Zevran lingered over his breakfast until he saw Owen stand and head back upstairs, then quickly finished the last few bites of his and followed, catching up with him just shy of the door to his room. Owen glanced at him, gave him a brief nod of approval, and let them into his room. He gestured for Zevran to take a seat, while he himself collected his backpack, carrying it over to the table and beginning to search through its contents for something.

He looked over at Zevran as his hands worked something free from the depths of the capacious backpack. "Given your eduction, I take it you are familiar with the use of plugs to stimulate and stretch someone?"

"Yes, I am," Zevran responded, watching as Owen drew a polished wooden box out of his pack, setting it down on the table top, before rooting around in the pack a second time.

"Good. Then I don't have to explain. We will be stretching you a little and putting one plug in you now. After lunch, that will be changed to a second, larger plug. And after dinner, to the final one. Then tonight, if all goes well, I will be making full use of you."

Zevran nodded, watching as Owen set out a flask of oil, and took out a length of soft cord. He untangled it, and ran the length through his fingers, then put it aside. "I will also be binding you, after the switch to the second plug, so that any excitement caused by the plugs cannot be released. For the morning and the smallest plug I will trust you to control yourself and not come."

Zevran nodded. He had experience with that, as well – the withholding, and the cord to ensure it, and best of all when it was finally released – and was feeling a quite pleasant curl of anticipation in his loins at the thought.

"Strip down, then come here," Owen told him, sitting down at the table. Zevran rapidly obeyed. Owen spread his legs a little and patted one thigh. "Stomach down, here."

"Mmmm, am I to receive pleasure, or punishment? Not that there is much difference between the two, properly done," he added as he stepped forward and turned to drape himself belly-down over the mage's leg.

Owen gave an amused snort. "Something to explore at a future time, perhaps," he said, rubbing the palm of his hand briefly over Zevran's upturned buttocks, then picked up the flask of oil.

A short time later Zevran made a hissing sound of pleasure as Owen's oiled fingertip began probing into him, rubbing slowly in and out, penetrating just a little further each time. Zevran closed his eyes, concentrating on relaxing, on inviting more, and was soon rewarded with a second finger. He forced himself to remain still, though the sensation and his rapidly hardening erection were making it difficult.

Three fingers, and Owen's other hand was stroking soothingly along his back now. He trembled, wanting to arch up into the touch, at the same time that his hips wanted to either buck back against Owen's finger's, or grind forward against his leg. Then the fingers were withdrawn, the hand lifted, and a moment later something cold and hard, slick with oil, was being pressed into him. His body resisted the intrusion for a moment, and he forced himself to relax again. It slid in smoothly then, and a moment later was properly seated within him, a solid presence there, holding him stretched, but not uncomfortably so.

"Stand when you feel able to, and face me."

He nodded, took a slow breath, then rose to his feet and turned. Owen looked him over, ran his fingertip briefly up the underside of his upraised cock, then nodded in approval. "You may stay here, or if you feel up to it, you may redress, and accompany me for the morning."

Zevran grinned. "I am up to it. In several ways," he said, winning another amused snort from the mage.

While Owen washed his hands and returned his things to his backpack, Zevran rapidly redressed, arranging his shaft upright against his belly under his leggings, trusting the stimulation from the plug and the tight lacing of the leggings to keep it there. He was thankful that he'd chosen to wear one of his tunics today, not something that needed tucking in; the loose fall of its fabric would hide the bulge nicely.

He finished dressing and looked expectantly at Owen. The mage gave him another of those little approving smiles, and led the way out of his room.


They spent the morning wandering the castle, mainly – starting with a long, slow walk along the walkway around the outer wall, Owen asking occasional questions about Zevran's travels with Arren, and Zevran telling him anecdotes of their travels.

"What is Jowan up to," Owen said, stopping and leaning over to look down into one of the castle courtyards. The other mage was lying down on the ground in his mabari form far below them, head resting on forepaws, motionless. A piece of bread was sitting on the ground some distance away. One of the ravens that haunted the castle towers was sitting a few feet beyond the bread, head turned sideways and watching the bread and hound with equal wariness.

Zevran smiled, remember their conversation of the day before. "I suspect he may be trying to learn another form to shift into," he said. "That's certainly a handsomely large bird, isn't it?"

Owen gave him an enquiring look.

"He tells me that the witch says a larger form is easier to hold. Crows came up in our conversation yesterday, and a raven is essentially a very large crow, yes?"

