Prompt: What do you want from me? - Zevran/f!Mahariel
Vella has never been in love before.
But Zevran is all sighs and skin and sweat under a pale moon. He spins tales with a sharp tongue of silver that weaves poetry into her skin—from her hills and valleys to the depths of her sea. What was lust is now something more and soon she's a bird that's flying too close to the sun, but the warmth is so nice and if she could just fly a little closer…
She is too quickly plucked out of the sky. The earring is, as Zevran clarifies, nothing more than a token of his thanks. But the gloves and the boots… has she done something wrong? With a heavy heart she accepts it, because maybe this once he just can't find the right words; but her bed is empty and his eyes dart away when she approaches. Whatever hope she clings to withers away with the passing weeks.
So when he enters her tent one night, unannounced and uninvited, her blood boils. His hands trail gooseflesh down her arms and—no! He can't do this to her! The questions burn like acid in her throat because who does he think he is and why is he here and who gave him the right to play with her emotions?
Zevran remains silent, and it's only moments before Vella has him pinned to the ground with a thin, curved blade at his throat. She battles the tears that threaten to break free as his finger gently brushes against the gold earring that adorns the space between the pointed helix and lobe of her right ear.
A low rumble escapes his throat and he smirks, "Ah, you have been practicing what I taught you, I see."
Vella tightens the grip on her blade and her nails dig deeper into the flesh of his arm. Zevran doesn't even flinch.
"Mi amor, let me explain," he whispers. His voice is silk and nectar, and the way the words roll off his tongue draws her in like a moth to a flame.
With trembling hands and a weary heart, Vella drops her dagger to the floor. No, he can't call her that because that's not what she is, he even said so himself. The truest definition of the word is a mystery to her, but when it falls from his lips it snakes between her ribs and coils around her lungs until she is suffocating.
Tears stream down her cheeks as Zevran sits up and cups her face, but she doesn't pull away because she misses everything from his scent to the melodic beating in his chest. She manages to choke out, "What do you want from me?"
The explanation pours from him, slow and sweet, and he draws her so close that she can feel the rise and fall of his chest against her own. His lips find hers and the kiss they share is deep and tender and now his armor is on the floor and the braids in her hair are undone. His hands roam her body as if her skin is gold and gems and together they sway, each thrust of his hips bringing her closer to home. She arches and tightens and yes kiss me right here andbite me there and please go deeper. For hours they slowly pour unsaid emotion into each other, over and over and over again until they burn with the heat of it, trembling and gasping for air.
Sunlight slowly creeps into the tent, yawning across their bodies as Zevran pulls her close and whispers apologies and praise into her hair that lull her to the brink of sleep.
"Do not fight it," he laughs, watching her eyes close and flutter open. "After that performance, you'll be needing plenty of rest."
Vella smiles, but her leg drapes over his hip and she clutches his hand to her chest and Zevran just knows.
"Don't worry, my dear warden. I will be here when you awake," he coos, running his free hand through her hair. "I am yours."
