{Authors Note}
*Ahem*
Cock.
All right, now if that single word made you gasp and reach for your pen of rage, just skip this one eh? From experience, i grow bored of trolls who seem invariably outraged by things they can only find by searching for them. This one is actually mild for me in comparison to some of my work. By all means dislike my work if you think its terrible writing, gods know im not Stephen king, but don't hate it because some words make you blush or shake your fist at the screen.
OK now that's out of the way, hi and thank you for taking the time to read, its been some time since i have gathered the courage to put my work in public again, writers block has been chewing my ass for a few years. I appreciate my Hiatus may have made me rusty and apologise to your eyes in the hope your imagination will make up for all the bits I missed. This little fic appeared out of nowhere. I have no idea if it will be a stand alone or a series, perhaps I'll see what people think. If you don't all try to ritually burn me at the stake for crimes against literacy, I may continue.
I don't have a proof reader at the moment and since I am definitely my own worst critic im not going to poke this story too much or I will chicken out and not publish. Volunteers for proof reading would be welcome, as would any critique that will be kind enough to break it to me gently.
As much as i may have just bashed my own writing, much as a lot of us do, i actually DO hope you enjoy this little piece and perhaps any more that might crawl into my brain on a whim.
Ever your faithful, smut ridden servant...
G.
x
Rose and Gold
Alistair wrenched open the door and darted out into the carpeted, stone corridor, closing it seconds before something collided with the other side and shattered. He had seconds to feel relief for this narrow miss before yet another trinket exploded on the other side of the door and he hastily moved away, taking the corridor in long strides that clearly wasn't running away.
He was simply retreating to a tactical distance!
It was hard to maintain his dignity while walking half clothed and bare footed past a gallery of armed palace guards that were all clearly trying very hard not to laugh. Or at least to wait till he'd passed them to start sniggering. Some of them were loosing this battle and he almost felt a metaphorical tail trying to tuck between his legs as he heard the first soft sound of someone swallowing back a laugh, followed by a suppressed snort as the lack of control spread. What made matters worse, was that this little 'walk of shame' was likely just the effect that Anora had desired.
With no desire to pass a further assemblage of guards while feeling precisely 2 feet tall, Alistair detoured to the enclosed courtyard, this decision rewarding him with privacy and the heavy, fresh scent of roses gently seething in the night time heat. The grass was cooler at the soles of his feet and he curled bare toes into it to release some of the tension in his frame.
But his body would only relax so far and who could blame it? Yet again Anora had done her best to rile him up to the point where sense left him and he could forget for a moment that she was a cold, uncompromising shrew. He was male, still young and if she were persistent enough, the least intelligent part of his body would sit up and beg, at which point she would take great pleasure in grinding her foot right into his balls. Thankfully this was figurative. Anora might hate him and continuously attempt to emasculate him to the point of misery, but even she recognized that the 'kings jewels' might well be required in the arduous, and frankly cringe-worthy task of conceiving a child.
No. What she did to his pride made a pointy heel to his delicates, look like a day trip to the Wonders of Thedas. Not for the first time into the second year of his marriage, Alistair found himself cursing the hero of Ferelden for his blue balls and bruised pride.
He doubted that Loucas Cousland would care to shoulder the blame for either infliction, but it had been the commanding words of his fellow warden that had placed the crown upon his head and sealed his fate with the harridan currently occupying his bed. Oh the intentions had been noble of course, but noble intentions didn't compensate for the fact that he had to repeatedly attempt to stick 'little Alistair' into what was essentially a bear trap lined with ice.
He had never wanted to be king. He distinctly remembered several points being made to underline this fact. He'd even considered an informative puppet show just to make sure they all understood that his wearing a crown would be a terrible plan. Yet here he was with a kingdom at his feet and a wife with daggers at his back. The whole situation was ludicrous, and only in the midst of a blight could it have been pulled off. Only in the midst of the blight could his sense of duty ever cloud his common sense enough for him to agree to the decision. His pride and strength bolstered by the confidence bestowed upon him, while the rest of him curled up in a corner of his mind and chewed on its knuckles while waiting for the penny to drop.