Owen smiled. "More or less," he agreed, and looked downwards again. The raven hopped a bit closer to the bread, then suddenly took to the air, flying off toward one of the towers. A moment later they saw what had disturbed it – Mouse charging into the courtyard.

"I would guess our friend Alistair is about to take the dogs for a walk," Zevran said, and a moment later the warrior walked into view as well. Briar lurched to his feet, he and Mouse sniffed at each other, then the pair followed Alistair away. The bread was mobbed by ravens the moment they'd gone out of sight, the birds snapping and croaking at each other as they tore it into pieces, each flying off as soon as they'd snatched up a piece, the last few unlucky birds chasing off after their victorious brethren.

They climbed up to the castle heights, to where they had a view out over the lake and the surrounding lands from one of the tower tops. "I wish we had a view like this from the Hold," Owen said, leaning on the parapet and looking out over the lake. The distant tower of Kinloch Hold was just barely visible as a thin line on the far northern horizon, almost invisible against the sky from the haze of distance.

"I was only there once, for a few hours only," Zevran said. "I think I would have found it quite claustrophobic to stay there for long. Strange to think that there are those that spend their entire life within its confines."

Owen frowned and nodded. Zevran leaned against the parapet as well, watching not the view, but Owen himself. He was finding the man's physical presence much less intimidating now that they were intimately acquainted, but still admired his size and lean form. The wind up here was pushing the man's lengthy hair back from his face, and Zevran had a strong desire to twine his fingers into the tangled mass of it and kiss him. Owen gave him a sideways look, and a slight smirk, as if able to read the thought from his face. He turned his back to the view, sitting down in one of the embrasures between two upright merlons, and patted his knee. "Sit," he said.

Zevran stepped over and smoothly lowered himself to sit on his knee, twisting to look toward him. He had to look up slightly to meet the mage's eyes. Owen put his arm his back, fingers pressing warm and firm against his side. "I like the way you look at me," he said, voice low. "What were you thinking just now?"

"That your hair was getting tangled, and I wanted to run my fingers through it, and kiss you."

Owen smiled, then leaned down. The arm across Zevran's back moved up, hand moving to cup the back of his head as Owen claimed his mouth. Owen's other hand came to rest just below Zevran's waist, palming slowly over the bulge in his leggings. The elf moaned into the other man's mouth, body arching up into the touch. He was feeling more than a little dazed when Owen finally drew back. "Much more of that, and I cannot guarantee that I will not spend prematurely," Zevran said regretfully, voice shaking with desire.

"One more," Owen told him, and leaned down to kiss him again, teasingly.

Zevran groaned, fighting to maintain control of himself, achingly hard from the mix of stimulations. When Owen finally ended the kiss, Zevran was panting heavily, and feeling more than a little weak in the knees. Weak everywhere, except for one particularly firm muscle. He sagged against the mage's chest for a moment, until he caught his breath again, then sat shakily upright again.

Owen was watching him closely. "Say when you're able to walk some more," he directed.

Zevran nodded in acknowledgement, and closed his eyes, concentrating on evening out his breathing, feeling strength quickly returning to his limbs. Owen was a strangely thoughtful and kind man at times, especially for one who so clearly enjoyed controlling his partner; he'd known those who would have forced him to peak, and then punished him for failing to meet their instructions. Owen, on the other hand, teased him only enough to make the effort of keeping control a true challenge, and allowed Zevran recovery periods whenever he'd been stressed. It almost frightened him, how rapidly he was coming to trust the man; he couldn't think of another lover he'd ever had that he'd have so willingly trusted so soon into their relationship. Well, apart from his old master, and technically their relationship had undergone years of development before it had finally moved to a physical one.

He opened his eyes again, smiled at the mage. "I am ready," he assured him.

Owen nodded and the two rose again and headed back down the tower steps into the castle.


They returned to Owen's room after lunch. The first plug was removed, and Owen again spent some time stretching and stimulating Zevran with oiled fingers before inserting the second, larger plug. It took Zevran a longer time to rise to his feet again afterwards, feeling noticeably full, and very aware of the stretch of sphincter and inner tissues around the more sizable intrusion. Owen had brought out the cord again. This time he made use of it, carefully wrapping it back and forth around the base of Zevran's erection and balls to bind and separate them.

"I am planning to go take a bath," Owen said as he wiped his hands clean of oil afterwards. "You again have the choice of accompanying me, or staying here."

