Analepsis 1 - Two weeks and one day before...
Zevran slid one finger lazily along the row of leather-clad spines, chuckling quietly to himself at his own wandering mind. It was to be expected, living in a fortress with only a finite number of willing bed partners— an even smaller fraction of whom he could trust to enter into such relations without the chance of unpleasant drama afterwards— that his tendency for innuendo would spill more often into his private thoughts.
He pulled a book down from the shelf he'd been browsing: The Art of Passionate Love. It was one he'd read before, after finding it tucked away in a shadowy corner of their library, and he thought he might give it another glance. It was scandalously amusing, and it at least gave him something to do with his hands and his mind that didn't involve her for once.
He was not a man made for pining away over a woman. That was not his way, no matter how utterly extraordinary the woman in question might be. He'd been dealt a poor hand, perhaps, but he'd get over it.
Soon, with any luck.
It was just this thrice-damned fortress getting to him. Staying so long in one place, the distinct lack of killing, the routine of it all…
Leading his brood of baby Wardens about by their green little noses had been amusing at first, but now he found himself slipping farther into monotony with a kind of clawing dread. He needed excitement, adventure, and to be away from all this responsibility and nagging. Don't have sex with the recruits, Zevran; stop trying to turn the root cellar into a sauna, Zevran; would you at least keep your shirt on during training, Zevran!
It would be best to just leave. He'd made no promises to anyone— not to stay, and not to help. He was becoming soft, squatting here amongst foolish children who thought they had some greater duty to fulfil somewhere in their grim futures.
Flopping into a nearby chair and swinging both of his legs over one plush arm, Zevran cracked open the book with a huff. He wondered if anyone else would believe that rubbish if he announced it tonight at supper. If he stood up on the table, kicking over gravy boats (he sometimes wondered why precisely all Ferelden food needed to be grey and soggy), and declared that he was tired of this cold, dreary country and all this boring Warden business. Then, with a flourish, he'd disappear into the night.
And then, perhaps, he'd sprout wings and fly all the way back to Antiva.
Deep in his heart— in a place Rinna, the idea of his mother, and a certain rounded face with bright sea-green eyes lingered quietly— he knew the one was just as likely as the other. He wouldn't leave. It wasn't that he couldn't, for if he felt at all trapped here he would certainly be looking for ways to escape, but he simply… wouldn't.
He tried to concentrate on the words in front of him, struggling to push his thoughts aside for a little while, but he hadn't even gotten a half-dozen pages in when he heard familiar footsteps from the corridor. He didn't look up, hoping that those feet would just keep walking, but no such luck. Sinking a little deeper into his chair, he willed himself invisible with every ounce of his skill.
Skill, however, could only take one so far when lounging in the middle of a well-lit library.
"Hi," Alistair said, and Zevran kept his eyes glued to the book in his lap.
"Hello." He forced his gaze to shift along the lines, unseeing. Alistair squirmed uncomfortably— he obviously hadn't expected to be so clearly ignored. He didn't leave, however, and after a few moments of tense silence, Zevran sighed and closed the book. "Did you need something, my friend?"
"Just, um, could we talk?" Upon closer inspection, Alistair appeared quite uncomfortable. The tips of his ears were pink, and he was rubbing one hand across the back of his neck rather anxiously. How intriguing.
He knew Alistair was a good man, and Zevran considered him a friend, even in those brief, dark moments when he hated him slightly. Smiling in a reassuring way, he was torn between a kind of morbid curiosity at the possibility of some break in the tedium, and actual concern. "Certainly. Pull up a chair."
Alistair seemed completely out of sorts, and watching him fumble about was a little entertaining. He did pull a chair over, but before sitting he darted over and closed the library door. Then he locked it. Zevran felt his eyebrows twitch upwards— the plot appeared to be thickening.
Finally, after a few more fidgety moves, Alistair sat. With his back hunched and his hands clasped between his knees he was a model of discomfort and poorly executed secrecy.
