Zevran tsk'ed at her, shaking his head.
"You look so tired, my dear…"
She felt tired, and was not happy for the reminder. But then he proposed to give her a massage… and his tone was saying more than his words.
"Zevran… I don't know about this…"
"There is someone else." The words were on the tip of her tongue, and she tried hard not to look at Alistair. Was there, though?
When he gave her the rose, he confessed that he cared for her. A great deal. And then asked if she cared for him. She got scared, mumbled: "I don't know. It's too soon to say."
"Is it too soon for this?" he asked, and then he kissed her, and set her whole world ablaze. On cold, weary nights like tonight, she could still taste him, the soft, warm sweetness of his tongue on hers.
"I don't know," she said, her voice softly shaking. "I'll need more testing to be sure."
He chuckled at that. But he did not kiss her again. She waited two, three nights, sitting lonely by the fire, caressing the petals of the rose Wynne had enchanted for her, to prevent it from decaying. On the fourth night, it had rained. She was curled up under her blankets, wet and cold and shivering, her hand gently squeezing the little flower. Through the flaps of her tent, constantly blown open by gushes of wind, she saw him. He was on guard duty, and he seemed to be alone by the fire. Leliana must be making her rounds.
"She'll understand," Kaylee muttered, and found the strength to get up. Gathering all her courage, she wrapped herself in her blanket and walked up to him. Strange, that she could charge screaming waves of enraged darkspawn, but could barely do this.
"Soooo…" she said, rain beating hard on her, and he looked at her through half-opened eyes. "Would you like to join me in my tent?"
She had already confessed to him never having licked a lamppost in winter. He would know what it meant, for her to ask this of him.
"Your tent. Ah."
The cold of the rain had been nothing compared to the one that crept around her heart when he exhaled that "ah". He tried to explain after, but what she understood was that he had kissed her once and then never kissed her again, and now he was refusing her. He was saying he wanted to wait until it was special; what she heard was that she was not special enough. For him.
So she waited, and waited, until her longing for him was so strong it kept her awake at night. And she asked again.
"No. I'm not ready yet."
He sounded almost angry at her.
He never spoke of it again. She did not ask another time.
And now Zevran was there, in front of her, his desire laid bare for her to see. His eyes on her put balm on her wounded pride. She could be seen as beautiful and desirable. She was special enough for him, although if she was completely honest with herself, that may not be a great accomplishment. And then, she remembered that Alistair wasn't even there. He was on wood gathering duty, somewhere in the forest. She bit back her refusal.
"No, I'm definitely of a mind."
"Then why are we still talking?" he murmured, and kissed her.
She waited for the fire to come back, but felt… nothing. His lips were soft enough, and talented, but they did nothing for her. He caught that, held back a little.
"Maybe we start slow, yes?" He took her hand and guided her to his tent. It occurred to her, as he was slowly undoing the clasps of her armour, that she had never spoken to him about frozen lampposts.
To her surprise, he began by actually giving her a massage. He had scented oils and everything. His hands were soft and firm, and he definitely knew what he was doing. She found herself oddly relaxed in a matter of minutes. A little voice in her heard was whispering to her that this was wrong, that she should not, in fact, feel relaxed. But though the deft hands of the elf could rub her muscles like nobody's business, she did not feel aroused at all by this very otherwise satisfying foreplay.
After a while, she began to feel guilty. Squirming a little, she let out a tentatively low moan, trying to sound as though she was getting in the mood. His hands stopped their movement, and she heard him chuckle softly.
"My dear, dear Grey Warden. You lie far worse with your body than with your witty tongue. If you do not feel up to it, then so it is. Do not force the issue for my benefit. I'm perfectly content to rub oil all over your body. I am your man, without reservation. Have I not sworn this already?"
She let herself relax after that, and enjoy. This was so much simpler.
She was almost falling asleep when a sudden clamour in the camp startled her.
"He WHAT!" she heard Alistair roar, and closed her eyes. Oh Maker…
The flaps of Zevran's tent flew open. Alistair was there, half bent, sword in hand. His eyes widened when he took in the sight.