The marriage had been arranged and performed swiftly, just two days after the Arch Demon's defeat, Loghain's body not yet buried and the seed of hate already planted within Anora. He'd known the moment he looked into her eyes after their first reluctant, awkward kiss at the altar of the half collapsed Chantry. Her fathers enforced sacrifice at the top of the tower was not going to go unpunished.
Alistair had gone to his marriage bed virginal, chaste and more than a little unprepared, which was a perfect foundation for his new wife to lay out her slow and agonizing revenge. She belittled, scolded, embarrassed and shamed him in the privacy of their chambers, turning an already dreadful scenario into something that made him shudder with revulsion, incompetence and shame. These were private tortures, the hell she shaped for him hers alone to gloat over, but every now and then she would let everyone see that she alone could grasp the reigns to the throne and tug!
The tentative erection she had coaxed out of him had now withered, leaving him feeling as empty and useless as he always did upon leaving her graces. Since standing in the middle of the Royal garden with his shirt half mast and his pants only half buttoned might well raise more questions than his hasty retreat from the royal chambers, he crossed the gardens to one of its more secluded corners. Sat amidst a tangle of Hydrangea bushes and lit softly with hanging oil lamps, the stone gazebo was almost hidden from sight. It was said that Maric had commissioned it built it for his queen and it had grown weathered with its age. Alistair had found it one of the very few places in the castle where he could be alone and had ordered small items of comfortable furniture to be placed there. He might well be a king hiding in his own castle, but Maker damn it he would be a comfortable one.
After falling onto what they told him was a 'chaise lounge' he spent 5 minutes rearranging himself on what he had renamed 'fancy bench I'll never fit on', until eventually he settled and tipped his head on the cushion to cast his gaze above him where tall trees suspended a canopy that hid most of the night sky. His gaze fell upon two stars that shone brightly enough to penetrate thick, dark leaves. He watched them blur as he let his eyes loose focus. He tried to do the same with his brain, usually easy enough do, incredibly easy when cheese was in the vicinity. But every time he had almost settled in the quiet, scented darkness he heard the ghost of that snigger and his brow would furrow, his gaze shifting to find a new point to drift from.
"Tell me you're Majesty; is it customary for kings of Ferelden to sleep in their gardens like unbroken Mabari?"
Alistair managed to jump about a foot while still laying down, a feat that he might have felt impressive if his voice hadn't done something incredibly girly he never wanted it to do again. He squinted and the two stars he had been staring at blinked at him allowing Zevran's form, crouched in the low hanging branches, to come into focus.
"Makers itchy left testicle….what are you doing sitting up a tree…in MY tree. Wait don't I have guards who are supposed to spot this sort of thing!"
He watched a smirk grow on the elf's lips, a blade of a smile that exposed his teeth and reflected the light momentarily before hands grasped the branch between his planted feet. Falling back the elf managed to twist at the right moment, showing dexterity that Alistair could never hope to manage with all his bulk. Zevran made such things look obscenely easy whereas the king of Ferelden often tripped over his own royal garments if he wasn't paying attention.
Landing lightly with both feet on the ground the assassin shook his head with a small tut.
"Alistair, Mi querido, if your guards could spot me I would be a poor imitation of a crow would I not?"
The Antivan held up his hands to show they were empty, but that meant little to Alistair after he'd already seen some of the places this man hid his weapons. Of all the people he might wish to never see him while he was licking the wounds of his injured pride, Zevran was certainly somewhere near the top of the list. The two men had never exactly gotten along, or more accurately, Alistair took an instant dislike to the man who had attempted to inhume both he and Cousland, whereas Zevran had simply taken a great delight in teasing, taunting and generally being the second biggest pain in his backside next to the apostate witch. Even after all the fighting they had done side by side and despite the fact that both had likely saved the others lives on more than one occasion, Alistair had simply never been comfortable around the Antivan. The man always seemed able to pin point the one thing that would make him want to cringe himself into a hole in the ground, before hounding him relentlessly with it. Now, watching that familiar, lazy smirk form on the Antivan's face, Alistair had to wonder with a faint dismay, exactly how long the sneaky bastard had been hiding in the tree, how much he had heard, and how much of a verbal wringing he was about to get.