"You and I are friends Zev, right? I mean, I've never really had a lot of friends, at least not close friends, but we get along all right. Right?" Zevran tilted his head, sensing there was a point somewhere in the rambling. "I guess what I mean is, well, I think you're kind of my best friend. And out of everybody, everybody we travelled with, I'm glad you're the one who stayed. Yeah."
It was a little like mild deathroot poisoning— everything went a little muzzy around the edges, and Zevran felt light-headed. Out of all the things he'd expected to hear after that fuss, such an earnest confession hadn't even made the list. He knew he was blinking stupidly, but he couldn't really help it.
"Truly?" He certainly hadn't meant to sound so childishly hopeful, and he quickly cleared his throat. "Alistair, thank you. That… I am honoured you think so highly of me. I am also still rather new to this whole friendship business, but if I were to have a best friend, as you say, you are certainly he."
She was not his best friend. He had not yet discovered the word to describe what she was.
The flash of Alistair's shy grin, coupled with the blushing and the camaraderie, should most definitely have not shot such heat through him. Maker's holy balls, he had enough trouble with his foolish yearning for one Warden— he certainly wasn't going to revisit his brief attraction to the other one. No more of that nonsense.
Yet the conversation did not appear to be over. If anything, Alistair was looking more embarrassed than before, perhaps even more terrified. Without stifling his somewhat put-upon groan, Zevran tossed the book aside and sat up. "All right, enough. What is the issue? You are not a master of subtlety, and I fear you may explode if you don't just spit it out. I like this tunic, and I would prefer you not ruin it with your gore."
"It's—" Alistair dropped his head into his hands and keened the most desperate little sound. It made Zevran's hands clench. "Y'make'r heppy."
The words were mumbled anyway, as well as muffled, and Zevran felt a headache brewing. "I've no idea what you just said."
"You make her happy," Alistair enunciated, still not looking up. "She loves you."
"Ah." Trust this seemingly simple man to shock him with confessions of deep friendship, then strike where he was the most vulnerable. Very well played. "I had thought we were not to talk about that… slip of the tongue. She was not in her right mind."
"But she loves you." When Alistair finally mustered himself enough to straighten out of his slouch and meet Zevran's guarded gaze, there was dire desperation in his tone and his expression. "I— I don't know what I would do if I couldn't be with her. She's a part of me, right down to my marrow, and it's because I love her."
Zevran was a heartbeat away from hauling off and cracking the man in the jaw. What kind of torture was this meant to be? Was he wearing some kind of sign? I'm contemplating my tragic infatuation! Please come regale me with all the things you enjoy, and I cannot have!
"I never thought—" Oh, and the torment wasn't finished. Hurrah. "I can't hurt her like this."
"Pardon?" It was clear to Zevran that he needed Alistair to get to the point— quickly. This was all too bizarre and discomforting. "Please Alistair, for my sake. If you have something you wish to say to me, say it."
And that was how he ended up being kissed in the library.
It was rather unpleasant at first, truth be told. Alistair's lips were too dry and stiff, and Zevran was just too flabbergasted to respond. By the time his mind caught up with such a peculiar turn of events, there was a broad hand hesitantly touching his hair and Alistair's eyes were squeezed shut. This wasn't a quick, friendly peck then.
Zevran wasn't entirely sure what was more surprising— the kiss, or the talk of best friends. He was rather accustomed to people kissing him, but he'd never had anyone call him a best friend before. For that alone, he owed Alistair better than this awkward failure.
He tilted his head slightly, leaning into the self-conscious rhythm Alistair had been trying to create. He softened his own mouth, brushing his lips across Alistair's gently, then with more pressure. Then he reached up and stroked Alistair's cheek, darting his tongue out smoothly and teasingly as he encouraged the other man to unclench his jaw.
Then it was as if something released, like a bowstring, and they were really kissing. There was something magnificently primal about kissing another man, especially this kind of kiss, with tongues and teeth and strong fingers curling around his ear.
