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Seven thousand spawn had been released into the Underdark. Many of them were surely causing untold chaos, feasting on the blood they’d been deprived of for so long. A glorious, blood-drunk reverie to instill terror in the hearts of mortals.
One of them was not doing any feasting at the moment (tragically for him). Instead he was seated on a comfortable chair, reading a book with the cryptic title of Pyrokinetics. He scowled at the dense text. It had been a long time since he had read anything in such a tiny font, or with quite so much jargon. It could put his old textbooks to shame.
Then his quiet not-afternoon—because he still had no idea how anyone knew the time down here—was abruptly ruined without any warning.
“HELLO, ASTARION! ARE YOU THERE? BOO COMES BEARING GIFTS!”
Astarion, who had nearly fallen out of his chair, briefly imagined numerous grim and ugly fates that could take the Rashemaar.
“I can hear you just fine without shouting,” Astarion managed through gritted teeth. A distinct stream of squeaks came as a reply (or so he assumed).
“Ah. You are closer than I thought. I did not mean to startle you,” said Minsc. “Boo wonders if we can come inside?”
Astarion sighed and went to open the gate.
He hesitated to call the old Selûnite temple home—he wasn’t sure that he wanted to stay here long-term, or that he wanted to stay anywhere long-term just yet. There was a prickling, gnawing feeling that always lurked on his shoulders. Logically, he knew that he was mostly safe. Actually believing that was more challenging. Still, the temple had walls, a ceiling, and mostly-intact furniture. Though hardly luxurious, it was better than a tent.
Nonetheless, it had some downsides. One being that even a bumbling oaf could find him.
As Minsc came into view, he was surprised to see him holding something large and bright. It was a sunflower, he realized. He stared blankly.
“Boo was thinking, our pale friend cannot go to the sun anymore. So Minsc is thinking: why not bring the sun to our friend?” Minsc beamed.
“Oh,” Astarion managed after a moment. “That’s…thoughtful.”
“Minsc does not always have thoughts, but the ones he has are always good.”
Well, he couldn’t argue with that. He set the book down to take the enormous yellow flower from him. His first instinct was to put it in a vase of some sort, but the flower was nearly as tall as he was. Instead he found himself just standing there, holding it like an idiot. Meanwhile, Minsc walked right on past him.
“So this is where you are living now,” Minsc said brightly. He held Boo up to a painting of a fluffy white cat on the wall. He had carefully placed it to hide the creepy staring eyes of Selûne’s symbol; it’d been one of the few things he took with him from Baldur’s Gate. “No, Boo, we cannot say such things. It is only a painting.”
Astarion was still at a loss for words. (He loathed to admit it, but Minsc often had that effect on him.)
“How did you find this place?” Again, he was tempted to add. This was the second time Minsc had tracked him down in the Underdark. He had no explanation as to why; with the Absolute eliminated, the heroes surely had heroics of some kind to do. (Astarion pointedly refused to consider himself one of them. Eurgh.)
“Boo has a very good nose, and you have a distinct odour, he says.”
“I—I do not!” Astarion spluttered. “Tell your hamster friend I—” Minsc was no longer paying attention.
Astarion took a moment to compose himself as his uninvited guests wandered around.
“What are you even doing here, anyway? Is there something Nine-Fingers Keene wants?”
That seemed to catch him off guard. “Hm? You already forget? We came to give you a present.”
“That’s it?”
“Why not?”
Before Astarion could think of what to say, Boo filled the awkward pause with his squeaks.
“Ah…Boo says that perhaps you were not looking to have visitors today. Worry not, Minsc is only passing through. But we will see you again. Come, Boo!”
As suddenly as the duo had arrived, the hamster and his mount abruptly turned and left. Astarion realized belatedly he was still holding the flower.
As time wore on, Minsc’s unexpected visit faded to the back of his mind. He mostly forgot about the sunflower slowly wilting away in a large clay jar. No, he had bigger plans: burning that accursed palace down. His party had stripped it of most of its valuables some months prior, and what they hadn't taken the other spawn had surely claimed by now. No one would miss Cazador’s hideous shack.