"Is there a point to you lurking in my garden or are you just here because you missed my never ending supply of Templar anecdotes and cheese? You do realise most people who invade the royal palace uninvited usually get hung?" He spoke with a resigned weariness that he didn't even bother to hide, his threat not in the slightest bit serious, though perhaps he could have the man put in stocks for his own amusement. Scratch that. The consummate perv would probably thank him for a good time.
The blonde gave a wistful sigh and pressed his shoulder to one of the carved stone pillars supporting the gazebo,
"Ah, but life has lost its dangerous spark ever since your troublesome Archdemon was dispatched. Climbing over your walls and avoiding your alert guards was a mere thrill to whet my appetite, surely you would not deny an old friend such indulgences"
Alistair snorted and looked away from that grin, hating Zevran just that little bit more for his freedom.
"The only problem with your indulgences Arainai is that most of them can have you arrested, shot full of arrows, or chased by angry mabari, and I'm still not sure I want to know what you did to cause the last one"
The blonde shrugged such a small gesture and yet Alistair noted, even that small roll of shoulders was made to look…appealing. Did he do it on purpose or was he truly unaware that he was one giant walking innuendo?
"Ah your Majesty, such distrust and venom on your tongue still. Or do I bear the ire meant for your….charming queen. I had hoped to perhaps give you my congratulations at long last, I missed the wedding. However it seems that a bucket of ice and some bandages might have been a better plan, no?"
Alistair managed to both narrow his eyes and flush darkly, his eyes flickering to the tower windows that were, of course…open. How much had the elf heard, and how much was he going to use it like a cat that paws at an injured bird. For fun.
Zevran simply lifted a brow and promptly flopped onto the floor beside the chaise, stretching out his legs and looking perfectly at ease, while Alistair shifted uncomfortably and pulled his shirt closed with one hand, not even aware he was doing it until the Antivan chuckled. It was a thick and generous sound with a subtle hint of darkness licking at its edges. He quieted and simply watched the templar with a steady golden gaze that Alistair could feel on him as he tried to shift into a sitting position on the ridiculous piece of furniture.
"I know precisely who you are your Majesty. There is not a man or woman in Thedas that does not know your name my blushing King. In fact I am thinking that the only one who has yet to realise who you are….is you"
Alistair drew in a breath to retort, perhaps to call such a notion preposterous. But the Elf was now looking at him in a way very few people did. He was used to people rolling their eyes when he said something that made him sound naïve. He was starting to get used to the way people looked at him as king. But he still hadn't gotten used to that long and unblinking stare from the Antivan. It had disturbed him back then, when he had felt it boring into him from the other side of the campfire, a stare that would be highlighted by flickering orange light whenever the weight of it became too much and his own eyes had risked the quickest of glances. He was not surprised that it still disturbed him now and he forced himself to stop fidgeting at least.
He lowered his gaze and sounded petulant when he spoke, already knowing that the former Crow always seemed to see more than anybody else. Perhaps that was why the man found it so easy to tease.
"That's a stupid thing to say. Of course I know who I am. I'm the one who has to put on the crown and look at people like I'm paying attention when what I'm really doing is falling asleep with my eyes open and wishing they would go away"
It was the first time Alistair had released even the smallest bit of bitterness in sight of another and he found it slightly easier to breathe. Alistair might not have liked the man or trusted him, but somehow Zevran invited the truth from many unexpected sources. He had seen it happen countless times when travelling with a man, should it really surprise him that the man hadn't changed much no matter how little he might like it?
The elf didn't exactly pry when it came to some matters, but every now and then he found the right switch in someone, a place to insert the hook. At which point he would begin to subtly push, and pull….and perhaps tug. He had seen it, had felt it, and yet he still hadn't worked out how the little sod did it.
"No king would allow himself to be chased from his own home by that loba. She holds you with guilt"
The elf could also deliver his words with the force of a gentle slap. There was no lilting flirting tone to the Antivan's voice now, and the customary curve of his smile was gone. Aside from calling the man's wife a she-wolf, he had just insulted the Queen. Alistair could well have his head cut off. However nobody could travel with Alistair for any length of time and not note the man's heart. Like him or dislike him, he would not have one of his former companions executed. He couldn't even kill a spider in his tent for the Makers sake.
