Title: Intriguing Desire
Author: skybound2
Characters: Nathaniel/F!Amell/Zevran
Word Count: ~4,500
Rating: M
Summary: Zevran extends a welcoming hand to Nathaniel by way of a most unexpected offer.
Spoilers: Takes place post-Awakenings, but really, the only spoilers are for the characters included in the expansion. There is no real reference to the plot in here.
Author's Note: Completed for animenadie as part of the Zevran exchange on LJ :-) Her request was a rogue sandwich starring Zevran and Nathaniel with F!Amell. Here's hoping this fits the bill! Little bit of an experiment in here, in that I jump back and forth between current events, and flashback sequences. Fairly well marked I think, so it shouldn't be too confusing. I'm...oddly nervous about this one.
~~\/~~
Intriguing Desire
~~\/~~
Nathaniel had spent his childhood roaming these halls. There wasn't a crevice nor a nook of which he was unaware. Often, his siblings and he would play games; trying to outsmart one another when it came to finding the best hiding spot. (His sister, Delilah, had been left in a little used cupboard beneath the back stairs for near-on half a day once as a result.)
Now though, the Keep suddenly seemed both simultaneously grander, and infinitely small.
He was no longer a child, and so the Keep no longer held the mystique that it once did. The doors were less imposing. The tapestries dulled with age. And the place had drafts to rival Oghren after a night of binge-eating/drinking (which was virtually every night).
But it was also humbling, having the Grey Wardens make their base from his family's former lands. It was humbler still watching the townsfolk rally behind the Commander, a mage of all things, in a manner that put the former Arling (his father) to shame.
In truth, she put most noblemen to shame.
Noblemen, Nathaniel had learned, were impatient creatures. They had little interest in the affairs of the common folk, as long as their taxes were paid on time, and their duties maintained with utmost diligence. They very rarely would sit and listen to the every day issues of the people occupying their lands. Oh, sure, they would put on a good show, entertain the peasants at semi-regular gatherings and hob-knob in the markets. All good little performers, the lot of them.
But, when it came to truly paying attention to the needs, the wants, of the people – well, there the typical nobleman failed spectacularly.
At least, in Nathaniel's experience.
Amell, however, was not raised in court. Had not been trained from birth regarding the proper way to hold her head, or where to place her hands when she finished a meal. She had no use, and little time, for such trivialities. She quite preferred to garble down a meal on the road – barely stopping for air in between bites – instead of making use of proper dishes and goblets.
When it came to dealing with the common 'riff-raff' as Nathaniel's father referred to them, Amell always made time, however. No problem or complaint was too small. No request too odd. For them, she had an infinite amount of patience.
And more importantly, she got things done.
~~~\/~~~
"Wait. Explain that to me again?"
Nathaniel snorted from his perch in the corner. This was the third time that Amell had requested an explanation from Bann Esmerelle's servant. Who claimed that her Lady had taken ill, and was not available to attend court as requested. The situation would have been cut and dry, had the servant been able to keep her story straight.
Nathaniel thought if the Bann had taken slightly better care of the poor girl, she would have been able to tell a diplomatic lie when needed. As it was, Amell was questioning the girl mercilessly.
The sad part was that she didn't even realize.
Amell's long fingered hands reached up to sweep a lock of unruly hair back behind her ear. "I thought that you said she had caught some sort of pox a minute ago? Now your saying its some sort of stomach ailment? Hmm..." Her large eyes lit up with excitement, and she started bouncing ever so slightly on her heels, a clear sign that she was experiencing an idea of some sort.
This was not always a good thing.
She was also mumbling to herself. Another, decidedly bad sign.
"Pox. Pox. Pox. What did Wynne say about poxes...Oh! I think I may have just the thing – I've been experimenting with a new poultice you see – involving rashvine nettle – Anders! Can you come here for a minute?!"
Nathaniel didn't envy the Bann – whatever concoction Amell and Anders cooked up was sure to be worse than any punishment for having been caught in a lie would have been.
~~~\/~~~
It shouldn't have been all that surprising, really. He'd gotten her (and Anders, unfortunately) to speak with him at length (once, and only once) regarding their training at the Tower. Aside from the general disdain that most mages seemed to hold towards the Templars and the Chantry, most (from his limited sample group, at least) seemed to respect their power greatly. Even Anders, who flung bolts of fire and lightning around willy-nilly, took the time to prepare ointments and salves with the greatest of care.