Zevran shifted uncomfortably, and licked his lips. "I would prefer to go with you," he said after a moments thought.

Owen nodded. "Dress again, then."

Zevran did as told. Doing so was a more difficult task than it had been earlier; anything that caused the plug to shift position sent a disturbing but pleasant wave of sensation through him. And this was not yet the largest plug that Owen planned to use on him. He felt dizzy, trying to imagine what it would be like with that third and final plug inserted, or later, when it was Owen's own flesh that filled him.

Owen gathered up his bath things and waited patiently until Zevran was ready, then led the way to one of the castle bathing chambers, one with a tub long and deep enough to accommodate him. "You will attend to my bath," he instructed Zevran. "In the nude."

Zevran nodded, and quickly stripped down again, then started the tub filling before turning to help Owen to disrobe in turn. The mage, he noted, was partially erect himself, doubtless stimulated by a combination of handling Zevran and seeing him bound and excited, within his control.

He'd of course had training in how to act as a bath attendant – it was yet another way in which an assassin might draw close to their target – and efficiently filled the tub to just the right depth with water pleasantly but not overly hot. Once Owen was seated, he busied himself with soap and clothes. He started with impersonal briskness, but seeing a faint frown beginning to form on the mage's face quickly changed to a slower, more caressing touch. The mage clearly liked pampering. Well, he certainly didn't object to having another opportunity to run his hands all over that magnificently large and lithe body. And, he had to admit, it was rather pleasurable, tending to the body of a lover, knowing that later this same man would be bedding him.

He took special care with Owen's hair, massaging the man's scalp thoroughly as he worked soap through the hair, then rinsed it several times. The mage seemed to like that; he sat very quietly, head tipped back and eyes shut while Zevran tended to him.

After he rose from the tub, Zevran dried him, or at least as much of him as he could easily reach; Owen dried his own arms and hair while Zevran did his torso and points south. The mage pulled his leggings back on, and draped a cloth around his shoulders to catch the drips from his still-damp hair.

"Remove the cord for now and clean yourself as well," he directed, and leaned against the wall nearby, watching while Zevran climbed into the tub and gave himself a rapid but thorough washing. Once he was out and dried off, the mage refastened the cord. Zevran pulled his own leggings back on, and gathered up the rest of their clothes and Owen's bathing things to carry back to his room, trusting the hanging-down clothing to hide his excited state.

They encountered Arren and Morrigan in the hallway outside their rooms. Owen stopped, ostensibly to ask Arren about when they could expect to depart for Denerim; some time the next day, he thought, though it might not be until the day after that. Zevran noticed Morrigan giving him a speculative look, and gave her a bland one in return.

Let her assume whatever she liked about why he and Owen were returning from the baths together; he little cared. Besides, he was hardly going to deny that he and the mage were involved, not when it seemed pretty much everyone in their little group had somehow been aware of Owen's interest in him long before he himself had twigged to the fact. That embarrassed him far more than any idle speculation about the nature and extent of their resultant relationship ever could.

Besides, he privately bet that Owen was deriving enjoyment from making him stand around half-nude in front of others in his current state of arousal, and the thought was making him even more excited too. He wondered if the mage had taken that into account also, and lost himself for a moment in contemplation of how many layers of arousal because of arousal that repeating cycle could hold.

Finally the conversation ended, Arren and Morrigan heading off again on their own business, while Owen led the way to his room.

No sooner had the door closed then the mage turned and pinned him against it, hands gripping his arms almost painfully tight as he bent down and hungrily claimed Zevran's mouth.

Yes, his mage had definitely found that casual little encounter in the hallway exciting.


He ended up on his knees on the floor by the bed, sucking off Owen while the mage carded his hands through Zevran's hair again and again. Only once his sudden arousal had been taken care of did the mage return to having Zevran pamper him. Owen's hair, tangled from the wind earlier and its wash, needed to be untangled and combed smooth as it dried. After that he had Zevran give him a massage, making purring little sounds of appreciation as Zevran worked him over from neck to toes, both back and front, bringing the mage to release a second time as he did so.

His own arousal was given no such release, and all the crawling around on the bed to reach different parts of the mage, plus the sheer tactile pleasure of handling him, kept him achingly tight. While he knew he was quite skilled at controlling his own orgasms, he was just as glad the mage had taken the precaution of binding him; it was one less thing to have to concentrate on, when he would rather be concentrating on making the mage growl in pleasure as he dug fingers and thumbs into his flesh.