Kaylee was naked from the waist up, lying on her stomach, slick with oil. Zevran was bent on top of her, his hands massaging her shoulders, and he was naked. Completely naked. There was nothing to conceal how much he actually enjoyed rubbing oil on her body.
She propped herself up on her elbows and looked at Alistair. She would not feel ashamed. He rejected her. Twice. After lighting up a roaring fire in her he was unwilling to extinguish. And furthermore, she hadn't done anything.
Alistair seemed to fight for words.
"I thought… I thought he was killing you," he finally managed to spit. "They said they hadn't heard anything for a while."
He let the tent flap drop.
"Well, I'm hurt," Zevran said. "No massage for you!" he yelled in Alistair's general direction.
With a sigh, Kaylee sat up and reached for her shirt.
"Where are you going, bellissima?" he whispered in her ear, sliding his arms around her from behind. She did not pull away, but didn't lean in either.
"I have to go talk to him."
He held on to her a second longer, and she felt him inhaling deeply into her hair. Then, he was gone.
"All right," he said carelessly. "Maybe you could send Leliana in, then? Or Wynne, perhaps…"
She threw his boot at him and got out of the tent. Everyone in the camp seemed suddenly very busy trying not to look at her, except Shale, who was staring shamelessly, and Leliana, who met her eyes, then pointed discreetly in one direction towards the forest. With a sad smile, Kaylee followed her instructions.
After a few minutes of wandering, she finally heard him: sounds of clinging metal hitting wood. All she had to do was follow. She finally found him, deep in the forest. He'd gotten far enough from the camp that nobody there would hear him, and he was methodically hacking through the bark of a big tree with his sword. The process wasn't going fast enough for him, it seemed, because he hurled his weapon at the tree, then started pummelling it with his fists. She leaned on a nearby tree and watched him. She was not going to speak to him when he was in that state of mind. He needed to get it out of his system.
After a while, he stopped to look at his gauntlets. They were slowly getting a little worse for wear. He stood there without moving for a few seconds, then removed one and threw it straight at the tree with a loud pained cry of wordless anger. He threw the other one, then the breastplate followed. It was like wearing his templar armour was suddenly unbearable to him. He removed his greaves in shaky, fumbling awkward movements, then tossed them aside.
He resumed pummelling the tree, but his movements were slow now, and he didn't put any power behind his punches. Soon, his fists were resting on the trunk, unmoving. He lowered his head slowly, breathing with effort. She forced herself to make a sound, then. He would not take it well if she was there, when he started crying… and he seemed to want to do just that.
He whirled around at the sound of the cracking branch under her foot:
"How long have you been there?" he asked briskly.
"I just got here," she lied. "You're chopping wood?"
"I… well… yes," he said, grasping at the chance to save face. "I'm on wood duty."
"I see." She leaned back on the tree.
He looked around him at the scattered pieces of armour.
"I… got hot," he said. He struggled with words for a while, then gave up. His hands dropped numbly to his sides.
"Why did you do this, Kaylee?" he sighed, and there was so much pain in the way he said her name it tore her up inside. She blinked back tears. "I thought you… I thought we had something."
We did, didn't we? she thought. She felt cold, alone and helpless. She wrapped her arms around herself, awkwardly, bracing for what was to come.
" We did," she said. "But you… you don't want me."
" I… what? " he exhaled, his voice half-whisper, half-shout.
" I told you," she said, and tears were now rolling freely on her cheeks. "When you kissed me, I told you I wanted you to kiss me again. But you didn't. Ever. And then, when it was raining, I told you I wanted you. I wanted you to be my first. But you said no. You refused me. Twice."
" I explained about that," he said. He sounded miserable.
" Yes, you said…" (she swallowed) "you said you wanted your first time to be special. I got it, you know. I'm not special enough."
" ... What?" he said again.
" I just… it felt good to be… wanted. But I want you to know… nothing happened."