Amell was decidedly more controlled than the apostate. And it showed – in both her spellcasting, and her diplomacy.
It was thrilling for him, to watch such a creature at work. Her eyes, normally so open and warm, would narrow to pinpoints. Her attention split equally between her target, and the draw of energy that she'd pull from the Fade.
As the weeks had rolled on, battle after battle, Nathaniel had found himself entranced by her. The way her fingers would dance in the air as she'd call forth a wave of ice. The way her hair, from the silken strands atop her hand, to the downy bits coating her arms, would stand on end as lightening flowed through her body – and sizzled whatever darkspawn (or the occasional bandit) had gotten in her way.
Much like his father had at one point, he supposed.
That thought alone should have been enough to chill his overheated blood. The wonder that he had about how his father had met his end was always there, always lingering like a demon in the dark. Whispering ill of the woman. Of Amell. His Commander. His...friend. It would taunt him, when all was quiet and still. Inevitably the silence would be shattered – by a well-placed Oghren belch, or by Ser Pounce-A-Lot getting into Velanna's pack – and he'd be a helpless victim to her charms once again.
~~~\/~~~
"Nathaniel? What are you doing up? I thought it was Anders turn for watch?"
He jumped a bit in his skin. For someone keeping watch, he really ought to be paying more attention to his surroundings, but he'd seen hid nor hair of anything save a cricket in the two hours he'd been up, so her abrupt (and silent) arrival had caught him (mostly) off-guard. "I, I couldn't sleep. Try as I might. And it seemed like Anders could use the rest. I believe the only thing keeping him awake was that cat of his. They were stuck in a deadlock over a...knot they had gotten themselves in." He titled his chin towards her, lifting his eyes from the surrounding wood for a moment, "Apparently someone got them a ball of string. Wouldn't happen to know anything about that would you?"
She shrugged. "Seemed a pity to let it go to waste, was too thick for mending. Besides, I figured it would keep them entertained for at least a day or two. Never a good idea to let them get bored..."
"Indeed." The dull blue glow from her staff illuminated her in what was once an eerie manner, but that now he only found comforting. She smiled, a small smile with no teeth, and moved passed him to the other log – obviously intending to sit across from him.
He laughed loudly enough to wake the camp when she completely missed the thing, and wound up tumbling ass over head into the bush behind it – feet sticking straight up in the air like some children's book illustration. It was probably not his brightest move, but it was certainly one way to pick up an otherwise dreary watch.
~~~\/~~~
He'd been with women before, of course. His travels to and from the Free Marches had not been celibate ones. Tensions rode high in such lands, and there was no shortage of willing participants as eager for release as he. But there had been no one since his return to the Keep. It had all been theft and capture; death or conscription; battles and politics. Physical needs such as lust had been pushed to the back of his mind for the duration – it would have done him no good to dwell on impractical and impossible desires.
Not that he hadn't allowed his mind to wander a time or two. Or permitted his hands to enact such scenes in vibrant detail. But always quiet. Always alone. When the lamps had been doused, and the curtains drawn. With only the silent stone of his childhood's oppressive walls closing in around him.
He should have been perturbed by his attraction to his Commander – the woman who killed his father – but he wasn't. Not in the slightest.
He just couldn't work up the energy to give a damn. Not when he could do nothing but believe that his father had deserved it...
Now, so many months later, the halls of the Keep were the same as they had always been, but the occupants – the occupants had changed. Never before would his midnight wanderings have led him to such a display as the one he was now witness to.
The chamber door was ajar. Like the occupants had been too preoccupied to bother closing it entirely. Reds and oranges and yellows danced through the crack from the flames licking the walls of the hearth inside.
Any other night, he may have paused at this door, pressed it open, and seen what was keeping the Commander up. Any other night he may have walked on by, ignoring the breathy moans and none-to-subtle groans wafting out the door, and assumed his presence unwanted.
But this was not any other night.
~~~\/~~~
The townspeople were besides themselves with relief. So much so that Amell had managed to convince the nobles to hob-knob with the commoners in a victory celebration. The wine was plentiful, the cheese divine, and the darkspawn blessedly absent. Thank the Maker.
If Nathaniel hadn't been present, he never would have believed such a gathering possible. The woman was truly a miracle worker.
An extremely tardy bordering on absentee miracle worker, but a miracle worker nonetheless.
