Baldur approached the golem apprehensively, Zevran nearly treading on his heels as he followed him into the small paddock where the golem was displayed. Baldur couldn't imagine why Wilhelm's wife allowed the golem to be so prominently featured where it would have been a daily reminder of her husband's violent end if the golem did indeed kill its master. Perhaps it had been too heavy to move very far, but then again maybe the widow needed the assurance that Shale remained in its inactive state where she could keep an eye on it.
Zevran practically vibrated in anticipation, and Baldur felt his pulse skitter momentarily in sympathy. He rose the control rod without fanfare and intoned what he hoped to be the correct control phrase, if only to keep Zevran from tearing down what remained of the village in a rampage were the rod and words to fail.
"Dulen harn!"
A flock of birds rose in the distance, but Baldur's eyes were fixated on the golem, gaze intent on any movement or reaction. Matthias and Amalia were nowhere in sight, and if Matthias' claims that the golem was violent were true then it was likely the mage hurried them both far enough away to be certain the golem wouldn't be able to shift its revenge onto Wilhelm's descendants.
"I think its head moved," Zevran whispered into Baldur's ear, his hands gripping Baldur's shoulders so tightly that the armor groaned in protest. "Perhaps if we—"
Whatever Zevran was about to suggest was interrupted with a loud blast as the golem's right arm shot into the air, pulverized rock flaking off the golem's stiffly shifting form as the left arm punched upward a second later. A brilliant light flashed in the hollows it had for eyes as well as on the runes inscribed on its forehead as the golem bowed its bald head downward to peer at Baldur before straightening to its impressive, full height.
"I knew the day would come when someone would find the control rod," a voice like an avalanche echoed from the golem, intricate markings lighting up on its thick forearms and around its neck. "And not even a mage. Probably stumbled upon the rod by accident. Typical."
"Er...hello?" Baldur ventured, shifting his feet beneath him to keep from overbalancing when Zevran nearly mounted his back in excitement, leaning his weight heavily against Baldur as if to get closer to the creature, but not too close just yet.
"I stood here in this spot and watched the wretched little villagers scurry around me for, oh, I have no idea how long. Many, many years. I was just beginning to get used to the quiet. Tell me, are all the villagers dead?"
"Not all of them," Baldur said cautiously on the chance the golem wanted to finish the job.
"Some got away, then? How unfortunate."
"Do you have a name?" Baldur asked. He knew Matthias called the golem 'Shale', but he didn't want to offend if that wasn't the golem's true name at all, and only what its master had called it.
"Perhaps. I may have forgotten after all the years of being called 'golem' while being tirelessly ordered about." A thought seemed to come to the golem. "It...does have the control rod, doesn't it? I am awake, so it...must..."
"Oh. Yes," Baldur floundered for a moment, nudging Zevran back a bit so he could raise the arm holding the rod.
"I see the control rod, yet I feel... Go on. Order me to do something."
"Alright. Walk over there," Baldur said as he waved his hand with the rod towards the far corner of the paddock.
The entire group looked at the golem expectantly.
"And...nothing? I feel nothing," the golem announced with cautious wonderment. "I feel no compulsion to carry out its command. I suppose this means the rod is...broken?"
In one collective motion, they all turned to look at Zevran accusingly. Zevran's eyes flicked between them with a mock appearance of innocence before he rose his hands, palms up, and shrugged with a grin. "Oops?"
Hearing Zevran's voice must have triggered a recollection in the golem, and the creature narrowed its glowing eyes as it took an aggressive step towards where Baldur and Zevran were standing. "I should crush you now, puny mortal. Or perhaps locate an entire tree to beat you with, as seems to be your custom."
"I do apologize. I tend not to make the best first impressions, unfortunately. In fact, I attempted to assassinate our dear Grey Warden here upon our first meeting. Ah, what a fun memory, and now look at us all here together in perfect harmony!"
"The painted elf attacked the tiny bearded man and yet it still lives? Had the decision been mine, its skull would be pulp right now."
"Painted...elf... Oh! That's me! I do like that," Zevran beamed. "Oh, I don't know. Could you destroy something as pretty as I am?"
"Easily," the golem drawled.
"Then one wonders that you wouldn't be grateful to the one who allowed you to stretch your legs, golem," Morrigan said.
"Hmm. Another mage, I see. Charming." The golem sighed with a vague sound of disgust, even though its crag-like feature remained expressionless. Having a face made from stone limited one's range of expressions, Baldur surmised. He was reconsidering the wisdom in deciding to awaken the golem, especially since the enormous creature seemed to be worryingly hostile to the one most insistent that it be activated. As the golem had apparently murdered its previous owner, this did not bode well for any of them, especially Zevran, to whom the golem had taken an instant disliking due to the elf's earlier attack upon its person while unable to move or protest the violent treatment.
