Chapter 10: Gambling for High Stakes

They were relieved when they finally left the Forest behind. Even though they had managed to lift the werewolves' curse and to persuade the Dalish to join their cause, there had been so much death, so much madness, so much sorrow. Now they finally felt entitled to some laughter and levity again.

Only Alistair was still in a foul mood, had been for some weeks now, really. Cat had a pretty good idea of what made him so tense and irritable, but she wasn't sure what to do about it. It was Zevran who finally stepped up to Leliana and asked her for a quiet word. Cat watched them talk, saw the bard's indignant face, her hand raised as if to slap Zevran. When he returned he was smiling, though, and that night Leliana whispered something into Alistair's ear. He blushed, but later in the evening he joined her in her tent.

When they broke camp next morning, Alistair was his old likeable self again, happy, relaxed and ready for any jest, with a hint of a swagger in his step.

Cat looked at her lover. "What in the Maker's name did you tell Leliana?" she asked.

Zevran shrugged. "Just that, while a little delay always helps to make things more... interesting, she'd better not drive her sweet Templar completely insane, if she wants to enjoy him."

Cat threw him a look from under half-closed lids. "So you think a little delayed gratification makes things more interesting, do you?"

"It most certainly does," he replied with a smug expression. "Of course that would demand a degree of restraint that not everyone possesses..."

She smiled impishly. "Not everyone, eh? Zev, my love, what would you say to a little wager?"

His ears pricked up. "Oh? This should be interesting." They'd recently taken to playing cards in the evenings, trying to catch each other cheating. This, however, sounded a lot more intriguing.

"A simple bet. First one to lose control, loses the wager," she suggested.

He laughed. "You don't stand a chance, carissima, you know that, yes? But if you insist... What are the rules?"

She answered without a moment's hesitation. "Just eyes, words, chaste touches. No hands on bare skin, except for the hands and face. No fondling, no embraces."

He grinned, liking this better every minute. "That sounds fair. And what will you do when I win?"

"If you win," she corrected him, "I will tidy up and clean your tent, top to bottom." He knew how much she hated cleaning.

"I'll accept that," he said after a moment's consideration.

"And if I win," she went on, "you'll have to bathe Fluffy."

Zev took a look at the huge Mabari and shuddered. Bathing Fluffy was a messy, malodorous affair, and Zevran was fastidious about his appearance. "Deal," he confirmed, and they set off towards Denerim.

The first day wasn't too hard. Of course Zevran took advantage of every little chink in the rules, brushing his hands softly against hers every chance he got, gripping her firmly around the waist to 'help' her over a creek, making suggestive remarks whenever the others were out of earshot. She paid him back in kind by letting her hips sway just a tiny bit more whenever she walked in front of him, laughing a little too breathlessly, fastening her armour a little loosely so he could frequently catch glimpses of soft white flesh. "Tease," she heard him growl, when she took off her helmet and shook out her hair at their lunch break. His hoarse voice made her shiver. They were both enjoying themselves immensely.

In the evening Zevran was preparing to set up his own tent when she stopped him. "I do think we should share a tent, don't you? After all, we wouldn't want anyone to... cheat," she purred.

His eyes widened for a moment as the images she conjured up with her words made his imagination soar. Her body writhing on the bedroll, her hands touching her breasts, playing between her legs... He cleared his throat. "Of course," he answered glibly.

When Cat woke up early next morning, he lay curled up around her body, his hand softly cupping her breast. For a moment she pressed against him instinctively, rubbing her back against his hardness, then she remembered the wager and stiffened. He groaned in his sleep and she felt his hand caressing her nipples, her body eagerly responding.

With a determined grip she removed his hand, eliciting a small chuckle from him. "What?" he exclaimed innocently when she glared at him. "I can't be held responsible for what I do in my sleep, can I?"

