Strip Sparring

Zevran was impressed. Not only had Alistair aggreed to his idea of a game of strip sparring, but the grey warden was holding his own remarklbly well. Infuriating, he was also managing to keep hold of his trousers.

Missing his own left boot and shirt, Zevran circled, daggers glinting in the moonlight. The forest clearing was far enough from camp that they could clash metal without drawing attention, but the surrounding trees meant Zevran could not fully admire Alistair's exposed chest and sweat gleeming muscles if he wanted to keep from stumbling on a stray root.

Alistair had adjusted his fighting style, finally utilising his sword's greater reach to combat the swiftness of the assassin's daggers. He kept the elf far enough away from scoring any futher 'hits', at the same time keeping his blade moving to stop Zevran from catching his breath. He could see his dueling partner start to tire, knew that he had the superior stamina from hefting heavier swords and sheild in battle.

Zevran decided to change tactics, and threw one of his daggers at the warden. Alistair jumped back from where it hit the ground by his bare feet, but when he looked up, the elf was gone.

"Oh blast it..." he muttered, scanning the shadows and darkness for where Zevran might have slinked to. He found his breath quicken as he faced against an unseen foe, knowing that Zevran was close to silent when he wanted to be. Sweeping widely at nothing but air, he was struck by an idea. He arched his sword in a circle around him, to ensure that he was not about to be abushed, then straightened. He shifted his board shoulders back, flexing his back and letting his sword arm drop slightly so that the veiw was not obsured. There was a soft appreciative murmer from his left, and he spun quickly, knocking Zevran backwards with his elbow. Landing on his backside, his eyebrows raised high in surprise, Zevran broke into laughter.

"I think you lose your trousers for that...." Alistair was grinning, and stepped over to Zevran, pointing his sword down at the tanned chest.

Once he had finished chuckling, Zevran obediantly started to peel himself from his trousers, eyes fixed upon Alistair's.

"I am begining to think I am having something of a bad influence on you, my dear Alistair..."

The warrior lifted his shoulders in a small shrug, and his grin widened, "What can I say? I'm a bit of a bastard."

The elf pulled himself free of his leathers, and picked up his dagger carefully. Turning it, he offered the handle to alistair.

"Allow me to offer my unconditional surrender in that case..."

Alistair realised too late the flash of mischief in Zevran's eyes as he closed his hand round the hilt of the dagger. The elf's free hand came up and closed around the wrist, now in reach, while the other moved from the blade of the dagger to Alistair's elbow, giving a none too gentle shove, causing the templar to fall over by his side.

Alistair, grumbling something about uncomplimentery about rogues, twisted to see Zevran point a dagger at him, flicking it down to indicate his trousers.

"Off, if you would be so kind..."

Alistair had the most adorable blush, Zevran thought to himself as Alistair shed himself from his clothing. They were sitting side by side, and close enough Zevran could see the droplets of sweat upon his back, and smell the excersion in the air. Slowly, he slinked closer.

Thin delicate fingers started to trace down his chest, and Alistair drew a surprised breath. Zevran closed his mouth around those becoming lips quickly, not giving Alistair time to protest. The kiss was soft, and hot, and the extemplar felt his heart start to beat louder than it had during their fight. Shyly, he reached up to stroke his fingers through ash-blond hair, feeling Zevran tip his head back to nuzzle into his hand. He grew more confident, and brushed against Zevran's ear, and swallowed the resulting soft murmers hungrily.

He felt the assassin fill his head, the smell of him, the taste and feel and sight of him, and the oh-so delicious sounds he uttered as Alistair caressed around his neck, running down his spine and into the small of his back.

Breaking away from the kiss with a slow gasp for breath, Zevran started to kiss down Alistair's neck, a frim hand encouraging Alistair to recline to the side. As he felt hot breath roll across his underclothes, Alistair gave in, a low moan forming deep in his throat.

