Nobody Does it Better
Zevran was watching Cat across the crowded room, as she was chatting with the young nobleman that had greeted her enthusiastically a few minutes before. His hands balled into fists and he felt his stomach twist almost painfully, when he saw her throw back her head, baring the perfect long curve of her white neck, her eyes flashing green, as she smiled radiantly up at the tall man. She was beautiful tonight, in a sea-green silk dress with a plunging neckline and a full skirt, her red hair carefully brushed and tied in a loose knot at the nape of her neck.
The young bann bowed forward and whispered something in her ear, a teasing expression on his face, and he saw her blush briefly. Then she got up on tiptoes and whispered something back, eliciting a loud roar of laughter. Zev felt his hand moving involuntarily towards the dagger hidden in his left boot and he grit his teeth. This had been going on long enough, he dimly thought as he made his way over to the pair.
Cat had been immensely relieved when she spotted Ciaran among the nobles. Bann Ciaran now - his father had been sickly when they last met, and apparently he had died in the meantime. But Maker, was it good to see him. She was bored nearly out of her mind. Arl Eamon had insisted on inviting as many nobles as possible to his estate in preparation for the landsmeet. And he'd made it abundantly clear that he expected her to talk to every single one of them, to try and bring them over to their side.
So far, this task had proven to be utterly tedious, with just a few exceptions. She'd nearly cried when the aged Bann Sighard had thanked her in a brittle shaking voice for rescuing his son Oswyn from Howe's dungeons. And she had had a good chat with Bann Alfstanna, who had been confident that her brother Irminric would recover. But the rest... At least three of the banns had tried to push their sons upon her for marriage, even though one of them was barely fifteen, another one was already married and the third was inbred to the point of imbecility.
And then Ciaran had noticed her and greeted her with his familiar infectious laugh and a huge bear-hug. "Cat Cousland! You're alive! Thank the Maker! Let me look at you!" She knew she was smiling like an idiot at him as he took both her hands, but she couldn't stop herself. She hadn't seen him for nearly five years, but he had been Fergus' best friend, back before her brother got married. More often than not she'd tagged along when the two of them went looking for trouble. He'd always been kind to her.
She looked up at his huge frame. Maker, but he had grown into a fine man! Dark brown curls, bright blue eyes, strong arms and a wide chest. She bit her lip when she realized she'd been gaping at his powerful body, but he just grinned.
"Well, have you finished looking me over?" He bowed down to her ear, his voice low now, deep and rumbling. "You don't look half-bad yourself, you know? Remember that kiss behind the barn on your fifteenth birthday?"
She felt her face grow hot. Of course she remembered. That had been her first kiss, and it hadn't been a disappointment either. A little clumsy, true, and of course Fergus had arrived at the worst possible moment, but still... A mischievous smile appeared on her face as she whispered back. "How could I forget? I trust you've waited for me for all these years, my lord." He laughed out loud then, but she could see a funny expression in his eyes and she realized he hadn't let go of her hands.
Right then Zevran appeared at her side, though, and she tore herself away in order to make the appropriate introductions. Ciaran seemed confused about seeing an Antivan elf with her, but he was his usual polite and friendly self. Zevran was tense, though, his answers curt and clipped, wholly devoid of his customary charm. After a few brief exchanges, she excused herself with a regretful glance at Ciaran, and motioned for the assassin to follow her to a window alcove at the back of the room, a few steps away from the crowds.
"What's the matter, Zev?" she asked, concerned about his behaviour.
She heard him growl, even as he tried to keep his voice casual. "An old friend, is he? You were very... relaxed with him."
Cat felt a smile curving up her lips. "Why, Zev, you are jealous! I never thought..."
"Jealous! Me?" His pout was almost comical. "Just... curious."
She grinned broadly, not fooled for a second. "Yes, Ciaran is a very old friend. As a matter of fact..." she let her voice trail off, relishing the strained look on his face as she made him wait. "I had quite a crush on him when I was younger. He was always around, and you know what young girls are like, don't you?"
She heard Zev's sharp intake of breath, felt his body go taut beside her, and couldn't resist teasing him a little more. "Of course I didn't know then that he would grow up to be quite so attractive. Maybe I should go over and renew the acquaintance..." and she turned away to walk toward Ciaran.
It was her turn to gasp as Zevran pulled her firmly back, pressing her body hard against his as he held her in front of him, only just keeping up appearances by hiding his grip on her waist behind the long trailing sleeves of her gown. She could feel his breath on her neck, as he whispered against her ear. "Oh no, my beautiful, you won't!" She couldn't see his face, but the tone of his voice made her shiver all over. "Attractive, is he? And what else, do you think?"
