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WARNING: This story has TWO MEN FALLING IN LOVE WITH EACH OTHER AND EXPRESSING SEMI-HEALTHY DESIRE FOR EACH OTHER'S BODIES. If you don't like homoerotic romance PLEASE BACK OFF! If that kind of thing makes you go start praying at the porcelain gods in a hurry, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED. Please exit quietly using the "Back" button, thank you. Please note that if you decide to continue, we do not supply brain bleach, so bring your bleach brand of choice before your eyes start drifting further. Thank you for your cooperation, and have a nice day.

In the previous chapter, our luckless hero Zevran had managed to subdue the shapeshifter Flemeth and save the Warden's life, but at the cost of dire injury. But he soon realized that he might have an opportunity to use the debt the Warden now owed him...


Of Whoresons and Nobles

Chapter 12


The soft scraping of pestle on mortar woke him.

He awoke in stages. First his mind stirred, carefully circling around what had happened, where he was. His head felt light enough to detach from his neck and float away, even when the rest of his body felt like lead.

He became aware of pain—his calf, stiff and achy, the familiar feeling of a magical healing.

Slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes, found himself staring at the starry sky. There was the glow of a fire just at the edge of his vision, and he heard the familiar chatting sounds of camp—Oghren and his hoarse-voiced drunken slur, punctuated by raucous laughter and the occasional belch; Sten's slow, ponderous words, strung in tight, to-the-point sentences; Alistair with his cheerful quips and laughter, liberally sprinkled with loud chewing and 'mm, yummy'; Morrigan's sing-song drawl, with some snapping as Oghren tried to get too close to her (again); Leliana and her light voice, giggling away. And above it all the scraping sound of stone, which…had suddenly stopped.

"Oh, good. You're awake."

Wynne's voice, gentle and soft—deciding he felt well enough to sit up, he did, without much trouble. He turned, saw Wynne set aside her mortar and pestle and reaching for a kettle and a goblet. "How are you feeling?" the mage asked.

Zevran frowned, took a quick check of his body and what it was telling him. "Weak, a little bit dizzy, and my leg aches."

"Mmm, good. I've healed the leg, and it should be better come morning."

"So I can see. Thank you." He was in a quiet spot in camp, the tents pitched nearby blocking his view of the campfire—and similarly blocked the view of those who'd gathered around that fire, giving him some measure of privacy and quiet. He glanced at the sky again, remembered it was morning when they made the trip into the Koncari Wilds. "How long was I asleep?"

"Most of the day, actually. I fed you a sleeping draught some time ago, when you began to stir a bit too early."

Ah…it explained the thick, sticky feeling at the back of his mouth, although he did not remember waking to take that draught.

A hand lightly touched his forearm, and the goblet was pushed into his hands. "Here, take this. Drink it all."

He took the goblet obligingly, and peered warily into the water liquid inside it. "What's this?"

"Yellow dock root tea. It'll help you recover from the blood loss. I've healed your wounds, but I cannot replace the blood you've lost."

"Oh." He took a cautious sip. The tea was warm, and…very grassy. Not unpleasant, really, just very bitter and strange-tasting. Shrugging, he gulped down the rest, while Wynne watched him with a stern frown. "From what Leliana and the Warden have told me, you've taken a great risk attacking Flemeth."

Zevran snorted as he set the goblet aside, dismissing her concern with a shrug. "It was that or let the Warden die. He tried to chase us away."

"Yes, Leliana told me that." Wynne sighed. "And I have to say that while I do not approve of you risking your life in such a manner, I believe the Warden had erred in attempting to send the two of you away." She inclined her head. "In fact, I'd say that for someone who had attempted to kill the Warden not too long ago, to have actually risked your own neck in saving the life you'd been paid to assassinate…you have done remarkably well, and the Warden owes you a debt."

