Summary: Removed from the chaos rippling through Ferelden at the height of the Blight, Zevran's imagination leads to a stolen moment with the Warden.
a/n: For the July 2018 Writing Challenge: 250 Erotic Prompts. The daydream prompt was sent to by vorchagirl.
Summer Daydreams
The sun shone a buttery yellow and luxuriant clouds circled overhead like ardent worshipers of its glow. In the verdant grasses far below another votary paid homage in his own manner. Tawny skin bared to the waist, golden hair sparkling in the warm incandescence cast down upon the clearing. Zevran Arainai savored the calidity bathing his flesh, the heat of the day reminded him of the sultry summers in Antiva.
Rarely in the company of the Wardens could he steal away moments like this. All was calm; and the problems of the world, including the encroaching Blight, could slip from a man's mind like milk spilled onto a dusty floor. Every shadow of memory hid from the brightness of the day and he drank in the serenity of it as a water-cooled breeze fluttered off the gurgling creek nearby and danced across his sun-warmed skin. The contrast puckered his flesh, raising tiny shivers and goosebumps here and again with every breathy gust.
Nature's sensual teasing brought a smile to his lips along with torrid memories. The radiant fever of the day and the flash of cold reminded him of her. Though until recently, this comparison would not have been nearly so apt. The ice that seemed to course through Warden Mahariel's blood when he first met her, finally thawed enough that he saw the sides of her that she preferred to keep from other people, as well as from herself.
Zevran made her laugh. Won that smile that made her eyes twinkle. Earned that scorching gaze of desire as her sharp little teeth puckered her bottom lip. Pride bloomed in his chest alongside a weightier emotion.
His creative imagination cobbled together an illusion, which drew a sigh from his lips. His eyes remained closed; the brightness of the day turning his field of vision red behind his eyelids, despite the arm draped loosely over his face.
Another gust of wind off the lake carried with it the scent of gardenias, a sultry aroma Zevran had become accustomed to and associated with the woman who captured his heart. Cyna Mahariel fascinated him, at first it was her mercy that sparked his curiosity, but now he found himself bound to her body and soul and not just for allowing him to live after he failed to kill her. He loved her. It could be a frightening sensation to want and need someone as he felt himself drawn to and anchored to her.
The breeze rustled. Unkempt blades of verdant grass tickled against his ribs. His mind jumped to the memory of her fingers grazing the same spots. Whispering across his chest, the chill on the wind hardened his nipples. Stretching his neck, he could imagine his lover, blowing pointed placid puffs of air against his flesh to entice him.
The image nature conjured took palpable shape in his mind. Without opening his eyes, the gentle caresses of bending leaves became her hands, the winds came from her lips, and it was no longer the sun that inflamed his skin, but her own. At first, he lay unmoving, savoring every shiver and tingle that jolted through his body. All the while he imagined her kneeling beside him, leaning over his body, to cause each and every shock that seared across his nerves.
His hips shifted in the tight leather trousers he still wore, pressing upward in search of the barest hint of friction. The nails that bit at the skin of his belly were, in reality, his own, but he let facts fade away in a daydream that enveloped his every sense. Every breath of wind, brush of grass, even the shadows cast by clouds moving between he and that big sun overhead made his fantasy that much more vivid, until his hips were lifting from the ground in search of the delicious weight of her body.
The only friction to be found came when his own hand pressed over his aching length.
"Cyna," he whispered, as he bucked against the dull touch of his own hand.
The breeze whispered in his ear, carrying his name in that tender, velvety tone he only heard when they were alone. Lost in the delusion, his hand became hers. And as best he could he began to unconsciously mimic that maddeningly light touch with which she teased him toward a frenzy. The muscles in his stomach tightened as he pushed his hips upward, but the strokes remained light, even when nails scratched across his sex. The flat sensation of it only pushed him closer toward an insatiable furor
A growl hung in his throat, his other arm abandoning the task of shielding his eyes, to tug at his laces. "Braska," he grumbled when one hand pushed down into his pants, around his aching length. The illusion was not flawless, even as he lurched forward in hopes of catching the lips of the illusion conjured by his mind.