There was a part of him that wondered if this was how she kissed. If these movements and methods were Alistair, or what he'd learned from her. The thought of it made Zevran shudder, moaning as a sweet, unexpected heat settled low in his gut. This had suddenly become too dangerous, and he nearly sagged with relief when Alistair tore his mouth away and scrambled to the door.
Zevran was left panting, with the tingling in his groin making him feel like a naughty youth, and Alistair was already gone without another word.
There were fewer places than one might think to hide in the fortress. It was a relatively large structure, as defensible and luxurious as a noble's estate should properly be, but there always seemed to be someone everywhere you went. They didn't even have a particularly large serving staff, but there were considerable sections of the fortress kept locked and closed off for the time being, and that seemed to corral everyone into the same spaces more often than not.
So it was that Zevran followed the trail laid out for him by helpful servants and recruits, all more than willing to point him in the direction in which Alistair had absconded. As he'd expected, the man had not retreated far before going to ground.
Knocking twice, Zevran opened the door to the larder without waiting for an answer. Alistair looked like a boy caught stealing sweets, which was rather amusing given his choice of hiding place.
"Zev, I'm sorry—"
"Don't." It was his turn to close the door, and at the absence of any sort of lock inside the larder, he dragged a large crate of vegetables over. It wouldn't stop the door from opening, but it would slow down any interruptions. Then he turned back to Alistair and crossed his arms. "Perhaps it is a cultural thing, but I am hesitant to guess what you were thinking a moment ago. I assume you have at least some inkling, so please enlighten me."
Sitting half-crammed between the wall and a pair of large barrels, Alistair shifted about uneasily. "Uh, temporary insanity?"
Zevran snorted, stepping closer to his companion and ignoring the panicked look his move elicited. "As tempted as I may be to dispute the temporary part…" He leaned his hip against one of the barrels, holding Alistair's gaze with a seriousness he rarely exhibited. "Tell me."
"I just wanted to see!" Ducking his head, Alistair seemed to realise that was scarcely an acceptable answer and flushed darkly. Zevran waited. "I really like you, Zev, I really do, and I've never done anything like that before."
That was hardly news, but then Alistair took a deep breath and soldiered on. "I'd never even kissed a girl before her, and then we started travelling together and I realised I liked her and liked spending time with her, and then eventually I realised I wasn't in the chantry anymore and if I really wanted to I could kiss her. And I did, and it was wonderful, and I've never been happier, but I know she loves you, truly, and she'd never say it but I think she could be happier with me if… if she was also with you."
To his credit, Zevran had the grace not to let his mouth hang open like a fish. "Alistair…" Losing his cool just slightly, he braced one arm on the barrel. "Am I understanding you correctly? You kissed me, because you wish for me to become a part of your… relationship with our lovely commander?"
"Um. Yeah." More ducking and blushing, then: "I wanted to see if it was anything like kissing her. If I could touch another man… like that."
It would have been in extremely bad taste to smirk at little, and thus he did not. He thought he might already know the answer to his next question, but he wouldn't assume anything at this point. "And what did you discover?"
When Alistair finally looked up at him, a little sweaty and nervous and rosy-cheeked, Zevran was reminded rather abruptly just how handsome this man was. He'd always been aware of it, aesthetically, but had been more in the realm of the abstract than the actual for a very long time. Alistair was too utterly daft most of the time to really be considered a sexual being, but at that moment, and perhaps in his private life with her, the childishness seemed to recede and he had a certain… quality.
When Alistair spoke, his voice had lowered into something more mature and rough than usual. It was unexpected, but not unpleasant. Not at all. "I think it might be… doable."
Zevran laughed, slipping easily into blatantly flirting with this man, his best friend. "Oh, I assure you I am very doable, my friend."