The idea of the Warden owing him a debt made Zevran laugh. "I'm not so sure, my dear Wynne." He smiled. "He did save me from being hunted by the Crows, and that alone is a debt I cannot hope to repay."

There was the crunch of gravel, and Zevran felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He already knew who was behind him, even before the Warden's voice spoke: "So you attempted suicide in order to escape that debt?"

Zevran laughed, and turned to his other side, meeting the Warden's sharp eyes with a teasing grin. "Oh, if only things were so simple, Warden. But I find that I enjoy your charm and hospitality more than a gruesome death."

"Uh-huh." The Warden's eyebrow quirked up. Zevran noted that the Warden, dressed in casual clothing, was carrying a steaming earthenware bowl. "Charm and hospitality. Right. Clearly you've lost too much blood and can't think straight. Wynne, how long will it be before Zevran here gets well enough that we head back on the road again?"

"I'd give him a day or two, provided he drinks at least two cups of that tea each day, and he eats regularly. After that he should be able to travel, although I'd keep him out of fighting for at least another week." Wynne gave Zevran a stern look. "And you should spend as much time resting, at least for the next few days, until that muscle in your calf mends properly and you get your strength back up."

In response, he smiled a placating smile, even though he was mentally groaning—the idea of being stuck in his pallet for even a day, with nothing to do and bored out of his wits, was enough to make him consider banging his head on his dagger. "Of course, my dear Wynne." He gave her the most innocent, pleading look he can muster. "Do I get to lay my head on your bosom as you comfort me this time?"

He suppressed a laugh as the older woman's eyes widened, and then narrowed in a familiar look of annoyance. "Will you cease asking me about my bosom? It's getting rather tiresome."

"But you have such a wonderful bosom, Wynne, even with the history of fine ones in my past. It would be a shame to not delight in it."

There was an odd, choking sound—glancing briefly at the direction of the sound, he saw that the Warden was staring rather intently at the trees nearby, and the firm lips pressed tightly together.

Wynne didn't seem to notice the Warden's reaction. "Egad. You never give up, do you?" Throwing her hands up, she got to her feet, adjusting the skirt of her robes. "I'll be going to take my dinner and then head to bed, now that you're awake."

"And the lovely woman rejects me once again," Zevran said mournfully. "Alas, woe is me, to be once again denied the bounty of Wynne's bosom."

"…" Giving Zevran a look of annoyed disgust, Wynne turned sharply on her heel and (almost) stomped her way to the campfire.

Zevran and the Warden quietly watched the mage until she disappeared from sight, and then looked at each other.

The Warden's face was caught between hilarity and horror. "You can't possibly really want to lay your head in Wynne's bosom, can you?"

Zevran grinned. "I might mean it, and I might not mean it. And weren't you the one who talked about how older lovers are like finely aged wine?"

"Zevran, she's old enough to be my grandmother. I like older women, but not that old."

"Why not? I'm quite sure she knows more bedroom tricks than even I. And she really does have a fine bosom. It was hard not to notice, not with that deep neckline of those robes she was wearing."

The Warden's mouth pursed in thought as he sank down to sit cross-legged beside Zevran. "Well…you do have point. She does have a surprisingly firm chest, and the size is nice too, not too big but not really sma—Maker's breath, why am I discussing the assets of a woman who reminds me too much of Nan?"

"I don't know," Zevran said innocently. "Why are you?"

"Oh, bugger it." Shaking his head, he held the bowl out to Zevran. "Dinner, by the way. You must be famished by now."

As if on cue, Zevran's stomach let out a protesting growl. "Well, my belly certainly thinks so," he said with a laugh, taking the bowl and peering at it.

Quite instantly his appetite vanished. "Err…what is this?" He picked up the spoon, and scooped up some of the thick grayish soup from the bowl. A limp, sorry-looking thing that was probably a cabbage leaf in its previous life hung despondently from neck of the spoon.

"Mutton and pea stew. And to be entirely honest, it isn't as bad-tasting as it looks. Probably because it just doesn't have much taste in the first place."