It was easy enough to get into from the Underdark. More challenging was carrying the barrels of smokepowder he’d bought from the Guild. They hadn't asked him what he wanted them for, but he'd turned down their offer of additional manpower. He had considered reaching out to the other spawn, but something had stopped him. No, he thought: this was something he had to do himself.
He'd been struggling with hauling them up the passage when a voice startled him. He cursed.
“You have got to stop doing that,” Astarion hissed at Minsc. As large as he was, the ranger could be annoyingly stealthy.
“There you are, Astarion! Where have you been? We have been looking for you!”
“How did you—how—why—“ Astarion struggled. Finally, he slumped his shoulders in defeat. “Look, if you’re going to follow me around, would you at least make yourself useful? Help me carry some of these barrels.”
“Of course, my friend!”
“Quietly.”
“Of course, my friend,” Minsc whispered.
To his credit, Minsc didn’t question him. Nor did he even ask what was in the barrels, though the smell probably gave it away. He simply followed, surefooted and dutiful. Astarion wasn’t sure how long they spent in the dark. By the time they emerged into the dim, foreboding lights of Cazador’s dungeon, Minsc’s smooth head glistened with sweat.
“Why do we come back here, Astarion? This is not a happy place for you,” Minsc said with a frown.
He hesitated, and said simply: “I’m going to blow it up.”
Minsc paused to confer with Boo. “We will help.”
“Very well. Just don’t get in the way.”
They set to work tucking smokepowder in every corner of the palace. Minsc helped him pack the bulk of the barrels in the guest room. Astarion thought about asking just why he was so willing to assist, but eventually decided it didn’t matter. Grudgingly, he admitted it would’ve taken him much longer to set up the whole operation on his own. This was more efficient.
Soon, all that remained was to ignite the fuel. He summoned a flame to his palm, and tossed it at the grease-soaked rug. It spread rapidly, climbing up the bedposts and igniting the sheets. He turned and went to cast another fire ball at a painting.
“Wait, Astarion. The ceiling—“
Astarion looked up. The flames had leapt up from the bedpost to a wooden beam just over his head. Not a moment too soon, Astarion dove out of the way. The beam came splintering down where he’d been standing moments before.
He heard Minsc coughing somewhere, and a surge of terror went through him. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. If he got Minsc killed—oh, he did not want to be the one to tell Jaheira—
“Minsc?” he called out. “Where are you?”
“Have no fear, my flammable friend! Minsc is here!”
Abruptly, Astarion found himself hoisted over a shoulder by a pair of large, meaty arms. He shrieked.
“Do not flail so! You almost kicked Boo off my head, and then we would both be lost!”
By the time Minsc set him back down in the tunnels like an indignant cat, both of them dusted with soot, Astarion had calmed down. A bit. He resisted the urge to curse the Rashemaar out, instead just leaning against the mercifully cool cavern wall.
“That was very close, even for Minsc,” the human wheezed as he caught his breath.
“My hair, is it singed?” Astarion said, frantically patting his own head.
“Your fluffy sheep locks are perfect, my friend.”
“Sheep? Oh, nevermind.”
Once he managed to compose himself a bit, he straightened up. Without glancing back, he started walking. He didn’t know how to feel. Nor what to think. Burning down Cazador’s palace was supposed to give him…actually, he had no idea what it had been supposed to do, beyond eradicate that disgusting hole off the face of Faerûn. He did feel relieved. Mostly that he hadn’t been toasted alive in there.
He realized, dimly, that Minsc was still walking with him. Strangely, he didn't mind that.
“Thank you,” he blurted after a long moment.
Minsc smiled broadly.
The next time he saw Minsc, he was illuminated by the glow of Underdark mushrooms. This time, Astarion had told him ahead of time he was moving to the myconid colony. If he was going to look for him anyway, he figured he could as well as spare the oaf some effort.
The lack of a proper fireplace, or stone walls, or really any civilized structures incredibly proved not to be an obstacle. He already liked it much more than the temple; after discovering the third rat hiding under his favourite chair, Astarion had decided he would trade walls and furniture for anywhere pest-free. And it wasn’t as if the myconids were completely barbaric, anyway. With a bit of cleaning (and bullying some gnomes), he’d managed to turn one of the alcoves into a pleasant little room. Instead of a proper bed, he had a hammock to keep him off the ground and well away from anything disgusting. Glowing mushroom caps provided most of the illumination, and the cold and damp was easily chased away by a fire. Unconventional, but still better than a tent.