"I believe introductions are in order," Baldur stated loudly, drawing the golem's attention away from the others and turning its unnerving, emotionless gaze upon him. "I am the Grey Warden, Baldur," Baldur said simply, suspecting the golem wouldn't be impressed by fancy titles or pompous gloating – not that he cared about those things either.
"Zevran, formerly of the Antivan Crows, at your service."
"I am Leliana. It is a pleasure to meet you."
"And you may call me Morrigan. Now, if these droll pleasantries are finished?"
The golem hummed suspiciously, a sound like crashing boulders. "So, here is a question for the painted elf."
"Certainly. What is it?"
"Am I to understand correctly that the painted elf is a crow?"
"Not literally, but, yes. I am a Crow."
"As in a bird?" it said with rising distain.
"Is there another sort?"
"So the painted elf assaults helpless statuary with its feces," the golem accused, appearing to grow larger as it apparently took offense to Zevran's easy admittance. Zevran only shrugged.
"If given sufficient cause, why not?"
"That is outrageous! The painted elf will stay away from me. Or else."
Zevran sighed, "I get a lot of that."
Attempting to get on the golem's good side really was not working as Baldur had planned, but deactivating the golem was no longer an option since the control rod was broken.
"You have free will now," Baldur stated, watching the golem carefully. "What will you do?"
"It is simply...what should I do? I have no memories, beyond watching this village for so long. I have no purpose... I find myself at a bit of a loss. What about it? It must have awoken me for some reason, no? What did it intend to do with me?"
Baldur's eyebrows furrowed, stymied at being referred to as an 'it', but he supposed turnabout was fair play as he'd been referring to the golem as an 'it' in his own mind, but he wasn't certain how golem genders worked. If anything, the golem looked and sounded masculine, but he didn't dare assume lest he chance offending the golem further.
"I don't intend to do anything with you," Baldur said honestly, and Zevran hissed, elbowing him between the shoulder blades until Baldur swatted him away.
"Ah," the golem said. "How...unexpected. Yet refreshing. I suppose I have two options. Go with it or...go elsewhere? I do not even know what lies beyond this village."
"You're welcome to come with me," Baldur offered, which mollified Zevran for the time being.
"I will follow it about then...for now. I am called Shale, by the way."
"We are very pleased to have you, Shale," Baldur said, his welcome nearly drowned out by Zevran's cheer as the elf hugged Baldur's head before releasing him to tackle Leliana with an enthusiastic embrace and a loud, sloppy kiss on her cheek.
"Do not even think about it," Morrigan threatened, her hand raised and glowing an ominous blue as she narrowed her eyes at Zevran when he took a step towards her after releasing a flustered Leliana, his arms outstretched.
"This should be interesting," Shale remarked.
They located an area to camp before nightfall far enough away from stench of burned wood and rotting corpses.
"Oh, your poor face," Zevran tsked sadly as he tilted Baldur's face upward and applied a pungent paste to his exposed skin which immediately cooled the aching burns that still smarted even after swallowing a few mouthfuls of a restorative potion as a precaution.
Baldur hadn't planned on being burned into a cinder outside of the temple, which only stressed the need for upgraded and fire-resistant armor. He was truthfully more concerned that either his eyebrows or beard had been burned clean off and he patted his face when Zevran was done greasing him up, letting out a breathy sigh of relief that all of his hair was as it should be, if not crunchier and slightly shorter than it had been previously. Baldur was so preoccupied with thoughts, that he sputtered when Zevran leaned down to kiss his lips, greasy with ointment, and nearly fell on his arse.
"A copper for your thoughts, amor?"
Baldur glanced up at Zevran, and then looked away as his brow furrowed. "Amalia."
He was aggravated with himself for hesitating to kill the demon in the beginning. He replayed the scenario with different options and potential outcomes that hadn't ended in Amalia being possessed. He could have killed the Desire Demon rather than waste time figuring out that blasted puzzle, or turned around and retrieved Matthias for help, or at least found a way to send word to him that all was not as it appeared with his daughter, but who knew where the mage was now. Further loss of life would happen if he didn't strengthen his resolve and take necessary action when the opportunity presented itself.
Baldur built himself up into a righteous fury soon enough and wandered away from the camp and Zevran's concerned looks to expel his frustration on a few hapless trees with Aodr. When his arm threatened to give out after creating enough kindling to last them the rest of the year, he stomped through the underbrush and kicked up dirt and leaves as he muttered angrily to himself, several critters scurrying away as they hissed at him for disturbing their homes, but he took no notice of them nor the chill that took hold when the sun set. Baldur must have been gone for hours, although there was little doubt the others could hear his angry outbursts and know that he hadn't been carried away by darkspawn. He would be a changed dwarf from this point forward, and determined that he would no longer hesitate in his decisions. From this moment on, he would harden his heart and take rather than ask.
He knew the first step he had to take in order to leave his skittishness behind.