Alistair simply stared at the Antivan. He didn't understand the word Zevran had spoken. In fact he would spend three days after this night, trying to find someone to translate it. But the tone was unmistakable, and after a long moment of silence the Warden King's lips twitched and he bowed his head as a soft snigger he'd been trying to contain, escaped. The Assassin's grin grew again and he relaxed against the chaise apparently confident he would be allowed to keep his head on this occasion.
The snigger was still there when Alistair spoke again, lifting his gaze with a reluctant half smile
. "All right she is a….whatever that word meant. But you all knew that.." The grin faded to a frown and he picked up a thread from one of cushions, tugging at it thoughtfully. It was strange and sudden, Zevran seemed to have swooped in at the very moment when he found it impossible not to finally voice how incredibly whiny he felt. He knew it sounded childish, and he winced inwardly, but he needed to get it out, and was it likely the assassin would take offence? Probably not, Zevran seemed to grab life by its tail as it passed by, taking offence tended to waste valuable mischief making time.
"You all knew I didn't want it. Yet here I am. I have a crown, royal armour polished until I can see my face in it! I have 200 guardsmen, 12 cooks. There's people to buy my clothes, people to arrange my meetings, 3 carriages on standby should I wish to visit the market. I have 10 advisor's 6 court mage's, 8 diplomats, 30 cleaning staff. Oh and don't forget the 2 gardeners, the food tasters and 1 old man who's function I haven't discovered, yet he always seems to be here. And there isn't a single person in this castle who can speak to me without looking at their feet. Or in the case of my wife…looking daggers"
It was like Alistair had been holding a breath for two years now, and once he began to exhale, he didn't seem able to stop. Zevran assisted of course, this time by not saying a single word to interrupt him, he merely kept up that steady stare. He knew Alistair had always had trouble meeting his eyes for long. He was likely not used to such close scrutiny when they met, and this hadn't changed. When Alistair looked to the elf as if for his interjection, Zevran would simply continue to stare until the other man began to speak again if only for something else to do rather than meet those eyes.
For an hour or more Alistair spoke without interruption, only requiring a few prompts from those unmoving, golden eyes before he naturally fell into he steady rhythm of his grievances. He wanted to know how his life could have been so easily decided for him. He had joined the Wardens, had given them his oath and he had meant it. Duncan's death only made him mean it all the more. But now he was trapped here, only a token of the Wardens, a mascot perhaps. He would never doubt their hearts or their loyalty, but he was apart from them now, and in a way, depleted as they had been, the hero of Ferelden and those that stood with him, had felt like family to him.
"Though I think you're the distant cousin nobody invites over for dinner…or maybe the aunt that always pinches your cheeks when she see's you" he said as he finally flopped back down onto the chaise, promptly sitting up again as the arm rest dug into his back.
For once Zevran refrained from the obvious joke concerning the pinching of cheeks. He was still staring, but that air of potential mischief that seemed to surround him like an aura had gone. In its place was an expression that was more calculating, and slightly more honest than Alistair was used to. If anything it made him want to squirm on the spot all the more and he simply didn't know why!
"Ahhh your Majesty, you were swept in the wake of someone who would lead. You were lost no? Yet here was this man, ready to lead, ready to convince you that depleted as you were, the Wardens could do their duty against the blight. Such passion, such drive, always bringing danger, always victorious in battles…..who could ever resist following a man such as that my friend?" He raised a significant brow and watched until the meaning behind his last words finally dawned on the human King's face. He nodded and softened his expression further.
"Si, I too was dragged along in the storm he brewed. Admittedly I clung to his coat tails so I could cling to my neck to begin with. But the chance for treasure, dragon killing and saving an entire country….well an adventurous Antivan would be laughed out of his stylish boots if he passed on such a thing. Not to mention I had ample opportunity to visit my wiles upon a young, would-be-king. A worthy brag for any man, Antivan or Ferelden"
Zevran was rewarded by a thinning of the warden-king's lips and a renewed touch of scarlet in his cheeks. He flashed a brief, corrupting smile before becoming serious once more.