When he spotted that shiny bald head again, Astarion signaled to the myconids this was his guest. They allowed him to pass, their voices humming with calm curiosity. Astarion hadn't completely gotten used to the way they spoke. When he'd first come here, the song had almost reminded him of vile, whispered orders, orders he could not refuse. It was hard to believe, now, that he'd ever seen something shared between a vampire lord's hypnotic charm and the myconid's simple community. They could compel each other about as much as his left hand could control his right.
Minsc's voice pulled his thoughts away from a potentially risky spiral. "You have many mushroom friends now!"
"...I suppose you could call them that."
He watched the ranger hold his hamster up to one of the fungi, only to yank his hand away moments later. "No, Boo! You forget what happened last time we ate mushrooms!"
"Now that's a story I have to hear."
"Eh, Minsc thinks not," he said, turning vaguely pink.
"Oh, your secret's safe with me."
Yet Minsc shook his head, his cheeks an even brighter pink, and he quickened his pace. Astarion had never seen Minsc blush before. It was oddly...endearing. He couldn't put his finger on why, exactly, only that he rather liked the sight of a flustered Minsc.
When they reached his little alcove, he invited his friend to sit with him. He seemed to have composed himself again, yet Minsc hesitated. That was even odder; he'd never known him to dither.
“I am sorry, Astarion. Minsc has shamed himself,” the Rashemaar blurted out after finally taking a seat on a cushion.
“For what?” Astarion said, bemused.
“Minsc has come to see his friend many times already, but he has not once asked him if he is hungry.”
Astarion just stared. He very nearly laughed just from shock, and the look of sheer seriousness on Minsc’s face had him struggling to contain a chuckle.
“Well, it’s really not your concern,” Astarion tried to say. The man just scowled, so he added: “I admit it’s trickier to find humanoid blood, but it’s not like I’m starving. I’ve fed on much worse things.”
Minsc scowled even deeper. “You should not have to be content with scraps when you can have a feast.”
“I would hardly call quaggoths scraps, but—unless…you’re offering?”
“Of course,” said Minsc, regaining some of his usual energy. “Minsc is very strong and very healthy. If you like, I can share with you.”
Astarion was too taken aback to say anything at first. Truthfully—it wasn't a bad surprise. Minsc didn’t smell bad at all; the man bathed daily, which helped considerably. For another thing, Astarion hadn’t had human blood in quite some time. And of all people, Minsc seemed the least likely to offer anything if he didn’t mean it with utter sincerity. He almost certainly wouldn't expect anything in return for it, either. Even if Astarion offered, he’d probably just say something annoying, like his hamster told him to do it.
“If you’re sure, I…wouldn’t mind,” Astarion said. “Then, I suppose…well, just lean back and make yourself comfortable. This won't take long.”
Minsc did as he was told, propping his head up with a cushion. “My neck is all yours, friend.”
Yes, because offering necks was just an ordinary thing friends did. Still, Astarion supposed, neither of them were exactly ordinary. He crept over Minsc, carefully sliding into the larger man’s lap. Up close, he was suddenly aware, again, of just how sturdy he was. He’d watched him escape a mimic—but those arms, strong enough to lift him up, lay limply at his sides now. He studied Minsc’s face, but there was no fear there. No anxiety. Just calm. Trusting.
“It might hurt a bit, just so you know,” Astarion decided to warn him. More for his own safety than anything else.
At that, Minsc laughed. Astarion felt the sound in his whole body.
“Boo’s fangs are much sharper and more painful than yours.”
He sincerely doubted that. Now, though, he was not thinking about the hamster anymore. He was thinking about Minsc, much closer than he’d ever been, and the sharp, admittedly handsome line of his jaw. The bare skin of his neck, and the warm blood that pumped just beneath the surface. He shifted upwards, bracing his hands against his collarbone, and bit down.