"Zevran!" Baldur shouted as he stomped back into camp, his jaw clenched with purpose.
"You bellowed, my darling?" Zevran asked with an amused expression, looking up from where he was sharpening his blades as he sat on a tree stump near their camp fire. Baldur refused to be sidetracked by the endearment, staunchly ignoring the warm glow that took up residence behind his ribs.
"I have something I wish to discuss with you." Baldur's tone was stern and his brows furrowed as his arms crossed formidably over his puffed up chest. "In my tent."
"Oh, is there something in your tent that needs assassinating?"
"What?" Baldur started, and then shook his head, frowning as his arms dropped to his sides and hung there awkwardly, fidgeting. "I just want to talk to you. In...in private."
"Whatever would we need privacy to...talk about?" Zevran said playfully. "Tactics? Poison recipes? The Midsummer dance?"
Baldur hated that he couldn't get a serious response without Zevran teasing and flirting so outrageously. His deflection made attempts at serious conversation unbearable when Baldur was already highly strung to begin with. Losing his temper and his nerve, Baldur gave his attempt at authority one last shot and snapped, "In the tent. No more questions."
Clearly this was the wrong thing to say.
"Yes sir," Zevran purred lasciviously as he straightened and set aside his dagger, immediately getting Baldur's blood up by the way he wouldn't just...be...quiet. "But I'll have you know I am very resistant to interrogation tactics. You just may have to beat any answers out of me...creatively."
Baldur's tenuous hold on his willpower snapped and he hid his crestfallen expression behind one hand before Zevran could see. "I can't," Baldur gasped, shuddering all over. "I just...can't. Never mind."
Zevran seemed to be more amused than disappointed, suggesting, "If you change your mind, my tent is always available."
Baldur left without another word, nearly too worked up to see straight. He would rather take on a thousand Hurlocks with only a dinner knife than attempt that conversation again. Everyone else would start retreating to their respective tents or bedrolls for some much needed rest soon, and Baldur wasn't going to deprive them of sleep because he was emoting all over the entirety of Fereldon. He withdrew Aodr and went about finding more trees to 'kill' until he could force himself into an exhausted sleep. He would have to find some other way to overcome his shortcomings, which was becoming increasingly more difficult as his failures stacked up one after the other until he felt buried under the weight of them. There were abilities dwarves were able to access with years of instruction and training, but Baldur just didn't have that long, and certain techniques were only used as a last resort due to the considerable toll they took on the user. He had to do something, though. Perhaps Alistair would have some coping mechanisms considering he was the only other Grey Warden Baldur knew and had faced similar losses.
Matters were not helped when, upon his return to camp the second time, he saw Zevran had arranged their bedrolls nearly one on top of the other next to the campfire instead of retiring to his tent. Baldur bit back a sigh and did not press the issue, especially when Zevran was already occupying his own bedroll and greeted Baldur with a warm, expectant smile that Baldur felt all the way to his toes.
Somehow, he should have known that smile was only hiding nefarious purposes.
Baldur shucked his heavier armor and lay down with his back to Zevran, feeling the warmth of the fire at his front and the elf's body close to his own at his back lulling him with unexpected swiftness into an exhaustion that perhaps would allow him a few hours of uninterrupted sleep. He was on the verge of succumbing to slumber when the quiet sound of rustling drew him back from that dark precipice, an even softer moan that followed alerting him into full wakefulness even though he did not move, listening intently.
When he realized what was happening behind him, Baldur nearly smashed his forehead with a balled up fist as he bit back his own moan.
Zevran was by no means subtle when he apparently decided to enact the next stage in either seducing or punishing Baldur by shamelessly indulging in self-pleasure right in the middle of camp. Shale was set up as a stone sentry with Leliana to take first watch and keep an eye on the golem, which was customary after introducing any new member into their party and not only assassins. Morrigan always kept her tent and bedroll apart from the others, but sound tended to travel and both he and Zevran were more or less exposed to the open night air.
Zevran was nearly close enough to touch, and Baldur could tell when the sound of his hand rasping over dry skin became slick and wet, his breath shivering hotly over the back of Baldur's neck. Zevran must have been incredibly repressed, because he finished quickly with a soft grunt as his forehead pressed against the back of Baldur's flushed neck and the sound of his hand became outright squishy until it slowed and then stilled entirely. Baldur barely managed to bite back a whine as he ground his palm against the front of his trousers, breathing harshly through his nose as he fought not to give in and take himself in hand as well. He could practically feel the smug satisfaction radiating off Zevran as the man wiped off his hand and pressed a chaste kiss to the sensitive spot just behind Baldur's ear, falling asleep almost immediately after that brazen display while Baldur was left entirely tense and so frustrated that he could scream.
Baldur was groggy and in a foul mood when morning arrived, coming inches from biting Zevran's nose off when the chipper elf attempted to kiss him awake, blissfully unaware that Baldur hadn't slept at all.