"…I see." Grimacing, Zevran tipped the spoon, letting the liquid collected in it slowly dribble back into the bowl. "Alistair must have drawn the short straw in the cooking duties again."

"Why, yes he did!" the Warden exclaimed in mock surprise. "How'd you know?"

"Because I can only think of one person in our camp that can spoil something as simple as stew." Sighing, he set the bowl to one side, deciding to let it cool first—cold 'stew' can at least be gulped down with a minimum of tasting involved.

"You'll have to eat that, you know," the Warden murmured. "Healer's orders."

"I know." He gave the Warden a too-knowing glance. "But you're here for reasons other than to make sure I consume the required amount of food, no?"

"Figured that out all by yourself, didn't you?" the Warden said with a smirk, which was abruptly replaced by a solemn look. "Actually, I was planning to yell at you."

"Yell at me?" Zevran repeated. "What for?"

"Oh, you know, for the usual reasons: disobeying orders, risking your life, that sort of thing."

Zevran waited, but the Warden was silent, and rather resolutely staring at the ground. "...I sense a 'but' in there somewhere."

The Warden frowned, waggled his head from side to side, and then sighed, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. "Well, I overheard Wynne earlier…and she's right. I do owe you my life, especially when you have no real obligation to protect it whatsoever. So…" The Warden straightened, met Zevran's eyes—and lowered his head in a short bow. "Thank you."

Zevran blinked at the top of the Warden's head. "I…you are welcome," he said.

The Warden chuckled as he straightened. "From that stunned note in your voice, you weren't expecting that, were you?" the human remarked, eyes twinkling. "But honor bids that I express my gratitude to you, for taking such an unseemly risk to end something that was a threat to my life."

Shock gave way to amusement. "Oh? Well, I suppose having the Grey Warden bow to me is an honor of sorts." He rubbed his chin, raising his eyebrows speculatively. "I could get used to this."

Smiling slightly, the Warden leaned over and not-so-lightly jabbed his pointer and middle fingers at Zevran's forehead. "Don't even think of turning uppity on me, Zevran," the Warden said blandly. "You are still bound by oath to me."

Zevran chuckled in response to that, even as he reached up to rub the sore spot. "Well, there is that."

A brief silence fell, the both of them simply at ease with each other. Then the Warden shifted, cleared his throat. "Well, I better head back to the campfire. Oghren's being awfully obnoxious, even by his usual standards, and I'm not keen on seeing Morrigan hurling fire at him—not with the spirits he'd imbibed."

Zevran watched the Warden start to get onto his feet—just as a thought occurred to him.

His hand shot out, caught the Warden around the wrist, where the tunic the Warden was wearing did not manage to cover. His fingers closed, gripped tightly.

The Warden halted, half-kneeling. He glanced at the hand, and then looked up, narrow-eyed, at Zevran. "What's this about?"

Zevran smothered a gloating, too-hungry smile, keeping his expression mild. "It occurs to me that perhaps I would want to have you pay back the debt you owe me for saving your life, no?"

The Warden's eyebrows shot to his hairline, then lowered in a frown. "…I see." The Warden nodded. "I've two medium-sized bars in my pack—one gold, one silver. I'll bring them to you when—"

"I was thinking about a different kind of payment."

The Warden stilled. Those sharp eyes were staring at him.

Zevran's grip on the Warden's arm was not as casual as it looked; two of his fingers had their tips clamped over the veins at that wrist. So even though the Warden's expression was quietly unreadable, Zevran could feel the pulse beneath his fingers skip. And speed up, throbbing heavily.

"Gold and silver not enough for you?"

Zevran noted the even tone, approved of the Warden's ability to hide his emotions. "Oh, they are, but you promised such things as payment for my 'services', as you'd said before." Smirking, he let his hand slide down, close over the Warden's long, elegant fingers. Keeping his gaze on the Warden's own, Zevran lifted the sinewy hand—smooth with a pampered life, rough with the telltale calluses of a swordsman—and lightly brushed his lips over the knuckles.