The expression on Alistair's face was rather fitting given their current situation— complete shock and bafflement with just a hint of arousal. "Oh Maker's breath, that was just awful! Does that line actually work, I mean, ever?"
It was a simple thing, leaning down and moving in so quickly Alistair wouldn't react until Zevran's breath was ghosting across his face. It was also rather fun.
Zevran licked his lips, pleased with the way Alistair watched him do so. "You tell me."
"Um," Alistair said, and Zevran kissed him again, ever so briefly. When his shoulder was caught in a firm grasp, Zevran didn't try to stifle a small, victorious smile— then he licked Alistair's lips.
"Such a lovely present this is, and it's not even my birthday," he murmured, enjoying the growing heat in those dark amber eyes more than he expected. "But we have many things to discuss— preferably soon. I must admit a certain eagerness to bring this proposition before our lady, but we should consider some planning first."
"Planning?" Alistair sounded dazed, which was complimentary but not precisely conducive to moving forward with the larger scheme of things. Zevran leaned back on his heels, removing himself from Alistair's space, but the hand still on his shoulder kept him close.
"Sex between two people can take many forms, from simple to complex, but communication is usually rather straightforward. When there are three… well, it tends to be best in the beginning if all parties are made aware of their partners' limitations." When Alistair simply looked more confused, Zevran sighed. "No one should feel pushed aside, and no one should be uncomfortable. It is a mutual sharing of pleasure, and…" Maker's mercy, the man was still staring at him like a dozy calf. Tact was not the answer here, apparently. "Oh, sod it. To be completely blunt, Alistair, I'd rather not scare you off with my cock."
"Is it scary?" Surprisingly, Zevran couldn't tell if Alistair was being serious or not. "I mean, does it bite or something? Does it recite terrible limericks?"
Now he could tell. "I was trying to be considerate, you ass. Never again."
Alistair was actually giggling of all things, and Zevran slapped his knee. "Ow, hey! We were sort of having a moment there, and then you started hitting!"
"That was most definitely not a moment. You will know when we have a moment."
"Really?" If this was how it was going to be, Zevran would have to acclimatise himself to these strange, shifting moods. Alistair wasn't teasing anymore, and although his lingering apprehension was still apparent, the entire exchange was undeniably promising.
"Yes, really." Nothing would happen, however, without her. "Now be serious."
It took a moment, but eventually they were both on the same page. Shifting some boxes out of the way, they even found a space of wall wide enough to sit side-by-side. This had become a strategy meeting, and Zevran felt like a commander.
A sex commander, so it was actually rather magnificent.
After some discussion of vague issues, meant to test the waters and determine how sincere Alistair's interest in this idea might actually be, Zevran began to ask questions in earnest.
"You are comfortable with the idea of me touching her, yes? I think you would not have come to me with this if I was to be relegated only to watch." He paused, considering. "Although if this arrangement happens to continue past one or two encounters, that might be an interesting idea."
Alistair was slowly overcoming the need to make jokes, which was very clearly a defence against his anxiety and embarrassment at actually discussing sexual details, and his face seemed to have gone permanently blotchy crimson. "Yes well, I mean, it'll be strange at first, but I know it won't change how she feels about me. She loves us both now— how is sex going to change that except to make her happier? I'm not afraid she'll stop loving me, or anything."
Zevran nodded. "I'm rather impressed, my friend. You have come very far in the time I've know you, and I think you've grown for the better."
Shrugging off the compliment, Alistair just snorted and gave Zevran a knowing glance out of the corner of his eye. "You're just happy because you finally get the chance to bed her."
"I am ecstatic," Zevran corrected, a small thrill jolting through him. "But back to the matter at hand. I may touch her, kiss her, and make love to her— if she agrees to this, of course. What about you?"
"I don't need permission. I do all that anyway." Looking at him carefully, Zevran was unsure if this was deliberate misunderstanding. The other man was proving surprisingly difficult to read in terms of intimate discussion— he could be as evasive as a live mudfish wriggling about in one's bare hands.