"Never did I believe that I would find myself feeling….indebted to him. It is a bitter pill for one such as me to swallow, never have I liked the concept of owing another. Yet….here I am"
The assassin spread his hands and shrugged while Alistair looked as though he was chewing on one of many thoughts.
"It would be incredibly easy to hate him if he wasn't such a noble and selfless bastard really wouldn't it?" He sighed and the half grin returned. He already felt cleaned out in some way, dare he say that the assassin was even likeable when he wasn't using yours truly as the butt of his jokes.
"Ah but of course my King, he exacerbates the insult by being immensely honest, charming and generally likeable. The fiend! But I understand your meaning. If we can hate another for our misfortunes, perhaps we need not change them. That is so much harder to do when you cannot find a form for your anger is it not?"
The subtle words were not lost on Alistair and he nodded without thinking about it before withdrawing his gaze again and hastily changing the subject. "Would you stop calling me that please, it sounds stupid coming from you"
"Calling you what my King?"
"That…..'my King, your Majesty', you've seen me run away screaming like a girl from a hoard of angry bee's before, I imagine we're past those formalities when not in public"
Zevran's smile grew and he turned a hip to the cushions, propping his head up on a hand, elbow resting on the chaise. His eyes had not lost their unrelenting quality, but the stare now had something glinting behind it. He was quite happy to exchange the heartfelt discussion to a new game apparently.
"And what would you prefer me to call you? If you recall, the last time I offered to cry out your name in a tent you went red and threw a cheese knife at me, ever since then I thought such formal tones were necessary my dear Alistair" A sinuous purr crawled lazily around his words and it caused Alistair to palm his face.
"Stop that. It's not funny any more!"
Zevran feigned curiosity and tilted his head. "I am puzzled as to your meaning my friend. What is it I am doing that so disturbs you?"
Alistair waved his hand in the elf's general direction, "That. Stop doing all….that"
The amusement was bright and clear in the assassin's voice, "You just pointed to all of me. Should I be offended now?"
Alistair gave a frustrated growl into his palm and forced himself to look up despite knowing that his face could be used as a camp fire right now.
"You always want me to feel uncomfortable. I'm not sure why, maybe I remind you of someone who used to take your toys when you were a child. Either way I end up blushing and looking like a fool while you stand off to one side grinning. I have no idea why you picked me for this particular torture, but it'd be nice if you didn't….you know, make me look even more of an idiot than I feel. We both know I'm neither the man nor woman of your dreams. I'm just this fuzzy ball on a string you sometimes give to cats to paw at when you're bored"
Zevran almost laughed and cheered at the same time but managed to keep it inside long enough to gain all the composure he needed to speak.
"Firstly my dear Alistair, that was a terrible analogy. Secondly…you appear to be under the mistaken impression that I tease you because i…..wish to make you appear a fool"
"Oh come on its obvious!"
"Perhaps only to those who are blind my friend. Now hush. After such a statement I must at least be afforded the opportunity to answer. Is that not how your 'Diplomacy' works here?" The assassin uncurled from his lazy position, sliding up onto one knee, and somehow he was now only a foot away from the human. "While it is true that I do love to watch your cheeks glow, I tease you for one reason only" The smile widened until the glint of teeth could be glimpsed between faintly parted lips. "I have teased you for all this time because that first blush caused me to lust after this impressive, if inexperienced form. If I could provoke such reaction to your face, what wonders would await me if I could get you alone in your tent?" His face dropped in mock sadness and Alistair now looked slightly concussed. "Sadly it seems that all my efforts were believed to be the work of a mocking saboteur to your pride. Tch. I almost am offended now. Such wasted efforts upon my wiles"
There were words. Alistair knew there were words. He just wasn't able to locate them in his head and he suspected his tongue wasn't going to be much assistance either. He kept looking up at the elf and opening his mouth, then it would close again and he would look somewhere else. Eventually when no response that he could articulate came, he let the easy explanation fall into place and he half laughed and half frowned. It was easy to see that both were forced.