"I have noticed the painted elf seeks the attention of the Grey Warden," Shale suddenly announced once they were back on the road, as if stating the sky were blue or there were doves in a tree nearby that it desperately wanted to kill. Life as a statue had made Shale resentful towards birds and dogs and their respective bowel movements which they tended to relieve on the immobile golem in the past.
"He certainly does," Zevran agreed brightly as their newly expanded group set forth towards Denerim after Baldur declared there would be no further detours until they arrived and obtained the necessary armor and equipment to face the dragon back in Haven, which no one dared object to despite the obvious misgivings they all had, including Baldur himself.
"Pah! I watched many such couplings during the time I spent immobile in Honnleath. Or, I should say, I was forced to watch. You do know this usually ends in reproduction?"
A shocked snort of laughter escaped Morrigan and Baldur tripped over a divot in the road, barely kept from falling on his face by Zevran's hand wrapping securely around his upper arm, thoroughly familiar with Baldur's clumsiness when the dwarf was flustered without warning.
"I doubt that would be a problem in this particular instance, but who knows? The act of creation is grand fun," Zevran said with a wink at Baldur, who ducked his head and blushed heatedly as Zevran transferred his grasp from Baldur's arm to his hand with a gentle squeeze. He didn't relinquish his hold, to Baldur's astonishment, but likely only in order to keep Baldur from careening off into a ditch or a field of cornstalks.
"So you say," Shale mused. "I have no idea how a golem is created, but I doubt I shall be creating one anytime soon."
"Just as well, I imagine. Any lover of yours would no doubt be quickly reduced to a puddle of bruises."
"So you see me winning the affections of another golem, do you? Most golems are slaves to whomever holds their control rod."
"Funny. It works exactly the same way for us as well."
Baldur groaned and dropped his eyes to the ground, wondering if he prayed hard enough the packed dirt underneath his boots would open up and swallow him whole.
To say that he was preoccupied would be redundant, as Baldur was rarely caught not brooding about something, but he noticed himself staring at Zevran more pensively throughout the day. Normally he would duck the other's gaze in a fluster when Zevran returned his look with a knowing leer or wink, often following up with kiss or by taking Baldur's hand in his own as they walked. The fact that even a golem with no understanding of relationships or complicated emotions had noticed their interest in each other was no surprise, as anyone with eyes, regardless of species, could decipher that much by only looking at them. Baldur knew he wouldn't be able to survive another night like the last, if only because the sleep deprivation would get him killed in battle.
His resolution must have shown on his face, because Zevran glanced down at him with a raised eyebrow and inquired, "Something the matter, my love?"
Baldur only shook his head and tugged on their joined hands. He raised the other to catch Zevran around the back of his neck, drawing him down into a hard, hungry kiss. When Baldur pulled back enough to rest their foreheads together, he could feel Zevran's surprised pleasure at Baldur initiating affection, especially in such a public display. Leliana giggled while Morrigan made overdone gagging noises and Shale rumbled its displeasure.
Tonight.
It would be tonight, and nothing short of an attack from the Archdemon itself would dissuade Baldur's resolve.
"Would you care to join me in my tent?"
"We have done this song and dance before, are you certain? We do not have the luxury of privacy..."
Baldur stared at the ground between his mud-splattered boots for an indeterminate amount of time, feeling the wild panic in his mind clash with the calm certainty in his heart until one finally triumphed over the other. He looked up at Zevran, patient and beautiful and everything he never knew he wanted or needed.
"Yes," he said, his voice rough and tight, but his eyes pleading. "Please take me to bed."
"It would be my greatest pleasure."
Baldur had set up his tent as far from the others as possible, regardless of how futile the precaution would be. The ragged cloth sides wouldn't muffle so much as a mouse's sneeze, but at least their activities wouldn't be entirely on display.
'Bed' was a relative term, which meant throwing both of their bedrolls and thin blankets into a pile on the hard, rocky ground in Baldur's flimsy tent that even he had to duck in order to enter. This time they helped each other out of their armor without needing to ask, Baldur's eyes bashfully averted until Zevran paused in unbuckling Baldur's chest plate to tug him in by the straps for a long, heated kiss. Their mouths didn't part as they stripped away the rest of the armor in record time, Baldur pausing with his fingers clenched on the hem of Zevran's tunic which was in better condition than Baldur's own tattered garments even stained with blood and sweat.
"Do you... Should I get cleaned up first?" Baldur asked self-consciously, not even wanting to calculate how long it'd been since any of them had a bath that involved more than splashing their hands and faces in an icy cold stream. Dwarves were known for their strength and power rather than a keen sense of smell, but the same couldn't be said for elves, he was certain.