He heard a small gasp, felt Minsc’s chest rise against his—but that was all. His blood tasted different from their mutual friend’s—their leader’s—who had offered it to him a few times. It was just as delicious, though. Perhaps even more so. How could he ever be content with quaggoths, when this was on offer?
This time, he remembered himself. Partially out of some concern for Minsc, and partially because he did not want to imagine what Jaheira might do to him if he drained him. He listened to Minsc’s breathing—even, deep. As if carefully controlled. He felt him twitch under him, huge and powerful and yet perfectly tame. Very obedient. Sweet.
Oh, no. No. He was not going to think this way about a man controlled by a hamster. With more effort than he wanted to admit, he pried himself off.
“Mmph. Thank you.”
“That is all?” Minsc asked in surprise. “I have much more.”
“For now, yes. If you…want to offer again later…”
“Anytime—my friend.”
Usually, the people he fed on looked pale afterwards. But Minsc’s cheeks had been pink. Astarion could not put that observation out of his head.
I am not attracted to an oaf, he told himself. It didn’t matter. In the weeks that followed, he found himself easily distracted by the sight of those broad shoulders and that warm smile. Minsc came to visit him a few more times in the myconid colony. He occasionally fed on him, but more often he just let Minsc tell him stories of his adventures and his homeland. Sunflowers grew in great fields there, he said. People often ate the roasted seeds, which were very tasty, and the ground in cities was covered in the husks. Astarion made a mental note to bring Minsc a sack of sunflower seeds sometime.
Astarion had imagined Minsc to be mostly oblivious to his charms, or anyone else's charms, until one day Minsc appeared with a whole bouquet of flowers. There were no sunflowers this time: instead he had brought various colours of tulips, mixed with dainty white primrose and sweet-smelling lilac. They must be blooming on the surface. The Underdark had seasons, but they did not correspond well with the rhythm of the surface world.
"It is first day of summer," Minsc explained. "We—I want to show you."
Minsc included Boo less often these days, Astarion noticed.
"No well wishes from Boo?" he teased. An indignant squeak from one of Minsc's pockets made it clear this was not the intention.
"How can you say such a thing? Boo is hurt!" Minsc said good-naturedly. "Ah, not exactly. Boo says he is glad to see you. But the flowers are not Boo's idea."
"Oh? You got them just for me?" He raised an eyebrow meaningfully, half-expecting Minsc not to understand. To his surprise, he blushed. Again.
"If you do not like them, I will not bring them."
Astarion paused, pretending to think about it. Minsc just looked at him, wide-eyed and sincere. Always sincere.
"No, I do like them," he said with a smile. "Thank you, my dear."
At the word dear, Minsc brightened. Astarion felt an odd flutter in his chest.
Astarion kept expecting Minsc to make some other move. To say something. Do something. But he didn't, and Astarion had no idea what to do with that.
Well, he had some idea. It didn’t feel like the right idea, though. He wanted this—whatever this was—to be different. Minsc was not someone he wanted to just bed and be done with it. Not that he didn't want to bed Minsc, he had to admit. He was irritatingly handsome. Especially when he proclaimed he was going fishing, and shed his shirt and trousers on the lakeshore.
Astarion watched from the safety of a rock with Boo. He appreciated that Minsc trusted him enough to look after the hamster, whose tiny furry body was currently warming his shoulder and did not smell delicious. Definitely not.
Still, he had enough of a view to distract him from his very edible charge. The lakewater glittered with strange, ephemeral light—odd little critters that dwelled in its waters. They looked more light than matter. Astarion didn't really care about them, but he did care about how they cast a soft, bluish glow over Minsc’s firm muscles. He cared about the way the water clung to his bare shoulders.
He lay back, languid. Then Minsc gave a shout, and Astarion started. Minsc turned around with an enormous flopping fish in his arms. Of course he’d caught it with his bare hands. Bloody Rashemaar.
Alas, the trout quickly wriggled out of his grip and back into the water. He watched Minsc splash and bellow for a while before finally wading back to shore.
He looked so utterly dejected. Astarion stood up and offered him a towel.
“There, there,” Astarion said, patting him on the shoulder. Secretly, he was relieved he hadn’t succeeded; he’d much rather feed on Minsc than a watery slimy fish. “It’s the thought that counts.”