He lowered his gaze at that, but she thought she saw relief wash over his face before he hid it.
" I really thought he was killing you," he mumbled to his feet. "I thought he lured you in his tent under false pretences and that he was slowly silently strangling you. When I opened the tent, I thought I would find you dead. I never thought I'd see…"
He shuddered.
" You were scared," she sighed. She finally understood why he was so upset.
" Well… yes, of course I was. He's an assassin, Kaylee."
" I'm sorry about that. But Alistair… if you don't want me, you need to let me go. I need to move on."
He gaped at that, seemed to search for appropriate words, decided to fall back on familiar ones:
" What?"
" I… I love you," she breathed. "And I want you. And if you don't… well, better to end it right now. Clear, clean cut."
He stared at her, his eyes wild. He opened his mouth to speak, thought better of it, closed it, then opened it again. His jaw line suddenly hardened, and he seemed to decide words were definitely not the way to go. In three long, swift steps, he was on her, grabbing her by the shoulders and pinning her to the tree. The next thing she knew his lips were crushing hers in a passionate, demanding kiss, and he pressed the whole length of his body against hers. She had only a second to feel astonished before the fire consumed her again, and she let out a loud, throaty groan, an almost animal sound of pure desire and lust.
When their tongues touched, her knees gave out and she grabbed his shoulders to keep herself from falling, pressing him even closer. His mouth left her lips to trail erratically on her cheeks, her jaw line, to suckle on her ears. She gasped and clung to him with all of her strength.
" I love you," he whispered hoarsely in her hair. He rubbed his cheek against hers, then lowered his head to lick at the soft curve of her neck, and when she moaned he thrust his hips against her in an uncontrolled jerking movement and she felt him, through the fabric of the thin breeches they both wore under armour, felt the hard, unmistakable proof that he did want her. Maker, did she feel special then!
It was all she could do not to tear his clothes off. She did rip his shirt a little, while pulling at his collar to put her lips on his chest. Her hands found his hips and she pushed against him, making him gasp, and he was just at the right height, hitting just the right spot…
" Stop," he moaned in her ear. She groaned and pushed again. "Stop, no, don't… please…"
He shivered all over, grasped her wrists in his hands and pinned them to the tree, above her head. He pushed on them, making his body retreat a couple of crucial inches from hers. They stared at each other, breathing hard, eyes wild.
" I don't…" he began, then swallowed loudly. "I do want it to be special. Not like that, in the middle of Nowhere Forest, propped against a tree. I want it to be all it can be. For you. Because you deserve it. Because you deserve… more."
She sighed loudly, then growl. She did not feel that deserving.
" You deserve so much more," he repeated with fervour. "So much more than this. So much… so much more than me. Just let me do this right. For you. So I can be worthy…" his voice sounded almost pleading at the end.
She opened her mouth to protest, but he closed it with a soft, ardent, long kiss. He let go of her wrists to gently put his arms around her. When he backed away slowly, she was willing to do anything he could ask of her. But she felt she had to say something, anything, or she would lose control again. He was looking at her with tender, loving eyes, waiting for her to answer.
" I ripped you shirt," she said, her voice still a little hoarse.
He looked down at himself, then smiled:
" I'll ask Wynne to mend it tomorrow."
She chuckled.
" That'll certainly go well!"
He let go of her then, reluctantly taking two steps back. She got her clothes in order as best she could and turned to leave. He didn't move.
" Aren't you coming?"
" Ah… no, not right now," he said, blushing. "Maybe I'll go… that way. Try to find an nice river, you know… get myself a very, very cold bath…"
She frowned, then her eyes widened. "Oh!" she said, and burst into laughter. "Okay, then… I'll see you tomorrow?"
" Of course," he said softly, and she walked away.
He could still hear her laugh in the distance. Lost in thoughts, he dreamily put two fingers on his lips, remembering the taste of her, the warmth of her skin under his mouth…
Grinning broadly, he gathered his discarded armour and went looking for that cold river.