"Absolutely not," Zevran said firmly. "I am not permitting you a chance to get away from me again. If you are not out of your clothing within the next five seconds, I'm afraid they will meet the same fate as your old tent." Zevran's dagger made a reappearance, and Baldur swallowed back a moan at the thought, even though practicality reminded him he did not have enough clothing to spare that these ones could be torn asunder from his very person.
"Have you ever made love to a man before?" Zevran murmured into his neck after they had removed all of their clothing with due haste.
They kissed until Zevran's already lush mouth was swollen and red from the scratch of Baldur's beard as they slowly lowered themselves to lay facing each other atop their bedding. Their hands did not yet stray below the other's waist, but Baldur's erection was snug against Zevran's hip while the elf ground his own restlessly against Baldur's muscular thigh covered in thick, coarse hair. The tent allowed very little light inside, but Baldur didn't need his eyes to know how exquisite Zevran was, bared before him in all of his splendor as his fingers ran reverently over warm, scarred flesh.
"Once," Baldur admitted hesitantly, "In Denerim." He didn't clarify that his first encounter with the same sex had been with a prostitute, instead resting his lips against Zevran's smooth cheek as they held each other close.
"Ah, I see," Zevran said pleasantly, but Zevran was pleasant even when he was in the middle of killing something, so Baldur couldn't tell how well received the information actually was. "I imagine this lover has been missing you desperately and pines away the hours awaiting your return. It is fortunate we are passing through Denerim so that he may content himself with your exquisite presence once again."
Baldur swallowed hard, desiring nothing more than to remain silent and allow Zevran to make assumptions as he would. If Zevran thought he had a lover, though, Baldur risked the chance that he would believe theirs to be a casual relationship that extended no further than their mutual pleasure. Baldur couldn't bear the thought of Zevran politely distancing himself physically or emotionally to avoid coming between Baldur and his nonexistent paramour.
"It wasn't in the manner you think," Baldur said, dragging out his words as if to delay the explanation. He knew, now, that Zevran had been raised by prostitutes and held a fond place in his heart for them, but he didn't know how Zevran's opinion of him would change when he knew Baldur had once paid for sex, regardless that the exchange of money for certain services had happened before he'd even heard of the Crows. "I-It was at The Pearl, so..."
Baldur stuttered and stumbled into an abashed silence, his hands tense and still where they'd been stroking along Zevran's back and hip. Zevran was quiet for longer than Baldur could ever recall him being unless he was unconscious, and he squeezed his eyes shut in despair, knowing that he had likely ruined everything. The sex hadn't been exceptional or even necessary at the time, and the decision had been more about satisfying an impulse rather than out of any true desire. It had been a long while since Baldur had found release even from his own hand and sex with no strings attached held its own appeal. He'd only wanted to satisfy a curiosity that he'd harbored for many years in Orzammar, but had no opportunity to indulge due to his recognizable face and royal standing that would bring unaccountable shame to the Aeducan name if his proclivities were made public. Even equipped with the new knowledge of his preference for other males, fighting for his life daily and being in constant proximity to his companions had effectively diminished his libido until he had met Zevran, who stoked the dying embers of arousal in his belly into a roaring pit of fire.
"I imagine you were in very capable hands then," Zevran's voice came in an unexpectedly husky purr as his hand slid down and between Baldur's legs to cup his stones, his thumb a line of heat on the underside of Baldur's cock, which could have been used to chisel through a mountainside at the moment. "You must show me what he has taught you."
Zevran's lips caught his in a passionate kiss that Baldur surrendered to helplessly when Zevran moved fluidly over him and settled against his hips.
"I thought...I thought you'd be upset," Baldur gasped when Zevran had thoroughly inspected Baldur's tonsils to his own specifications and finally let him up for air. Color had infused Zevran's sculpted cheekbones and his eyes glittered with lust as he pulled back and cradled Baldur's cheek with his free hand, his expression unbearably fond.
"Why ever would you think that, you darling thing? I know from very reputable sources that Sanga's employees would have been falling over themselves for an opportunity to service one so irresistible and impressively endowed such as yourself. I may have to consider...dissuading...several would-be suitors when they catch word you are back in town."
Zevran's smile went dangerous and possessive, and Baldur felt a thrill run up and down his spine as his cock leapt in Zevran's callused hand with obvious approval.
"Since Denerim was so far away when we first crossed paths, allow me to guide our coupling this first time while you relax and refamiliarize yourself with the fundamentals of pleasure between two men."
Zevran nipped at Baldur's bottom lip and soothed his tongue along the tiny hurt, teasing Baldur's length with the tips of his fingers until the dwarf was bucking his hips urgently up into Zevran's and keening.
"Hush..." Zevran breathed against his mouth, although Baldur could tell he was pleased at the responses he was eliciting.