They napped, afterwards, or at least Owen napped; by then Zevran was feeling far too stimulated to really rest, though at least lying quietly against the mage while he dozed gave him a brief respite as his body slid slowly down from peak.

Owen woke again in late afternoon, checking that Zevran was still comfortable in his bindings before instructing him to redress himself again.

"We'll be eating here," he said. "But we'll have guests for dinner."

Zevran couldn't quite stop himself from giving the mage a dirty look. "You are an evil man," he stated, before rising from the bed and going in search of his clothes again.

Owen just smirked.


'Guests for dinner' proved to be Alistair, Jowan and Mara. There only being one small table and two proper chairs in the room, Owen had moved the table over near the bed. He sat on the edge of the bed, legs stretched out under the table in front of him, while Alistair and Jowan took the two chairs. Zevran sat curled up against the pillows at the head of the bed, hoping his loose clothing and partially raised knees would serve to hide the bulge in his leggings. Mara, finding there wasn't enough room between Owen and the table for her to sit in his lap, sat down on the opposite side of him from Zevran, leaning against his side.

Owen filled a plate for Zevran and passed it over to him, before filling a second plate for himself and Mara to share. The three mages carried most of the conversation at first, Alistair and Zevran just sitting back and eating, Alistair methodically stoking his Grey Warden hunger while Zevran ate much more slowly, lingering over his meal in order to have an excuse to be holding a plate over his lap.

Mara and Jowan both talked enthusiastically about their shape-shifting – a natural subject for them, given Jowan had entered the room as Briar, and Mara's own recent acquisition of the skill – and urged Owen to ask Morrigan to teach it to him as well. When they finally wound down, Alistair talked for a little about his and Arren's conversations with the Arl.

"He's still pushing for me to agree to become king," Alistair finished, making a face. "Arren's told me he's leaving the choice up to me, and will support me whichever way I decide."

"Well, if you agree to become king and the Arl continues being a thorn in your side, you could always handle it the way we Antivans would," Zevran pointed out. "Hire a Crow to deal with the problem. I believe you know one of those, yes?"

Alistair snorted. "As tempting as I might have found the thought of that in the past, I doubt resorting to assassination would win me much support among the nobles in the long term. Anyway, I'm willing to let the Arl believe he can pressure me into being king, just as long as it gets us the support we need to fight the Blight. That's the important thing in this situation, not whose arse sits on the throne afterwards, assuming there even is an afterwards. I can tell you one thing, I have no intention of it being mine; I'm a Grey Warden – first, foremost, and always."

"Bravo," Zevran said, smiling at Alistair. "You know, it is a pleasure to see you standing up for yourself so firmly, my friend. You have changed much since we first met."

Alistair smiled, and flushed, darting a glace at Jowan. "Yeah, well, I've discovered that there are some things in my life that I think are worth fighting to keep. Like my friends and my own life."

The conversation turned to more casual subjects after that, Alistair and Jowan bringing up anecdotes of their travels together that Owen and Mara had yet to hear. After a dessert of fruit and soft cheese Jowan transformed back into Briar and he and Alistair left for an after-dinner walk. Mara didn't linger long before excusing herself as well – by the way she was darting glances over at him, Zevran assumed she guessed that he and Owen had plans for the evening. A servant was summoned to clear away the remains of the meal, and then Owen lowered the bar in the door and turned to smile at Zevran.

"Time for that final plug," he growled. "Strip, and lie face-down on the bed."

"Of course," Zevran said, rising to his feet.


Owen took his time with stretching him further, going slowly and carefully. Zevran moaned into the bedding under him at the feeling of Owen's fingers inside him, four of them now, stretching and caressing and stretching some more. When he finally inserted the last plug it felt almost painfully large and intrusive. He whimpered, hips thrusting shallowly against the bedding for a moment, before forcing himself to still. It had him on the very edge of orgasm, prevented only by the bindings around his cock and balls. He felt sweat rising on his skin as he trembled, caught between the imperative to move and the knowledge of how much he needed to stay still if he was going to succeed in relaxing and adjusting to this intrusion.

He felt Owen's hand resting on his back, not stroking, just there, warm and comforting. He drew a few shuddering breaths, then managed to force his breathing into a slow, steady in-and-out.

"It won't be long now," Owen said softly. "Just lie here for now."

He managed a single jerky nod of his head, even that little movement sending sensation lancing through his body. Breathe, he reminded himself. In and out. He was aware of the mage moving away, taking a seat in a chair near the bed, watching and waiting.

