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When Astarion and Karlach moved in together, after the whole “keep Karlach from exploding by staying in avernus” venture ended (with Karlach’s engine being truly fixed), the rest of their companions were ecstatic. Wyll in particular had taken it upon himself to find them a nice townhouse right in the belly of Baldur’s Gate. One that noticeably did not have Szarr Palace or Wyrm's Crossing within its view.
The entire team had helped them move in the night they arrived. Karlach and Astarion’s own meagre belongings, especially after a jaunt of the hells, barely filled a corner of their new home. Even after picking through the many, many items left within the old traveller’s chest, the house was still mostly bare.
As Karlach and Astarion were ushered off to the shops, heavy bags of gold in tow, the others got to work. Lae’zel and Minsc, who had followed the pair, carried back their new purchases, with grumbles and boasts, allowing them to continue shopping. Jaheira and Wyll installed plush and thick curtains, with magical darkness failsafes, at every window. Halsin bought a plethora of indoor plants and spent hours crafting charms to allow each one to thrive without sunlight. Gale ensured the cupboards were well stocked and ensorcelled half a dozen jars to keep blood fresh for weeks. And Shadowheart cast wards around the house, with a focus on windows and entryways, ensuring those with ill-intent would be barred entry.
Karlach and Astarion returned to the townhouse at the cusp of dawn. The next couple hours were spent rearranging the new purchases, catching up with each other, and devouring a mountain of food from the Elfsong that had been dropped off by, to everyone’s bewilderment, Withers. When the others left, tired but content, Karlach and Astarion had a fully furnished, fortified and comfy house. It was spotless.
With great skill and dedication, Astarion and Karlach managed to, within a few short weeks, change their house into a home- with an unnecessary amount of clutter and casual messiness. The look of utter dismay it put on Wyll’s face whenever he visited brought tears to Astarion’s eyes.
Of pride, obviously. Despite being more, loath to say, moral as of late, Astarion still had a vindictiveness within him. Mildly distressing his loved ones really hit the spot.
There were half-drunk jars of blood strewn over every flat surface amongst torn and discarded knick knacks that Karlach had found in the street or bought from a stand. She was truly horrendous at haggling, especially if it was a kid selling junk, Astarion really needed to help her improve those skills. Stained and sweaty clothes were strewn constantly across the floor. By some miracle the abundance of plants scattered around the house and hanging against the walls were all watered, and actually doing quite well, but dirt and dead leaves littered the floor around them.
And lying happily amongst their collective pigsty, were Karlach and Astarion eating in bed.
Astarion, contently nestled on top of Karlach, had unlatched himself from her throat and was now doing the vampiric equivalent of playing with his food. Licking up the rivulets of blood as they sluggishly dripped down her neck. She laughs in delight as his tongue tickles her neck. Fondly, he presses a soft kiss against her collarbone before returning to his game.
Meanwhile Karlach, one arm snugly braced around the small of his back, has finally gnawed off the last piece of gristle on her chicken wing. She flings the bones at a nearby plant pot, vaguely remembering Halsin lecturing about bonemeal, crowing in delight when it lands inside.
Nabbing another chicken wing from the small pile on the sheets beside her, Karlach pauses. She squints at the chicken wing in thought.
“Hey fangs?”
“Hm?” Astarion replies distractedly as he stares at the drops of blood welling up in the holes from his fangs. His bets were on the drop of blood in the rightmost hole falling first.
“If I ate enough chicken wings, would you be able to taste them in my blood?” She twirls the wing thoughtfully between her fingers.
Astarion, after tsking at having lost a bet with himself, squints his eyes in consideration.
“I don’t think that’s exactly how it works, darling. Although,” he admits on second thought, “the flavour profile can change slightly.”
“How do you mean?” Karlach peers down at him, head bent awkwardly to gaze at where he is settled upon her chest.
“It’s kind of like wine,” he explains. “Any half decent wine will taste like wine, and the good vintages have a more full flavour. You, my love, are always a delightful vintage.” He presses a kiss to her neck, preening at her happy hum. “And sometimes the good vintages are also infused with some flavour, like berries or spices, that you can get a hint of after drinking.”
“So if I eat enough berries will I taste like a berry-infused Karlach?” She asks playfully.
“No,” he continues. “Much like wine it is rare to taste the actual thing. But notes of it, like sweetness will come through. I remember you tasted noticeably sweet the day you ate that cake Wyll made.”
“That was a good cake.” Karlach reminisces happily before her eyes turn curiously back to her lover. “Any other flavours?”
“Salty on occasion, again dependent on diet.” He squints trying to remember. “You tasted slightly spicy when you got that curry from that cambion back in Avernus.”
Karlach hums thoughtfully. “Do you have a favourite?”
Astarion blinks. “I suppose I never really thought about it. Why?”
Karlach shrugs. “Seems like the vampire equivalent of cooking you your favourite meal. And since I can’t cook for shit anyways, it’s even easier.” She smiles at him with a gentle sincerity. “I like giving you things you like.”
Astarion lies there silently, mildly overwhelmed by the unexpected kindness. A state that he is quickly becoming familiar with the longer he spends with Karlach. She lies there patiently, finishing off her chicken wing. After tossing away the bones she wraps her arm around him. Absentmindedly rubbing chicken grease into the expensive silk of his new shirt. It’s a good thing he loves her.
It really is such a good thing to love her.
“You are, and always will be, my favourite.” He admits and manages to stare at her soppy smiling gaze for a few moments before he relents. Gripping her shoulders he stretches forward to kiss her deeply.
He cups her face, a familiar warmth spreading through him as they lazily exchange kisses. After a few minutes he pulls back, smiling at her happily dazed expression. She’s so sweet it makes his teeth hurt. On that note…
“I suppose, if I must choose,” He bemoans melodramatically, ignoring the amusement he sees sparkling in her eyes. “I do have a fondness for sweets.”
Karlach grins, keeping an arm snug around him as she raises her other hand to cup his face. Her thumb gently caressing his cheek.
“Tomorrow we should go have dinner with Wyll,” she proposes. “We can pick up food from the Elfsong and pretend we made it. Wyll will sigh and not call us out on it because he’s polite. We’ll get some blood from the butcher on the way so it’s warm. We’ll all have dinner together and he’ll serve freshly made cake for dessert. And afterwards, when we come home, I can feed you dessert.” She smiles. “That sound alright, darling?”
“Absolutely delicious.” Astarion leans in for another kiss. She’s the sweetest he’s ever had.