Baldur was dangerously close to spending already, but Zevran thankfully removed his hand after a last, lingering stroke before Baldur embarrassed himself and cut their time together short. Zevran's delectable bottom was flush against Baldur's thighs, his own long, slender member equally distressed as it bobbed between his legs when he shifted and leaned over to retrieve something from his discarded trousers. A pearly string of fluid momentarily connected the tip of his weeping cock to the smooth skin just below his navel before snapping when he resumed his upward seated position with a tiny vial in his hand, which he uncorked and spilled the contents over his fingers that wafted a light, herbal fragrance.
"I'm afraid it has been a while since I have received one so well-equipped such as yourself, so allow me a moment to prepare myself."
Zevran's eyes remained locked on Baldur's in wicked challenge as he discarded the empty vial and moved his hand around behind him, raising up on his knees so Baldur could see his deft fingers working to stretch himself.
"Oh sweet Mahal, you will be the death of me," Baldur groaned unthinkingly, his eyes flickering helplessly between Zevran's flushed face and his thrusting fingers. "Ghivashel."
"Then let us both enjoy these little deaths," Zevran answered, his voice trailing off into a breathless moan of anticipation as he quickly slicked Baldur with the fingers that had been inside himself and grasped him at the base as he began impaling himself on Baldur's length. Baldur's hands caught at Zevran's narrow hips, grasping hard enough to leave bruises, but he neither forced Zevran down to take him in his entirety nor pushed him off so Baldur could collect his bearings, already sweating and swearing profusely.
"Your blasphemes are like Andraste's dulcet tones to my ears," Zevran gasped with a delighted laugh at the normally quiet dwarf's creatively filthy tongue when he was aggravated in such a pleasurable manner.
Zevran rose and sunk progressively further until Baldur was finally fully sheathed within him, the stretch almost more than either could bear. Zevran cried out as if the noise had been punched out of him when he lifted almost entirely off of Baldur and plunged down swiftly, repeating the motion and becoming progressively louder in his passion as he rode him with brutal efficiency while Baldur could only hold on desperately and fight off completing too soon.
The walls of the tent were parchment-thin and drafty, so there was no doubt the entire encampment was privy to their enthusiastic coupling, but Baldur couldn't manage to find the urge to care. Zevran was beautiful and fierce above him as he stole Baldur's pleasure and returned it to him a thousand fold, riding him harder and faster until he stiffened with a strangled cry and ejaculated without a hand upon himself, marking Baldur's belly, chest, and the underside of his chin with splashes of seed.
"Baldur!" Zevran cried out in his ecstasy, barely pausing before he resumed his frantic thrusts, contracting in spasms around Baldur's hardness, "come for me, cariño!"
The unfamiliar language spoken so fluidly from Zevran's talented tongue sparked an unstoppable tide within him, and Baldur spilled with a bellow that was frighteningly similar to the war cry he uttered before he lost all reason and his body engaged without input from his mind in battle until every last obstacle lay slaughtered before him. Thankfully there was no carnage this time, but when Baldur came back to himself Zevran had collapsed against his chest, sucking in air laboriously and slick with their combined fluids. The lack of salacious comment from Zevran was vaguely alarming considering what they had just done, but the elf seemed to barely be clinging to consciousness, still joined at their most intimate places.
Baldur wrapped his arms around Zevran and buried his face in his tangled blond hair, breathing deeply of sweat and spice and something intangible, like metal and warm earth, until his own heart rate returned to normal. He could hear no sounds from outside, and Baldur tried not to speculate what that meant, knowing he would hear all about their indiscretion in the morning.
"I do believe you fucked out whatever remaining brain cells I had left," Zevran eventually voiced in a thoroughly ravished and wondering tone as he turned his face from the warm burrow he had made between Baldur's neck and shoulder to be certain his words weren't muffled, although he didn't attempt to move any further than that, still wrapped around Baldur's supine form.
Baldur hummed in agreement and stroked his fingers through Zevran's hair, which had come loose from the braids he wove back from his temples. "Could I ask you something?"
"Oh? So this was an interrogation after all? I am impressed by your wily methods. You may ask a question, but I get to stare at you luridly while you do so."
Zevran made every last coherent thought fly out of his head and Baldur faltered, forgetting entirely what he was going to say and instead blurting out, "Tell me what Antiva is like?"
He didn't even hear the response as he stared helplessly up at the uninspiring view of his tent, his heart beating anew.
"If you don't mind terribly, I rather not speak further of Antiva," Zevran finished, after a lengthy spiel extolling its virtues. "It makes me homesick, thinking there is a very good chance I may not return."
Of course Baldur had to pick a sore subject and completely stick his foot in his mouth.
"I...understand. My apologies."
His hands and everything else were shaking, which he hid by pulling self-consciously into himself. He hadn't gotten this worked up battling werewolves or giant living trees, so he didn't understand what was so terrifying about Zevran when the elf had never been anything but cordial and flirtatious with him. Baldur was at a loss, especially since he'd been so certain that finally giving in and sleeping with Zevran would cure him of his obsession, but it seemed his fondness – and subsequently his nervousness - had only grown stronger. But of course, such was the case for sanâzyung, if Baldur had any doubts left whatsoever that Zevran was his.