"Well, that one was more elaborate than the rest. And extremely convincing, I might even have to applaud. So where is the audience who are meant to be pointing and laughing right now, and do I get cheese for being a good sport?"
Zevran's grin did not fade, though he shook his head slowly. "Ah, wrong again my dear Warden, I speak the truth. And I do so to see…even now…if one day you might succumb"
A deep frown on the young warden's brow as his eyes narrowed, "You're lying Zevran. Any minute now someone's going to jump out of the bushes just so you have a witness at how incredibly gullible I am"
The purr now drenched his rich, exotic accent and Zevran dared to lean forward, causing a 1 foot gap to shrink to inches, enough that Alistair would feel the warm rush of spoken breath against his jaw.
"Would you care for me to prove it Alistair? I feel as though my honour is in question. That will not do"
What Alistair really wanted to do right now, more than anything, was to crawl over the back of the chaise and dive through the bushes and just….keep…running. Because he wasn't good at this game, and he wasn't sure he could deal with more humiliation tonight. However kings didn't run away from…..well ok they might well run away from assassins, but probably not because they were being lewd.
"Don't you ever give up? Exactly how long do you think you can stretch this joke before you just start looking…wait...what are you doing?"
The suspicion in his voice was warranted this time for Zevran had shifted further from his original position. Alistair blinked as the man half crouched over the chaise lounge, hands gripping the back and armrest, effectively caging the taller man in. If Alistair wanted to escape he would have to move the elf bodily.
"I am once again offering to prove my honesty Alistair. I never lie when it comes to perusing such a prize" With the way Zevran's eyes tilted down, it was clear that in this case he meant Alistair which prompted a deeper frown from the man and he gripped an armoured waist in an attempt to pry the assassin from above him. The Antivan did not appear to be willing however and he showed a surprising strength or perhaps just bull-headed determination as he maintained his grip on the chaise.
"Oho! So eager to get to grips already, perhaps I misjudged your naivety?"
This caused Alistair's hands to react as though they were touching hot metal, releasing him immediately while the former Templar's face grew steadily darker in hue "Get off me you idiot"
Zevran did the opposite. Instead he chose to do what his current pose had been threatening for the last minute or so. Letting his body drop, the assassin was suddenly straddling the one below him. It was a snug fit, and a movement of the Antivan's hips made sure it was even more so.
"I think not. All your protests and accusations of falsehood have rather hurt my usually resilient feelings. If nothing else I believe reparations are due"
There were more protests lined up on Alistair's tongue as it finally began to dawn on him that Zevran, despite how he'd managed to convince himself otherwise, was utterly serious. Suddenly that piercing, golden stare wasn't just unnerving. It made him feel as if he were already stripped as bare as he could be. The elf impassively watched as Alistair attempted to draw the words from his tongue, and then apparently decided not to give the man further opportunity. Not, at least, until he had his say.
Copper skinned hands grasped a flaming face and soft warmth swallowed those protests with a numbness that stole away everything from the reluctant king but that firm press and the strange sensation of fine hair tickling his cheeks. There was no movement for a few seconds, just that foreign mouth melded to his. Alistair's mind had no frame of reference that would allow it to be of any help in this situation, it had in fact, treacherously deserted him. The idea of simply pushing Zevran away did not seem to have even occurred to him though surely it would once the shock wore off.
Perhaps the Antivan sensed this impending ejection after the few seconds he had stolen, for he chose now to bite lightly on the Alistair's lower lip, causing a gasp from the other man that opened the barrier of lips and allowed the wet warmth of a tongue to slip between their defences. The Warden King jerked in his prone position and his hands flailed with the indecision as to where was safest to put them. One finally settled on the wide leather strap that held the Elf's weapons at his back, the other flopping loosely over the edge of the chaise, fist clenched. He might later blame disorientation, but that first glide of tongue against his own had caused a deep tug in his belly and it became the most natural thing in world for his own mouth to follow clumsily as Zevran continued to plunder it with very little notion of hurry.