The night was already more than half-gone, and the Commander (and Arlessa, mustn't forget that as well), had yet to make an appearance.
As Nathaniel twirled Sigrun once more (she really was surprisingly sure-footed, given that she claimed to never have danced before, well, not without a blade in her hand at any rate) he couldn't stop himself from darting a glance at the entrance, wondering when their wayward leader would show.
When she did, sweeping into the room on the arm of her elven lover, Nathaniel's pulse quickened, and his palms went slick with nervous sweat. Sigrun and he paused in their dance to unabashedly stare at Amell.
She was a vision. Glimmering in silver and emerald cloth, swaddled tightly around her bodice, and trailing down into a seemingly endless train. Nathaniel couldn't have imagined Andraste herself outshining the Warden Commander at the moment.
And then she stumbled. Tripped. Fell. Her foot caught in the overly long train of her gown, and hr arms pinwheeling in front her in the exact opposite of grace. Zevran's left arm darted out quickly: swift and sleek, and slipped around her waist to catch her just before she hit the floor, face first.
"Damn Leliana and these accursed shoes!!" She'd struggled with the material, and her lover's arms. Who magically (or so it seemed) produced a small blade, and helped to free her heels from the confines of the dress.
The raging blush that adorned her face was as lovely as the torn gown she wore for the rest of the night. And well worth the price of watching her happily held in the arms of another man.
~~~\/~~~
Beyond the door, in the dancing firelight, he watched – enthralled – as Amell and her lover (Zevran, his name is Zevran. You were properly introduced, remember? Right after he got done nearly ravishing her in public...) moved in sync on the immense bed which occupied the center of the room.
His eyes clamped onto the two: Amell, with her back pressed against the elf's chest, and the tattooed skin of the elf's back in turn facing Nathaniel. Their skin a contrast against one another – golden and pale hues bathed in the gleaming light.
He watched, as her hands slid up and back, behind her head; and her fingers tangled in Zevran's blonde locks. Her body pushing forward with each thrust of the elf's hips against her.
His feet pulled him forward when Zevran's lips descended onto the sweet column of her throat. Laving it with lingering, suckling kisses.
Another step. Then another. And he was half-way across the room before he caught himself. Breathe in his throat. Unsure. He must have made some sound, despite his attempts to remain undetected, for the elf's head slowly turned towards him. Liquid amber gaze locking on his own. A satisfied smile spread across the other man's face, and Nathaniel was helpless but to watch as he dragged his hands down, over, and across Amell's heavy breasts, causing a moan to escape her.
"Ahh. I see you have decided to join us after all. I was beginning to think that you would not be as...game for this as hoped."
Amell whipped her head about and stared at Nathaniel, her mouth peeled open on a gasp.
His throat was tight, and his voice hoarse. "I am."
He closed the distance to the bed.
~~~\/~~~
"So you are the Warden I have heard so much about, hmm?"
Nathaniel blinked, taken aback by the elf's sudden question. "Pardon?"
Zevran arched a brow at Nathaniel, his gaze penetrating. "You have left a lingering impression on our lovely mage."
"I – I'm sure I don't know what you mean."
"Oh, come now." Zevran pushed off from the wall he'd been lounging against, and crossed the distance to Nathaniel. He took up a spot just to the left of him, looking out over the hall. "There is no harm in admitting that the two of you have bonded. Few are immune to her charms. Kings, Banns, and Crows alike have fallen to them – you are in good company."
Nathaniel followed Zevran's gaze to the lady in question, seeing her engaged in some sort of humorous discussion with Velanna and Sigrun if her laughter and pink-cheeked face was anything to go on). "We are...friends."
Zevran's mouth twitched in a smile, "A somewhat surprising turn of events, given the circumstances. But, then again, she has a habit of forgiving people for attempting her murder. Quite beneficial for the likes of us, as I'm sure you'd agree."
"Now I know you have your facts wrong. I never attempted to kill Amell."
"Ahh. No. I supposed you didn't. But that was really just because you were an awful thief, wasn't it?"
"I beg your pardon?"
The elf rocked back on his heels, a knowing look in his eyes. "Are you saying that had you not been at least moderately successful in avoiding capture, that you wouldn't have attempted to slice her lovely throat?"
"No."
"No?" Disbelief colored the elf's voice, and Nathaniel was oddly proud to be the cause.
"I would have used a bow."