Arl Eamon chose this moment to start giving a rousing speech, but she found she couldn't really listen. A wicked smile was playing on Zevran's lips as his hands travelled along her spine, all the way down from her neck to her lower back. She felt his touch burn through the thin silk of the dress and swallowed hard to retain her composure. Fortunately, everyone else was focussed on the Arl now, though she noticed Ciaran throwing her a confused glance, when her face flushed deeply.
Zevran's hand had travelled even further down, softly caressing the back of her thighs with feather-light touches and she found herself suppressing a moan of pleasure as she involuntarily leaned back into his touch. "Do you like this, my sweet?" His voice was a mere whisper, hoarse and low. "Of course, pleasant as it is, this isn't what I really want to do now..."
Cat desperately tried to focus on the Arl's words, but it was hopeless. Zevran's hands were still stroking her softly, while he was purring into her ear. "What I really want, carissima, is to tear this dress off your body, and then... I would let my lips wander over your neck, your shoulders, your beautiful breasts..." She could feel his gaze dip into the ample cleavage of her dress, and she shivered all over, powerless to stop it. "I would let my tongue play with your nipples, circle them, nip at them..." His hands on her shoulder blades mimicked the actions he described, adding to the torture. "Then I would suck, hard, and I would revel in the sound of your sighs." Cat bit her lip until it nearly bled to stop herself from actually moaning out loud at his words.
With a hand on her hip he pulled her even closer to himself, letting her feel his hardness against her back, and was rewarded with another hot blush and a deep sigh from her, luckily drowned by the loud clapping of hands at a particularly rousing bit of rhetoric from Arl Eamon. "Of course by then, you would be so hot and wet, so wet for me..." He saw that her hands had gripped the fabric of her skirt and were twisting it desperately, and he grinned, knowing that his words were probably not far from the truth.
Zevran went on mercilessly. "So, I would let my hands part your thighs and then I would softly, gently, stroke you, touch you, caress you, until you press yourself against my hand, begging for more, ..."
"Zev, in the name of the Maker, please, stop," she breathed, panting softly. "I... can't..." Another round of applause at the Arl's words went up, everyone rose to toast Alistair, and Zevran took advantage of this to reach for his glass, his hand brushing against her breasts. She felt her knees go weak then and nearly stumbled, but his hand was there on her waist to hold her up.
"Not feeling well, Warden?" he asked in a perfectly normal, carrying voice. "It is rather hot in here. Please let me take you out to the balcony for a moment, for some fresh air."
The glance she threw him could only be described as murderous. "I don't..." she started in a shaky voice, but he wouldn't let her finish.
"Please, my lady, I insist!" Cat could see Leliana rolling her eyes at Wynne and throwing her an exasperated glance, as Zevran took her arm and led her out by a side door just as everyone gathered around Alistair and Eamon on the far side of the room.
When they were outside, he raised a warning finger to his lips, looking around briefly, before he seemed to melt into the shadows, dragging her with him to a small hidden servants' staircase. He quickly led her upstairs towards the guest quarters. When they were safely inside his room, he bolted the door shut behind him to make sure they wouldn't be surprised, then pulled her into a scorching hot kiss, his lips crushing hers, his hands everywhere on her body at once. "Zev!" she moaned as he quickly drew up her skirt, pushing her hard against the wall, and she hooked one leg around his waist, begging him with her whole body to take her. "Damn you, Zev, why do you have to be so... good?" He didn't have any more patience than she had at his point, and he unlaced his breeches with trembling fingers, as fast as he could manage, not bothering to undress completely.
Within seconds he was pushing her down on the soft rug next to the bed, and then he was inside her, thrusting hard, groaning loudly now, no longer able to restrain himself. He heard her moan and whimper in reply, felt her muscles tighten around him, as she threw her head back in reckless abandon, and he couldn't keep his lips and teeth off the soft white skin of her neck and shoulders, even though he knew he would leave marks that would embarrass her later.
They both lost track of their surroundings, neither knowing nor caring that in the room below the meeting was dissolving, the banns were leaving, Arl Eamon was dragging Alistair off to his study for a brandy, and Leliana was making up increasingly fanciful excuses for the absence of the Warden. Everything else had ceased to exist and all that remained was the feeling of skin on skin, lips on lips, their bodies locked in an ardent, tight embrace. He heard her cry out, a sharp, high-pitched cry of passion, but he was already too far gone to respond, except with a deep ragged groan, as he sank inside her, again and again, lost in the feel of her trembling hot body.
When she opened her eyes and looked at him, they were glazed with lust and she was limp in his arms. She let her hand ghost tenderly over the swirling lines of his tattoo, but he shook her off, a frown on his face. "Well, cara, tell me," he growled. "Do you think your handsome young bann could make you feel like this?"
She shook her head, burying her face against his neck. "Oh stop it, Zevran," she whispered, laughing softly. "I'm sure you don't need to hear it from me." She looked up into his eyes. "Nobody does it better. I'll never need anyone but you."