That seemed to cheer him up. He beamed down at Astarion, his cheeks and nose pink from the chilly water. On impulse, Astarion leaned up to kiss him.
Minsc kissed him back, soft and light. And then, abruptly, he pulled away.
”I—we must go,” he said, staring at his feet.
“Wait, Minsc—“
But Minsc was already scooping a furiously-chittering Boo into his arms, hurrying away.
Minsc didn’t come back for some days after that. Astarion found himself unable to rest.
Had he done something wrong? Had he hurt Minsc? The thought made him feel ill. At first he tried not to think too much about it. Then he tried to tell himself he didn’t care—
—except he did care.
Finally, he worked up the courage to figure out what was going on for himself.
He still remembered the path to the Guild’s hideout, at least. The guards were easy enough to sneak past. He could’ve stopped and explained himself, but that would’ve taken too much time.
Minsc had been given a comfortable room in the Guildhall, and it proved to be fairly easy to locate. All he had to do was follow the sound of drums. He slipped through the door, and silently shut it behind him.
“Hello, Minsc,” Astarion said hesitantly.
It was Minsc’s turn to stumble to his feet in surprise.
“Astarion,” he said. He immediately turned a very charming shade of pink. “I—I did not expect to see you. How can Minsc help his friend?”
“To start, I think…maybe we should have a talk about the friend part. About kissing.”
“You didn’t like it?”
“What? No, of course I did, I—”
Astarion faltered, suddenly unsure. This was insane. What was he doing? Minsc wouldn’t want the likes of him. No doubt he’d realized that the moment he’d touched him.
But Minsc went to him, head bowed. It was utterly bizarre. He worked up the courage to keep talking.
“Did…I hurt you?”
“No! No, you did not.”
Now Astarion was well and truly baffled.
“So…why did you run away?”
”I was afraid I would hurt you,” Minsc admitted, still staring at his feet.
”Minsc. I kissed you.”
“It was not Minsc’s wisest thought,” Minsc sighed. “I like you, but…I did not think you liked me, also this way.”
At that, Astarion just started laughing. It even brought a hesitant chuckle from Minsc.
”Gods, Minsc. Gods,” he managed finally. “And I thought I was bad at this.”
”Minsc is not bad at loving,” Minsc broke in with a hint of defiance. “Just…out of practice. I show you.”
It was Minsc’s turn to kiss him, then, one hand placed on his waist. If his heart still beat, he knew it would’ve been racing. Maybe it still did: he let himself hold onto Minsc, feeling light. Almost dizzy. This was deeper, longer than the one he’d given him, and when he released him he couldn’t help but notice Minsc’s knees buckling the slightest.
“Now we are even?” Minsc said weakly. Astarion laughed, and pulled him into another kiss.
His lips were tender and gentle. He wasn’t sure why that kept surprising him so much. Perhaps it shouldn’t. Of all the people he had known, Minsc was very likely the kindest. When he pulled away, Minsc reached up to cradle his cheek with one large hand. He leaned into the touch, feeling the tough callouses on his palm.
“This is good?” said Minsc.
“Yes,” said Astarion, smiling. “Yes, it is.”
Suddenly emboldened, he slung his arms around Minsc’s shoulders. He shivered as he felt Minsc wrap his arms around him and lift him up. Gently, he sat down on the bed, Astarion on his lap. He might not know much, but this—this part, Astarion knew. And this time, he knew he wanted it.
He wanted it very badly, feeling Minsc’s lips on his neck. He inhaled sharply when Minsc kissed over his old bite scar.
“This is also good?”
“Yes, Minsc. Yes.”
Minsc nodded, and let Astarion pull his shirt off. He paused to run a shaky hand over his chest; Astarion took a deep breath, letting himself feel how warm he was, even through his clothes. In turn, he traced a long, thin pale scar with his thumb, following it along Minsc’s abdomen to his belly button. Minsc turned bright red as he tried (and failed) to suppress a laugh.
Fuck, he was ticklish. Fuck him. No, fuck Minsc.