"Hah!" One of the man's hands clamped down on Nathaniel's shoulder, squeezing the muscle as his laughter drew on. "I think we shall get along magnificently, Grey Warden."
~~~\/~~~
Her skin was softer than anything he'd ever envisioned. Velvet soft. The hint of muscle beneath her skin a firm testament to all the battles she had fought. Mage or no, intense physical activity came with the whole Warden package.
Nathaniel's body was tightening rapidly. His need for her throbbing throughout his veins, a pounding echo crying out for her – only her.
But he wasn't alone. Not in this. Not this time. But perhaps...perhaps if he closed his eyes, he could pretend. Pretend that it was only the two of them, tumbling into this together. The burst of flavor on his tongue as she twined hers around it. The heady rush of blood south as her hands skittered through the wiry hair on his chest, nails scratching at his stomach. The world existed for just the two of them. There couldn't possibly be anyone else, could there?
He nearly had himself convinced.
But then, it hardly mattered anymore, Not when she was pressing so tightly against him, breathy pants ghosting against his neck, his ear. It was all sweat-slicked skin, soft and supple; tangling together in a heated knot. His hands, steadier now than before, swept across her back, down her gently muscled thighs. Feeling the heat pouring off of her; that delectable warmth as she turned in his grasp. Pressed her back to his chest, allowed that control of hers to slip. Her throat bared to his lips – tongue – teeth. And he took advantage. Oh, how he took advantage.
Fingers skimmed the tightly wound curls between her thighs. Teeth tugged (gently) on the lobe of her ear, careful to mind the single earring that always adorned it. One hand followed the subtle swell of her stomach, up up up, to the softness of her breast.
Reality came crashing back to him when that same hand encountered the soft (much softer than he had expected) hair of the elf along its journey. Nathaniel's eyes popped open, his whole body paused with a monumental effort, to see the assassin tasting Amell's breast with a long tongue. One of her hands was buried in that hair, urging the man on.
It was all suddenly so very real. Just where did he fit in here? How could he fit in here?
But Amell's free hand linked with Nathaniel's at the thatch of hair covering her sex, and pressed herself against him. Her voice, low and wanton cleared away any doubts he may have had.
"Nathaniel...please."
~~~\/~~~
Nathaniel turned towards the elf, curiosity filling him. "I find it odd that the two of you have not seen each other in so many months, and yet you seem to have spent a good deal of time talking about me."
Zevran's laugh was loud, and attention grabbing. The women paused in their own discussion for a minute, to observe the two males. A smile lighting Amell's features. "It is so kind of you to worry about how satisfactory our sex life is. One rarely encounters such open-mindedness amongst nobility. I shall be sure to pass along your concerns to the Warden Commander."
"Wait – no. That's not what I was saying!"
Zevran arched a brow, "So you were not implying that we have wasted what precious little time we have had this past day talking of your virtues, rather then seeing to each others physical needs?"
"Well, I suppose..."
"Do not worry, good man. I can assure you that everything is most satisfactory." Nathaniel was helpless to keep his hands from clenching into fists, and was forced to take two deep breaths to calm his rattling nerves. "But, we are getting off topic."
Nathaniel nearly growled, "Then say what it is you mean."
Zevran sighed. "So little patience. I would have expected more from you, given our similarities."
"I-" Nathaniel took another deep, calming breath. "My apologies. I find myself a tad on edge as of late."
"Mmm." Nathaniel had kept his attention focused on Amell and the others across the hall, but the sensation of being...appraised was so strong, that he found his gaze drawn back to the elf standing by his side. There was a spark in the other man's gaze that was both worrisome, and intriguing.
"Perhaps I could interest you in a...tension breaker."
His eyes narrowed at the devious expression on the assassin's face, "And what makes you think that I'd be interested in anything you have to offer?"
"Oh, I think that you would be more than interested."
~~~\/~~~
Nathaniel's back was pressed to the mattress; its downy confines cradling his body. Idly, the thought that this room had once belonged to his mother flitted through his brain, but then Amell's curves came into focus and the light from the fire illuminated her naked body astride him. His hands clenched – open, closed, open, closed – against her hips as she rocked on him.
His own hips answered in kind, pressing upwards into her. Feeling every delightful sensation of her body wrapped around him all the more keenly. When she bit down on her lip, stifling a cry, a growl escaped his throat, and he found himself yanking her down – down onto him – and pulling that delicious bit of flesh between his own teeth. His tongue swept together with hers. The taste of cinnamon lacing every taste.