A dagger flashed in the night, and he found himself without underwear, and laying naked before the slender figure croached over him, looking more like a predatory cat than a Crow. One hand curling round the base, Zevran began to suck the tip of Alistair's erection, enjoying the feel of it stiffen under his attentions. Taking a little more inside his mouth, he leaned over, getting himself comfortable as his other hand snaked round to fondle the frim flesh of Alistair's buttocks, drawing lazy circles as he smoothed his mouth up and down the engorged shaft. Moaning louder now, Alistair at first didn't realise that Zevran was starting to slip a finger gently between his buttocks, as the finger gained entry he jerked.

"Wait! What're you...." he started, but then saw that Zevran was in no position to reply, the assasin concentrating on taking all of the warden into his mouth. By some miricle, the elf did seem to have heard him. The hands ceased, and Zevran, drawing his head back torturiously slowly, the tip of his tongue frimly licking the underside of his manhood as he released Alistair, flicking his tip wickedly with his tongue before looking at the extemplar with a wicked grin.

"Hmmm? You want I should stop?"

"No.. Definately no. You caught me off guard is all...."

Zevran's face was still hovering over Alistair's groin, lips tantilisingly close to his erection. Each word was heated against the exposed flesh, the assassin's breath achingly hot.

"As did you...." he whispered, more to himself, before delving down suddenly on Alistair's waiting member. Hips rising, nerves alight with sensation, Alistair felt Zevran's finger start to push inside him. It felt.. strange, and he wasn't sure he could understand the appeal until he felt the finger touch upon some secret part of him, and he felt himself utter a husky low groan. Struggling not to smile too much, with his mouth rather occupied at present, Zevran applied himself to massaging his finger further, pulling in and out just enough to cause Alistair to twitch in his grasp. A second finger joined the first, carefully stretching the tight muscles, and he felt his own desire start to haze across his head.

Dragging his lips up the lenght of Alistair, Zevran rose to his knees, guiding Alistair to raise his hips up from the ground. Alistair was panting, flushed with new and powerful sensations. As he let the templar find breath again, Zevran found his discarded trousers and fished a small bottle out. He bit the top off, flexing just a little before alistair's hungry gaze, and spread the liquid within against his own hard erection.

When he started to press into Alistair, the warden's face tightened. He had to fight the urge to consum the man in front of him, and bit down on his lip, moaning as he penetrated further into the soft, tight flesh. There was a almost inaudible sigh as Alistair opened his eyes to see Zevran, teeth nearly breaking skin on his lip. He gave an ecouraging nod, struggling to make sense of the flood of sensations. Slowly, tenderly, Zevran rocked back on his heels, letting Alistair get used to the movement before starting to build a rhythm. Each thrust seemed to steal the most delicate moans from his companion, and Zevran soon found his hips plunging forth of their own accord, wanting to see the tonned body of the warden jerk and shudder and arch in pleasure.

Fingernails against skin, watching the other revel in the act, hearing his own breath quicken in time to his friend's, the forest seemed to fade as the moment took them both. Alistair reached climax first, Zevran's hand rubbing in time with each thrust. The assassin watched with wonder as the warden arched from the ground, head rolling back in a breathy exhalation. With a snap of hips which sent a shudder through Alistair's spine, Zevran released, gasping in the cold air.

Alistair felt Zevran carefully slump beside him, curling against his chest and not minding that his body was covered in sweat and seed. The night was cool, but he felt as if his blood was on fire, his head spinning and lungs feeling like they could never be able to get enough air. Sighing contentedly, he stroked the assassin's hair from his face, smiling at the lines of ink running down his cheek bones, and the way his closed eyes fluttered at his touch. They would have to get up soon, the ground too hard to sepnd too long upon, and the night fast turning cold and unplesant, but for now he smiled at the elf snuggling into his arms.

Besides, it would not be long before they crossed blades again. After all, regular training was very important.....