These were written for Zevran Week on tumblr- no plans to continue what I have, just some drabbles I thought I'd share.
When Zevran was growing up, he learned there was no such thing as love. It took him decades to find out that he was wrong.
And really, he thought, sighing as he watched his Warden dozing in bed, their snoring enough to wake the neighbors (and it would, too, if he knew that merchant's silly wife). He let a soft smile slip from his lips before turning back to tying the laces on his boots.
He had work to do. The Guildmaster's position had been slipped to him (that was the way he liked to think of torture as, so much kinder on the ears that way). Once his boots were on, the same worn leather pair the Warden had given him, he opened a window and took a deep breath.
Leather. The Warden had reserved the room. There had been a time when Zevran had thought he would never smell that again. He turned to leave.
"Stay," came a groggy voice.
"I cannot," he said, frowning slightly, running a hand right through his hair, right where he knew there was a gray streak. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to their temple. "But I'll be back tonight."
The Warden smiled blearily. Zevran wouldn't break that trust for the world. He would be back.