Kissing her was addictive.
He slowed his thrusts; wanting to make this last – unsure if the chance would ever come again. And she mewled into his mouth. Her hands danced across his chest, reached to grasp his arms – clung to them. Her hips swiveled in time with his.
Until they stopped altogether, the bed between his legs dipped ever so slightly, and she broke from his mouth with a gasp. The name on her lips shattering the bubble he had secured himself in these past minutes.
"Zevran!"
~~~\/~~~
Nathaniel gaped. "You- you can't possibly be serious!?"
"And why not?"
"Well – because – it just isn't...You are attempting to make a fool of me. And I will not permit it."
The look that the elf tossed him – heated, mischievous, daring – was more than a little intimidating. "And what a very good motto that is to live by! And if I was attempting to play you for a fool, than you would be completely justified in enacting whatever...foolish retribution you'd feel was appropriate. But, in this case, I assure you my offer is genuine."
For no good reason whatsoever, Nathaniel believed him. He was sure, somewhere in the Fade, his father was groaning loudly at his idiocy. "But- I don't- does she even want this?"
Nathaniel dared a look back at the three women, his Commander at the center. He stared for several, unending seconds before she titled her head towards him, the light playing off of the necklace around her throat. She lifted her glass to him in a silent toast, before turning back to the conversation. The urge to cross the distance to her was nearly unbearable. Would she...
Wherever his thought was headed, it died before it ever made landfall as Amell's lover took that moment to press a square of paper into the open palm of his hand. Hot breath tickled his ear as the other man spoke.
"You have my word. I offer you nothing that she does not wish for herself, mi amico." As quickly as Zevran had invaded his space, he was gone. Over to the other side of the room, where he pulled Amell into a tight embrace and spun her off onto the dance floor, despite her protests.
His flesh itched where the paper was pressed against it. He had no idea what the note would say, but he was certain that reading it in public would be an unwise move.
~~~\/~~~
He wanted to move. His body was crying out – demanding – that he move. But he knew patience. Understood (if only remotely) that he must exercise restraint. He could feel his hands vibrating with tension at Amell's hips. Her eyes had closed, and her breath was coming in short, panting puffs of air across the bridge of his nose. But her lips were too far away to kiss.
He wanted to rectify that immediately.
It was an eternity, or perhaps only several seconds, before her eyes opened wide once more, and the entire situation changed abruptly. It was impossible for Nathaniel to ignore the other man's presence now. Not when he could actually feel him inside of Amell. Every stroke of the elf, resulted in a gasp from Amell, and wretched groan after groan from Nathaniel – who was a helpless victim to the pleasure they induced.
And oh, but he was finally able to move again. It was brilliant and blinding, and the feel of Zevran through the thin barrier was dizzying, and like nothing else he had ever known. Or ever thought he'd know.
So far gone was he with lust, trying desperately not to lose what little composure he had left, that he barely even noticed when one of Zevran's hands alighted upon his on Amell's side. The both of them tracing across her sweat-dampened skin together. Fingers locked.
And when Nathaniel finally lost all control, and came with a guttural moan; jaw clamped tightly shut, and his hips pressing as deep into Amell as the unstable position would allow, it was Zevran's bright gaze that his eyes were locked on, even as Amell's name tumbled from his throat.
~~~\/~~~
It was many hours later when Nathaniel pried himself from the sticky limbs of both elf and mage. The fire had burned down to mere embers by that point, and the moon was set low in the sky – offering little by way of light with which to seek out his clothes. Long years living in the Keep, however, had taught him the layout of most every room, and finding them was little work.
Once dressed, he debated for a moment whether or not sneaking off in the dark of the night was wise – or even just plain idiotic – but he only needed to look back on the bed, where the two sleeping individuals had already made up for his absence, and pressed more closely together, to stay with his decision. Besides, he needed time to think over things, if he was going to face the Commander in the morning.
He gathered his boots in one hand, and unlatched the door with the other. The halls of the Keep looked imposing once more, their chilled air raising the flesh on his arms. He steeled his will, and pressed on towards his own chambers, and hoped that that no one would catch him along the way. Unseen, a scrap of paper escaped from his pocket and fluttered to the stone floor of the hall.
'Zev – I have a mission for you, should you chose to accept it. You know the Warden I have spoken of? Nathaniel? I found myself in the Fade the other night assaulted with the most intriguing of dreams...'
~End