Slowly, so slowly, he managed to relax, unknotting his fingers from the bedding, convincing his limbs to lay limp and lax around him, the tension in his spine the last thing to finally melt away. He felt like he was floating, as if drunk on too much wine, or dazed by the drugged smokes some men took to for pleasure.

He didn't know how long it was before he felt Owen's touch again, hands warm and careful as they touched him, and gently removed the plug. He gasped in relief at its removal. He felt so empty, and at the same time aching to be filled again, aching too for release.

Owen lift his hips and slid a pillow under him, then joined him on the bed, legs straddling his, the mage's arms to either side of him, supporting his weight on his forearms and knees. Zevran could feel the heat of his body as he lowered himself down carefully.

"I'm going to go as slowly and carefully as I can," he said, voice low and husky, right by Zevran's ear. "Let me know if you need me to stop."

Zevran nodded, and then a moment later felt the broad tip of Owen's erection pressing against him, slowly forcing its way in. Even as stretched and relaxed as he already was, it felt too large to enter his body. He felt himself tensing again as he stretched larger yet, the burning heat of stretched muscles and hyper-extended tissue slowly accommodating themselves to the steady insistent pressure, giving way to allow it entry.

He sobbed once as the tip finally slipped past the tight ring of muscle. Owen paused for a moment, then began to push again, with the same exquisite slowness, forcing his way slowly inward. Zevran swore, struggling to escape the intrusion even as he welcomed the intense feeling of pleasure as he was so hugely filled. Owen held him firmly, preventing him from squirming away, continuing the slow, steady entry. Zevran found himself babbling encouragement in a broken mix of tongues, curses in Antivan and Fereldan both, mixed with phrases he'd picked up in other tongues over the years.

Owen's movement finally stopped. He held still, panting and groaning himself. "Maker, Zevran! You feel so good, so fucking good...!"

And then his hand reached around under Zevran, and untied the cord. Zevran gave a keening cry as he came, pulsing come all over Owen's hand and the pillow underneath him, almost passing out with the intense pleasure. Owen was growling in his ear, low words of encouragement, mixed with gasps and cries of his own as Zevran's convulsing body tightened rhythmically on him, bringing him close to peak as well. Slowly they quieted, Zevran trembling with aftershocks and Owen with the effort not to move.

Finally the mage gave a low chuckle. "I don't think you're going to get any more relaxed than this," he rasped out. And then he began to move, with slow, careful thrusts.

Zevran moaned and gasped at the feel of Owen moving inside of him, the motion driving his half-limp cock against the seed-slicked surface of the pillow, the friction bringing him rapidly hard again. He couldn't even manage swearing any more, just wordless cries of pleasure. He climbed rapidly toward a second peak as the mage pumped in and out of him. Owen picked up the pace, slamming harder into him, then gave a deep hoarse shout as he came. The feel of his hot seed spurting into him sent Zevran over the edge a second time. And this time, he did pass out.


He felt pleasantly exhausted when he returned to consciousness some time later. Owen, it seemed, had cleaned up both of them; the two of them were now wrapped up in bed together, under the sheets, Zevran sprawled out on top of the mage. He lifted his head muzzily; the room was darkened, save for a night candle burning on the table. Owen's eyes were open, he saw, and the mage smiled warmly at him.

"Feeling okay?" he asked quietly, reaching up to brush his fingers gently against the side of Zevran's face, tucking a strand of loose hair in back of his ear.

Zevran nodded. "Yes. Very good, indeed. And rather less sore than I would have expected after such a monumental evening."

Owen snorted softly, lips twisting in a crooked smile. "Healer," he remarked, holding up on hand and wriggling his fingers in explanation.

"Mmmm, yes, so you are. I had forgotten. That is a very useful skill, especially if we will be travelling again tomorrow. I don't think I would have enjoyed walking. Certainly not anywhere near as much as I enjoyed it this morning," he added, raising an eyebrow. "Assuming I was even capable of it after that. That was immensely pleasurable."

That won him a low laugh from Owen, then the mage stretched, again putting Zevran in mind of felines, before wrapping his long arms around Zevran. "Sleep," he said. "I'll check you over and heal you further if needed tomorrow morning."

Zevran nodded, and lowered his head back down to rest on the mage's chest. Not the most comfortably of mattresses, but for now he was content just to lie there, in Owen's arms.