This was….this was like nothing he had experienced. Nothing that had occurred between he and Anora could ever have prepared him for anything like this. The woman had turned something as simple as a kiss, into another battlefield where both of them had to fight past their obvious loathing of the other to reach their goal. This was easy, this felt utterly natural and when the elf purred into his inexpert mouth he found further surprise…and perhaps a little shame…when he felt himself harden almost instantly. A roll of hips from Zevran caused him to finally wrench his mouth away with a startled cry and told him that the Antivan had both noted and appreciated his bodies compliment to his skills.
Staring down at Alistair flushed face and unfocused eyes with something of a triumphant expression, Zevran seemed to make a decision, and moved in for the kill.
Rolling his hips again he was rewarded with another startled gasp and an involuntary flex from the man beneath him. He bent over Alistair again, his mouth finding an ear this time, sucking the lobe between lips and only relenting with a soft purr when he felt that large body tremble underneath him. "This….is your truth my King"
The word was whispered with some amount of force coupled with a firmer grind of Zevran's hips and hands that had flailed now suddenly gripped the Antivans thighs as if that single strap hadn't been enough for Alistair to steady himself.
"You are no mere stand in for a dead king. No mascot to an order you swore your oath to" The elf thrust a hand between them and grasped the growing bulge that was quickly putting a strain on the fine stitching of linen pants. The hand squeezed and the Antivan was lifted as Alistair strained to raise his hips into that touch.
"You are the KING of Ferelden and neither man nor vicious shrew can cow you unless you allow them to do so" The words were slightly muffled now as Zevran sought to attack Alistair's shoulders and throat with that quick, devastating mouth and tongue, still firmly grinding palm and hips against the heavy, growing length, still so very trapped in tight confines.
Somehow Alistair managed to gather enough breath from lungs that seemed ill suited for retaining air at the moment. His focus kept wavering in and out with every advance of the Antivan's expertise.
"Zevran…this is…" But whether Alistair meant to halt them both with words or praise the sensations currently running uncontrolled through his body, it was quickly silenced by the Antivan as he flipped the open shirt aside and bore down on a nipple with a voraciousness that bordered on alarming, or would have if Alistair hadn't become completely unravelled at this point.
There was no coldness here, no sense of shame and no tiny part of his mind waiting for the inevitable onslaught from his partner. In fact there was very little of anything but the growing need in his cock and the feeling that all his blood now carried the heated fire passed on by the Antivans hand and a mouth that pulled and sucked at the small nub of flesh insistently, bringing tiny, desperate sounds from parted lips.
It felt so damn good and Maker help him he wanted more. He was still young, perhaps approaching his prime and his body was impatient for all of this. So long he had been denied, the secret of this heat and friction hidden from him. Skilled fingers tugged at lacing and he felt linen loosen at his hips moments before the elf's warm hand plunged beneath the material and spilled fingers over his nearly solid length. If there had been a protest left on Alistair's lips it was lost forever when those fingers found him, curling possessively around his girth, freeing the twitching, weeping length with a gentle squeeze…Maker!
Was this what it was supposed to be like? This uncontrolled sense of falling and burning rolled into one. His body wanted to push, writhe, grasp and pretty soon it was doing so of its own accord, or so Alistair would later believed, for nothing had ever aroused so much passion in the man to have him suddenly grip the elf's ass and turn them.
The movement was awkward and not particularly smooth, but the relief in being able to thrust down into that warm hand that now stroked him to a slow rhythm was undeniable and his upper body arched with it. Zevran was looking up at the man whose body shook above his, those golden eyes now blazing, his smile carrying a hard edge of satisfaction and his own body was caught up in the former Templar's youthful frenzy.
"Yeesss" the Antivan rasped. He could see the revelation in Alistair's slackened face, in the way those powerful arms quivered, hands convulsing, digging fingertips into his flesh. "Do you feel it now my Warden King? You are not broken, not shamed. You are….magnificent" The words were fierce and perhaps a little theatrical again, but if anybody needed cheering on in this moment it was Alistair.
The delicate, expensive furniture creaked beneath them as strong hips began to realise a goal. Magnificent Alistair might have been, but release had been a denied or disappointing experience up until now, and never had he felt its urgency roaring through him with as much power as it did now, causing hips to take on a frantic movement, linen parted enough that the soft flesh between hip and groin could be seen flexing with the strain.
