through the barrage and sticks his tongue out to catch some of the droplets that slide down his cheek. Come on.

“Get over here, you.” She sighs, as if she’s talking to a particularly unruly dog and not a vision of sex (Astarion would know, he’d used these same tactics on thousands of others before and they’d all fallen for it).

As he approaches- all swaying hips and cocked eyebrows- she sets the soap in her hand on a protruding rock to her left and places a gentle hand on either side of his face. Cupping him almost like you would a handful of water. He closes his eyes and tries to make it seem as if he’s aching to be kissed. A part of him is. But the pressure never comes.

And just like that, his consciousness crashes back into his body. He can feel the warmth of her hands against his skin, the lap of cool water on his bare hip. Astarion’s eyes flutter open, clearer than they’ve been in hours, and brimming with fear.

“There you are.” Karlach says, voice dipping with a mix of adoration and pity that settles and twists in Astarion’s chest. “Hello.” He chokes. Tries a smile but it feels crooked and wrong on his face.

“We don’t have to do this if it’s too much, ‘star.” He wants to cry a little bit, and sure enough, a tear escapes down his chin.

“I’m sorry.”

She shushes him easily, a little forceful. “Don’t be. Please. I want to touch you, but never like this.” She thumbs across Astarion’s cheek, drying his tears. She’s warm, Astarion notices, but not as searingly hot as she’d been before (although, in the metaphorical sense her hotness has remained the same).

“I’m sorry.” He can’t help but repeat himself, he feels like a broken record. He feels like he’s ruined her night, her big, triumphant moment with his… bullshit, for lack of a better term. She goes to reassure him again but he continues.

“Would you be alright just…. Holding me? Tonight? I’m frustrated with myself, too, but I want to celebrate with you.” He chances a glance upwards at her face, afraid of what he might find. His fear is irrational, of course, because her grin is blinding.

“I think I’d really love that, ‘star. Gods, you don’t know how long I’ve wanted to just wrap you in my arms! And now I can!” Her giggle is abrupt, and infectious. The tension bleeds from Astarion’s shoulders and he finds himself overflowing with warmth and affection. Oh, who was he kidding, how could he ever hope to engineer perfect when the embodiment of the word is standing right in front of him.

They rinse off quickly- Karlach helps with his back and he with hers, there are no wandering hands, only reverent tenderness around old scars- and head back to Karlach’s tent. Astarion would have offered his own if only for the fact that he doesn’t think the two of them will fit, what with all of the stolen trinkets he’s crammed in there. What can he say, he’s gone a little wild now that he can actually own things.

It’s surprisingly easy to fall into bed with her, and only in the exceedingly literal sense. He gets in first, curls around himself, and her around him. She fits her knees behind Astarion’s own, and slings an arm around his middle. Her back faces the camp in a move that may or may not be intentional, but makes butterflies flit around Astarion’s gut all the same.

“This alright?” She asks, voice low. Astarion takes a moment to catalogue himself, similar to what he does after battle to find any injuries that may be hidden by adrenaline. He’s not sure why he does it, when he never has before in these kinds of situations, but he finds everything to be in working order. The thrum of anxiety in his gut is almost completely gone. He nods.

“More than, my dear. Thank you.”

“Always, ‘star. Always.”

#wish i had more time to explore karlachs inner stuff #but idk if i have a good enough grasp of her as a character yet #saw some art of these two and was immediately bewitched by them #cuties #karlach #astarion ancunin #astarion #karlach x astarion #astarlach #bg3 #fluff #ofc she calls him star bc its cute and i love them #literally just that hozier song #hold me like waterrr or christ hold me likee a kniffee #brublurbs

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