"Now it is my turn to ask a question, as is only fair. What is that you call me? Geeva-something?"
Baldur cocked his head in confusion, thinking back quickly to when he would have called Zevran anything other than his name, and then all at once his face went immediately, flaming red as he remembered. He ducked his head to hide his expression in his hands, but Zevran's sharp eyes missed nothing.
"Oh?" Zevran said, sounding intrigued. "It is something terribly filthy not meant to be overheard in public?"
Baldur shook his head, groaning.
"For example: Me encanta cojerte pero me vuelves loco. Te quiero cubrir con mi leche desde la cabeza hasta los pies."
"I have no idea what you just said, but I'm sure several milkmaids all the way in Antiva have fallen over in shock without knowing why."
"It would not be the first time I have gotten a milkmaid on her back without even a touch," Zevran purred. "I could gladly translate for you, cariño."
Baldur lifted his head, eyeing Zevran speculatively even though he was still flushed.
"Perhaps I would not say no to that offer when we don't have an audience," he said quietly, scrubbing at his hot cheeks with his rough palms as if he could diffuse the heat that way.
"Mmmm. I bet you say the most enchanting things in dwarvish. Your language, from what I have heard so far, is beautifully guttural and passionate."
"I do miss hearing it," Baldur said. He had been speaking Common for so long that he feared that he would somehow forget Khudzul regardless that both languages had been instilled in him since birth, as was customary for most races. The more reclusive races refused to speak in anything but their own native tongue, and Baldur wasn't certain if darkspawn had words of their own, or only communicated through the psychic directive of the Archdemon, which Baldur heard echoing throughout his dreams. "Ghivashel..."
"Yes, that's the one! What is its meaning?"
"Well... The literal translation is 'Treasure of all Treasures', an endearment for those we hold closest to our hearts."
"You never told me you were a romantic!" Zevran protested. "I just may have to poison that man's morning tea out of jealous spite," he said contemplatively, weaving his fingers into the thick pelt of hair covering Baldur's chest and pressing a kiss over his heart, which caused the poor, overtaxed organ to skip a beat.
"Which man?" Baldur asked, struggling to recall if they had met anyone in their recent travels in need of poisoning. Aside from Loghain, that was. Baldur had likely dribbled out his brain through his cock as well, and coherent thoughts were foggy at best.
"The one who had you first at The Pearl, of course. Do not worry. He'll feel no pain," Zevran assured Baldur, which wasn't assuring at all.
Baldur could not honestly tell if Zevran were jesting or not, but just in case a man's sodden body ended up mysteriously at the bottom of a well sometime in the upcoming days while The Pearl suddenly ended up with one less employee, Baldur decided to head Zevran's bloodthirsty tendencies off at the pass.
"He was only doing the job I paid him to do," Baldur chided gently, beginning to re-braid Zevran's hair in an alarmingly intimate liberty he wasn't certain the elf would allow, even after sharing each other's bodies and details of their respective pasts only very few were privileged to know. "If not for him sharing his body with me, I may not have had the courage to approach you or accept your advances."
Zevran went silent in contemplation, and Baldur had to fight not to hold his breath as he tied off the silken braid with a bit of string unraveling from the bottom of the tent nearest his hand, twisting the length of gold around his finger once before reluctantly allowing the small braid to drop back into the loose fall of Zevran's hair. Finally, Zevran released a long, slow breath before tipping his head so his other cheek lay against Baldur's chest. He nudged at Baldur's arm until the dwarf received the hint and began separating strands of hair to make a second braid, his heart high in his throat.
"I may need to send him flowers instead," Zevran conceded reluctantly, nuzzling Baldur's chest when he finished his braiding with a final stroke over the simple, finished style, leaving his hand curled warmly against the back of Zevran's neck.
"Thank you," Baldur rumbled softly, his voice thick with sleep as he unsuccessfully tried to stifle a yawn.
Zevran relaxed against him in a heavy but welcome weight, and Baldur slung an arm around his waist to ensure he didn't roll off during the night, foregoing his scratchy wool blanket for a much more pleasant living furnace instead. Baldur was nearly asleep before a thought occurred to him.
"You're not sending him hemlock or any other lethal plant in a bouquet either," he said sternly, and Zevran stiffened tellingly.
"You ruin all of my fun," he accused, nipping at Baldur's shoulder resentfully.
Zevran yelped when Baldur pinched him in the backside as a final warning. The elf dutifully refrained from comment and instead shifted in Baldur's secure hold, wincing when Baldur slipped out of him with a wet, obscene sound. Zevran made no effort to clean up, but he was certain to jab Baldur with an elbow in retribution for waylaying his unsubtle scheming before they both settled to catch what few hours remained of the night to sleep.