"Zevran." The whisper held that gentle yet indigent quality he heard in her voice when he kept her on edge longer than she liked.
The sensation of another hand upon his wrenched his eyes open. Everything froze when he blinked the sun's blindness from his eyes and found her grinning at him. Just like in his daydream, her face was darkened in contrast to the bright halo the sun gave her, but he could still make out the lascivious curve of her mouth.
She giggled at him. Such a sound to hear from one of the two remaining fabled Grey Wardens left in Ferelden. It was amused and girlish, conveying her relaxation in the secret serenity on the banks of that lazy brook. Her fingers traced the scars on his knuckles without looking at them, for her gaze remained intent on his face.
"I caught you unawares," she declared, a hint of pride painting her potent tone.
"Aye, amor. It would seem you did," Zevran replied with a wide grin. He didn't dare move his hand, the one wrapped around his cock. The reality of her touch proved far more enticing than what his imagination or nature had been able to draw in his mind's eye.
She leaned closer, her wet blouse dripping against his heated skin. He hissed at the stark chill of it, while she pressed a delicate kiss to his chin. "Am I interrupting?" she asked, cold fingertips shifting from the back of his hand to circle the raging and sensitive tip of his cock.
"Indeed, but who would not trade the illusion of you for the real thing."
"Illusion?" she asked.
Zevran hummed faintly, the pressure of her touch sending a powerful jolt through his body. "Nature can be a cruel tease," he explained. Lunging upward in search of her lips again, this time he was rewarded.
"You were fantasizing about me?" she asked, breaking the kiss and resting her forehead against his.
"Of course." His free hand slipped behind her head to seal their mouths once more. Their kiss lingered, gradually intensifying.
Her hand encouraged his to move. He groaned into her open mouth as their fingers laced, their hands pumping along his length in a steady, but agonizingly slow pace. He felt her shift. Her wet blouse as cold as snow against his sun-kissed stomach; it sparked a violent shiver that puckered his nipples achingly hard. Her hand abandoned his. When she straddled his narrow hips, the movement of his own hand brushed against the still wet hair between her legs. A desperation pulsed through his entire body as the direction of his daydream played out in the flesh. He maneuvered his engorged cock and pressed the tip of it through her folds. The starkness of the cold moisture and the wet heat of her staggered him.
Cyna's hand grazed his wrist, then tugged at it, pulling his hand from between them. She set it on her thigh as she settled more fully astride him. His cock pulsed between them, her hips shifting across the length of him in a deliberate motion. Gathering the hem of her blouse she pulled it over her head and let it fall onto the grass beside them. Gradually her hands fell again, fingertips skimming his stomach. Beyond her fingers, Zevran saw the bulbous crown of his penis reappear from between them only be engulfed into a curly, glistening nest of black curls once more.
His hands skimmed her icy skin, chilled by a swim or so he guessed. Her nipples pebbled harder beneath his machinations and he gave them a firm tug to hear her groan.
His breaking point peaked sooner than usual. He sat up, wrapping his arms around her waist and sucking one of her nipples into his mouth. Her fingers threaded into his hair, her breath quaking as he worked over the pert nub with his tongue and teeth. He released it when she cried out; her hands fisted tight in his hair like he might anchor her in that moment.
Resting his chin on her sternum, he stared up at her and said, "I want to be inside you."
Biting her bottom lip, she nodded in silence. Loosening her hold on his hair, one deft hand slipped between them as she moved to facilitate the shift. He groaned with the change. The sound turned into a growl when she sank down onto him, sheathing him with her body. He felt her tighten around him and pulled her body closer.
"Cyna," he grumbled in a husky lilting tone.
"Yes, Zevran?" she replied, rolling her hips in a precise, steady motion.
"Kiss me." One hand rested at the small of her back, fingers splayed pressing her toward him again when her motion reached its apex.
She did. It was languid and lazy, much like the day around them. Once joined in that erotic embrace, neither were in a rush for the ecstasy to end. They savored the quiescent early summer afternoon for as long as it remained still. Moments like these were hard to find when surrounded by the threat of civil war and encroaching darkness, it made the occasion all the sweeter. Especially for two elves who found their ways to one another under the strangest of circumstances.