At the sound of his voice, of his damnably beguiling accent, she felt a hot flame deep inside her. She swallowed hard, when she looked at him, his naked torso, his sleep-tousled hair, the full lips, the sleepy golden eyes... He knew it, of course, the bastard. Throwing him a dark look, she crawled out of the tent, and he followed close behind. It took all her restraint not to snarl at Leliana when she saw the bard's happy, sated expression.

The second day was pure torture. Every time she noticed his eyes on her her skin seemed to burn under his gaze. She didn't dare touch him any more. Her mind was flooded with images that made her blush. Her irritable mood didn't go unnoticed, and Alistair looked at her in hurt bewilderment when she rudely brushed off his worried questions about her well-being. Zevran for his part couldn't keep his eyes off her. The way she was worrying her lower lip in frustration, the subtle gooseflesh he noticed on her arms when he accidentally touched her in passing, the intoxicating scent he breathed in when he came closer to her, very nearly made him come undone.

When they made camp that night, they entered the tent wordlessly, not trusting their voices if they spoke, and lay down without touching. The air between them was so thick with tension that it could have been cut with a knife. He heard her toss and turn as he lay awake, cursing silently. How could she have such an effect on him? He fought off images of her naked in his arms, desperately disciplining his thoughts. More than once he toyed with the idea of throwing the stupid wager to the wind, but his pride wouldn't let him admit defeat. When he finally fell into a fitful sleep, his dreams were so graphic and detailed that he woke up shaking with desire, unsure of whether he was dreaming or awake.

The darkspawn attack later that morning came almost as a relief. As he focussed on the fighting, on the rapid, intricate dance of his blades, on his silent, deadly moves, he felt his head clear for a while. And when they washed off the gore in a little icy creek, the cold water was soothing to his frazzled nerves. Yet, as the day wore off the craving returned in full force, even more burning than before.

When they were finishing their stew that night, he caught her eye, and her expression made him almost moan out aloud. For a blinding moment he wanted to grab her, to take her there and then. She must have felt it too, for she got up abruptly and walked away towards the trees' edge.

"Don't walk too far," Alistair called after her in a worried tone.

"I'll be fine," she replied. "I'm taking Fluffy, he'll smell any danger."

Zevran's eyes followed her every move until he caught Morrigan's languid, amused gaze. Cursing under his breath, he took out his daggers and began to clean them, carefully whetting the slim, curved blades. The others drifted away to their tents, Sten taking first watch. It was still light and fairly warm; he could even hear birds sing in the trees.

He was pondering whether he should follow her, when he heard the faint noise of Fluffy's bark in the distance. In a flash he was on his feet, grabbing his weapons and following the noise.

He found her backed up against a rocky outcrop, surrounded by dead wolves. Two of them had had their throats torn out by Fluffy, the third and fourth had been sliced neatly by her blade. There were three more, though, circling her and the dog warily, ready to attack, and he saw a flash of relief cross her face at his timely arrival. Together they made short work of the remaining beasts.

As they were walking away from the carnage, he turned to her with a worried frown. "Are you hurt?"

There was a small spattering of blood on her sleeve, and he reached out to let his hand run gently over it. His brief touch made them both gasp, and he felt the carefully built dams of his control break within the wink of an eye. Her gaze was burning with the same feverish desire, and suddenly her lips were on his, neither of them knowing which had moved first.

His mouth was scorching hot, setting her whole body on fire, as he pushed her back roughly against the trunk of a tree. She moaned his name between kisses, and they sank down on the soft moss, quickly discarding their armour, their hands shaking with passion. When he thrust inside her they both cried out, overcome by the rightness of it, the sheer naturalness with which their bodies joined. The sounds and images of the forest around them faded away, and for what felt like an eternity there was nothing but the softness of their skin, the heat of their bodies, the burning, ardent urgency of their desire.

When Cat finally opened her eyes again, Fluffy whined at her accusingly from his place a few yards away. Dusk was approaching rapidly, and she shivered in the evening cool. Zevran rolled off her, one eyebrow raised in question. "Well, carissima, so who do you think won our little wager?"

She laughed a little shakily. "I guess we'll have to call it a draw."