Baldur was awakened in the most astonishing manner, gently urged into consciousness with the wet, silken heat of Zevran's mouth enveloping him and light fingers teasing his bollocks. They were both quiet when Baldur peaked and spilled onto Zevran's tongue, his hand braced against Zevran's shoulder as the other sucked and licked him clean.
Baldur hauled him up into his arms when he was unable to bear the kittenish licks of Zevran's tongue, kissing him roughly until he could no longer taste himself in the damp hollow of Zevran's mouth. Zevran's arousal rocked demandingly against his hip until Baldur took him in hand and brought him off within a few strokes, kissing him through the waves of pleasure until Zevran shuddered and stilled against him with a satisfied sigh.
Baldur rarely lingered in the mornings, but he felt as if it would take an act from Mahal himself to remove him from the exquisite joy of simply laying with his beloved and bask in the afterglow of their coupling. Reality laid outside his tent, and Baldur was in no hurry to rejoin whatever trials waited in store for them this day, however a pervading sense of duty only allowed him a moment of indulgence before he reluctantly disentangled himself from Zevran's long limbs and began to prepare for the day ahead.
They cleaned up as well as they could without running water and got dressed in companionable silence; Zevran assisted in strapping Baldur into all of his gear and armor, and Baldur redid Zevran's braids as the assassin hid knives and vials of toxin along his person. Baldur spared a moment of relief that Zevran hadn't mixed up the lubricant he'd used last night with one of his deadly concoctions while caught in the fog of lust and urgency. He made a note to acquire lubricant himself and keep it especially segregated from Zevran's personal stores if they were to continue their relations in the future.
Baldur desperately hoped they would continue developing their newly physical relationship rather than snipping that particular bloom while it was still in its glorious prime. He wouldn't be able to bear Zevran's playful flirtations or close company if he was never permitted to touch him again, and he was unsure of the proper etiquette that followed laying with one's companion and would-be assassin.
"I must admit, I knew this would happen eventually. I should have warned you right from the moment you refused to kill me. Having sex with me was inevitable," Zevran said with an air of haughty humor and Baldur scowled at him, even though there was no heat to the expression.
"You're practically a public menace," he said, recalling that his tipping point had been when Zevran had decided to pleasure himself right next to Baldur in the middle of camp.
"It's true. They used to issue warnings about me at the Antivan border. Ah, the good old days. So then, what now?"
Baldur looked up at him, startled. "Well...I. I suppose I was hoping this wasn't just a one-time deal? I really like you, Zevran," he finished apprehensively.
Zevran hummed and looked at Baldur in consideration as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind Baldur's ear. "I was raised to take my pleasures where they could be found, for they do not come very often. I shall ask nothing more of you than you are willing to give."
"But..." Baldur started, and then swallowed as the words stuck in his throat. "how do you feel about a more...permanent arrangement, I guess is what I'm asking." Baldur was unaccountably nervous, laying his heart at Zevran's feet after sleeping with him once. "What about...love?"
Baldur saw the moment Zevran shut himself down and pulled away, and he cursed himself a thousand times for pushing when he should have just followed Zevran's lead and kept matters between them casual without bringing attachments into their relationship.
"I was born of a whore and bred as an assassin. All I know is of pleasure and death. What room is there in these things for love? At any rate, we should be on our way. A new day awaits us, or so the rumor goes."
Baldur was braced for jeering or a barrage of complaints when they finally left the flimsy confines of his tent. What he wasn't expecting was a shimmery blue barrier surrounding them in a dome. He glanced at Zevran, who only looked amused, and reached out to touch the transparent wall. Magic tingled at his fingertips before the barrier disintegrated and a rush of noise greeted them from the sounds of an awakening camp.
"A sound barrier. Very impressive magic, this," Zevran said, and Baldur couldn't help being mortified and grateful for the implications of its presence around their tent. "Perhaps if we do not aggravate the mage too much, Morrigan would be willing to cast the charm for us every night, hm?"
Zevran grinned at Baldur with a ridiculous waggle of his brows, looking impossibly radiant and relaxed in the morning light. It took Baldur a moment to realize what that statement implied, that they would have need for such a spell every night, and once he did make the connection he blushed to the roots of his hair and ducked his head with a relieved nod.
"Aliento de Creator. How are you even possible my fierce, sweet dwarf?" Zevran murmured, leaning down to catch the tip of Baldur's beard between his thumb and forefinger and raise his face to press a lingering kiss to his lips, uncaring of who might see.
Baldur would take whatever he could get from Zevran without expecting or asking for more, grateful beyond words that he would still be allowed to look and touch rather than delegated to pine from afar.
Me encanta cojerte pero me vuelves loco. Te quiero cubrir con mi leche desde la cabeza hasta los pies. - You drive me insane, but I love fucking you. I want to cover you in my cum from head to toe.
Cariño - Darling
Aliento de Creator – Maker's Breath