Alistair seemed unaware or unwilling to mention the scrutiny his last answer had elicited, and so Zevran rephrased.
"Am I to assume from your glib response that my attentions should be limited to the lady? If so, we must make it clear now. I would not object to such a restriction, but if you are willing, I do find you very attractive as well."
"You do?" Alistair pulled at the collar of his wool tunic, clearing his throat. "I— thank you, Zevran. I think… um, I think you're beautiful." The last part was said very quietly, as was the next. "Or handsome, or whatever. And, well, I wouldn't mind if this was more of a… shared experience."
"Alistair—" Zevran reached out and touched his strong, stubbly chin, gently directing Alistair's face back towards him. "Thank you for the compliment. I must ask, are you aware of the things two men do together?"
Alistair swallowed visibly. "Uh. Sort of?" It was more of a question than an answer, and Zevran chuckled, stroking Alistair's jaw soothingly.
"Between us, I think, there would be kissing." He lowered his voice, trying to draw Alistair into the delicious images he was painting. "And touching— strong hands caressing firm, muscled flesh. Perhaps licking, rubbing—"
"All right," Alistair gasped, grabbing Zevran's hand as it began to trail down his neck. "I'm good with all that. Really, too good with it. But what about—" He made some gesture, waving his free hand about. "About going in?"
"You speak of penetration?" The nonsensical stammer he received was answer enough, and Zevran squeezed Alistair's fingers. "Well, for me, I rather relish the idea of being taken by such an… athletic man as yourself. If you are of a mind."
Alistair squeaked, and Zevran deliberately did not glance down at the growing bulge this conversation had produced. If he were not so well trained in self-control, Zevran knew he would also be rather visibly interested.
"But I think," he continued, allowing Alistair a moment to calm himself. "A first encounter between the three of us should focus on her. That is what I would prefer, at least."
"Yes, all right. Agreed."
It wasn't long before they had a plan drafted, as well as a few ideas to save for a later time; Zevran could feel the anticipation building, buzzing over his skin. There were still realities he could not ignore, however, and there were some things more important than his pleasure. His life had changed drastically in the past months, and he could not forget that.
"I am going to leave now, Alistair," he said calmly, placing one hand on the other man's bent knee. "I wish for you to take a day, perhaps two, and consider this carefully before we approach her with it. Consider if you are ready for this kind of change to all of our relationships with each other."
Alistair frowned, suddenly looking rather offended. "Zevran, I wouldn't have brought this up if I wasn't sure."
"I know, my friend, but please. It will… set my mind at ease, and give me a chance to consider things well away from your strapping form."
Not rising to the bait, Alistair huffed out an obviously frustrated breath. "Fine. Tomorrow night?"
He considered teasing his wanton little templar, but resisted in the interest of keeping the conversation serious. "No, the evening after. We both have weapons training with the brood all day tomorrow, and I'd rather not approach this experience fatigued. First impressions, you understand."
Not waiting for further argument, Zevran pulled himself to his feet and brushed off the seat of his trousers before sauntering over to the door. He could feel Alistair's eyes on him, but he would not allow his hope to overtake his prudence. Things could still go awry.
"Just remember," he said, keeping his attention on the crate he was moving out of the way. "If you change your mind, for whatever reason, I will not be offended. This is an enormous gift you offer Alistair, but I will not risk friendship for it."
"Zev—" He paused, fingers on the door handle, but did not turn around. "You really mean that, don't you?" Alistair's laughter was surprising, but did not sound unkind. "I'm not the only one who's grown, friend, and perhaps for the better."
"Perhaps," Zevran murmured, more to himself than to Alistair, then he slipped out of the larder and into two excruciatingly long days.
AN: Apologies for those waiting on the fate of the recruits, and wild thanks for your kind reviews once again. For whatever reason, I needed to try my hand at Zevran first, and give he and Alistair a bit of time together. Next chapter won't be a flashback, promise.