His own shirt suddenly felt much too hot and stifling. No sooner did he yank it off did he pin Minsc down against the bed and kiss him. Hard. He felt Minsc buck under him, his groan stifled by his lips. He dug his fingers into the hard muscle of his shoulders. He did not resist, his muscles slack under his touch, and Astarion almost felt dizzy with the sheer, sudden desire that filled him.
He kissed down his chest, slower and lazier than he felt. Slow, he told himself. This was all for him. For him and Minsc to enjoy. But it was hard not to grind his hips against him, to want even more, especially when Minsc kept bucking his hips.
He slid his tongue over one nipple and carefully tugged at it with his teeth. Minsc whimpered and twitched harder.
“Minsc,” he panted, “you could have just said something.”
The man just groaned something soft and breathy–most likely in Rashemi. That turned into a curse as Astarion slipped a hand down between them. He pulled his breeches out of the way to stroke Minsc’s already-stiff cock. He felt the weight and heft of him, feeling him shudder helplessly under him. This huge, tough man was already melting to pieces under him, and Astarion could only want more.
And Minsc apparently had the same thought, because he was reaching towards his nightstand. “First drawer–there is oil.”
He wasted no time in discarding the rest of their clothing, and reaching over to fetch it. He slicked his fingers thoroughly as Minsc watched, bare chest gleaming with sweat in the dim light.
“Astarion,” he said. “Please, I am ready–”
He cut off with a moan as Astarion pressed his fingers inside him. He arched helplessly with each stroke, gentle but firm. Astarion couldn’t take his eyes off him–couldn’t think of anything but Minsc, practically bent in half, helpless to him. Minsc, who could easily break him in half, begging him to fuck him. What that snug, slick warmth would feel like around his cock–
Minsc whimpered again when he drew his fingers away. That whimper changed to a groan as he slid his cock into him instead.
His imagination couldn’t have prepared him for how good this felt–it’d never felt this good before. Not once. He just stayed still for a moment, letting Minsc’s hot slickness surround him. Then Minsc twitched his hips impatiently, and all he could do was oblige.
He fucked into him–slow, at first. He rolled his hips gently, taking his time–he planted fierce, sloppy kisses on Minsc’s neck and collarbone, letting his teeth snag just the slightest on his bare skin. The barest taste of blood only inflamed his desire. Minsc whimpered and groaned, sometimes mumbling something in Rashemi. He couldn’t understand the words, but he understood the meaning well enough: he felt his large, gentle hands stroke up his shoulders, cupping his cheeks. He felt that touch turn firm when he thrust a little deeper, and the whispered apology only made him press harder.
Perhaps he could be forgiven, then, for coming first. He couldn’t help it: Minsc was too good, too pleasurable. He felt his whole body shudder as he spent himself inside him, his own moan stifled against the other man’s chest.
He just lay there until he felt Minsc stroking his hair–soft, gentle, reverent. At once he came to his senses.
“Astarion, it is alright–ah,” Minsc gasped. Astarion already had his cock in his mouth. He sucked firmly on the tip, stroking the base with his fingers–Minsc, sweet, lovely Minsc, he would enjoy this as much as he had—and felt warm satisfaction as he tasted Minsc’s orgasm. He sucked him through it, through every gasp and cry of his aftershocks, until he was soft again.
Finally, then, he clambered up to rest his head against Minsc’s chest. He looked up at him, suddenly uncertain. What did one do after? Besides leave, and he had no intention of doing that. But Minsc seemed to know. He reached up to continue running his hands through Astarion’s hair.
Minsc didn’t say anything, but he smiled. And Astarion did too.
The invitation from Withers was addressed to both of them. How the skeleton knew about them, Astarion had no idea–but he decided he didn’t care.
They arrived together. Jaheira seemed utterly unsurprised to see them; everyone else failed to comment. It was a summer night—short and fleeting, but the sky above Toril was flecked with stars. A pleasant breeze tugged at his hair.
Boo, who was sitting on Minsc’s shoulder, squeaked.
“I do agree. There’s no time quite like the present.”
Minsc beamed. “You understand him now!”
“More that he’s finally deigned to speak with the likes of me, but yes.”
Minsc laughed, and drew him into a hug.