Nothing could have prepared him for the Antivans sudden shift and bend of his armored frame, he would not have believed the flexibility the elf possessed. But such musings didn't matter, in fact everything ceased to matter in the moment the tip of his cock kissed the warm velvet of lips that parted around him and enveloped the swollen head, entrapping it in moist heat!
A hand had already braced at his hip to stop that instinctual surge forwards, only allowing him shallow thrusts. This time his groan was loud, unrestrained and full of longing as the elf began to use his tongue, fluttering movements accompanied by a firm pressure of lips that made him want to bury himself in that mouth and thrust wildly. The thought alone ripped another harsh sound from his throat, and looking slightly distressed Alistair half twisted his upper body and pressed his mouth hard into the crook of his arm before he could bring the guards running out here.
At some point the thought of how exposed they were might have made him balk, but it was too late. He was on the brink of something that was threatening to make him slip from his own skin and spill him on the floor. That mouth….oh that mouth. Never had he experienced a heat that seemed so alive, so wet! With circling tongue and stroking fingers Zevran was building that heat to something beyond a fever. He finally chanced a look down the length of his body, held aloft by his own straining arms….
….it was a sight he would never forget. That mouth that had quipped, joked and bantered him to death on many occasions, now wrapped around the head of his cock, the thick flesh shifting between them with each of his shallow thrusts. Sensing his gaze, those golden eyes now tipped up to his and it was this, coupled by those lips opening to display agile tongue toying with him, which finally ended it for the already stretched nerves and strained body.
Alistair could only suppose that Zevran had noted some sort of signal, for hands left his hips quite suddenly, all of Alistair's need surging forward, and finally…blessedly he was able to sink himself deeper into that warmth. He couldn't think on the elf's possible discomfort, not now, not on this precipice. His hips were jerking fitfully and at some point he had wound shaking fingers into blonde hair as his cock seemed to swell impossibly moments before that ultimate rush blinded him to anything but the wonder of feeling himself come apart, un-tethered. He spilled into Zevran's mouth and gripped the flesh of his own arm desperately with his teeth to muffle the ragged scream that shocked him almost as much as his climax.
Only when he felt that tongue move against his twitching flesh again, did he remember the man beneath him and lead limbed and shaking as he was, he made as if to pull away from the Antivan, amazed to find his body tingling and numb, cock still pulsing and sending tiny aftershocks into his belly causing hips to writhe, out of his control.
But that hand had returned to his hip, once again keeping him in place, his cock finally allowed to slip free from that devastating warmth. "Shhhh…stay mi dulce. We are hardly done yet" To dazed to do anything but comply with the Antivan's guiding hand, Alistair found himself sitting up on the chaise lounge, moments before Zevran slid into his lap, straddling him while wearing that blazing, triumphant look in his eyes, his smile vaguely shark like.
Once again Alistair was at a loss as to where to put his hands, and Zevran decided to solve this dilemma for him. Wrists were grasped gently and once more his large hands were to be found clutching an ass that…well, seemed made for just that. Their faces were level now and Alistair found for once that he couldn't break it, even when the Antivan tilted his head and ran the warm silk of his tongue over a shining lower lip.
"You taste...divine" Zevran purred, a hungry edge growing to his smile as Alistair, despite this illuminating experience, flushed anew.
"Zevran this is…"
"Not over" The elf finished firmly. He now moved so that lips were a breath away, and tiny movements stirred the air between them. "There is so much….more to show you" There was no resisting the mouth that fell on his again. This time his mouth yielded and opened without prompting and yet again, that first touch of tongue caused a jerk in his belly that agreed whole heartedly with Zevran's declaration.
A roll of strong, lithe hips..
Sweet Andraste!…
A curl of tongue that coaxed his to give chase…
Help me!
No…This was not over…
I want more…
~~~~oO0 0Oo~~~~
Just an additional note that after a few comments and faves i have decided to continue this story. Whether that means just a second part or a longer running series im not sure. Either way, part 2 shall be coming to you soon...