And was pleased to see desire darken the Warden's eyes. His lips curved against the hand, and he lifted his lips away, letting it hover above the warm skin, as his smile grew intent.

"As for this different kind of payment…consider it an incentive to continue saving your life from dire situations," he purred.

The human's eyes narrowed, but there was an amused smile curving the Warden's lips now. "I see. What…sort of payment are we discussing?"

The Warden's voice had lowered, the tone provocative, almost challenging. Zevran felt the little curl of arousal in his loins grow even tighter, felt his own smile widen.

"I was thinking…" Zevran let his voice trail away, as if he was actually pondering the nature of the payment and not already decided on that. "I was thinking…a kiss."

"A kiss?" The Warden quirked an eyebrow in mocking inquiry. "Is that all?"

Zevran barked a laugh at the cheekiness of that question. "Oh, no…it's only a down payment. Your debt is worth much, much more than just a kiss."

"Uh-huh. How much, exactly?"

Tsking, Zevran pulled on the Warden's hand, pleased to note that the Warden shifted closer without much resistance. "I'll give you the details later, my dear Warden, but I want the down payment first." He pulled again, a little harder. "Come—kiss me, and give me your mouth."

"Such impatience," the Warden murmured, even as he let himself be tugged closer, until only bare inches separated the two of them, so close that the Warden's breath bathed Zevran's, and the elf could feel the other man's exhalation brush his. "One would think that it's been some time since you've last kissed."

"Warden?"

"Yes?"

"Shut up, and kiss me."

The Warden laughed wickedly, sending a thrill of excitement through Zevran. "Aye, aye, cap'n," he drawled, and then leaned over and closed the distance between them.

The kiss started innocently enough, just a brushing of lips…which lasted all of a heartbeat. The hunger that prowled within Zevran surged, roared—and he sensed an answering call from the Warden. Their lips fused, melted; Zevran let go of the Warden's hand, and instead pressed his palm against the Warden's chest, savoring the warmth that the woolen tunic couldn't hide, then skated that hand up, over a strong shoulder and grip the hard muscles there, even as his other arm slid around the Warden's waist and pulled the human closer to his body.

The Warden made a growl, low in his throat, and his lips parted beneath Zevran's, inviting, inciting; he gleefully plunged in, his tongue seizing, plundering, and he sensed the human's delight. The Warden wanted, as he did, with the same urgency, the same need.

A need more powerful than Zevran had felt before, stronger than anything he'd ever experienced—something which a wary little voice in the back of his mind said was not what he usually felt. He ignored that, shoved that voice into the back of his mind, and let himself feel. Let the overwhelming need swamp through him, demanding but one end.

An end he and the Warden both transparently desired; the Warden's arms had stolen around his waist, hard palms pressed against his back and pulling their bodies closer.

Their bodies collided, and Zevran gasped, heard an answering moan from the Warden—without the armor that had blocked them before in their earlier encounter, he could feel the heat of the Warden's hard, taut frame, could delight in the sensation of another warm body moving against his.

The Warden's tongue, which had been passive before, rose and met his in a flagrant mating; the human's body strained, attempting to press closer even when it wasn't entirely possible, and Zevran felt himself let out a dark chuckle.

He didn't abate the passion, the aggression that bordered on possessiveness, in his kisses—he angled his head and deliberately pushed the Warden, harder, further, giving no quarter and accepting no appeasement.

Wasn't surprised that the Warden—his reckless, daring, domineering Warden—met him, took all of that passion, absorbed it, and turned it back, stoking his need with a flagrant fire that sent an answering desire roaring through Zevran's veins, until he felt it thudding down to his fingertips.

He wanted the Warden, wanted the human beneath him, above him, in him and around him. And from the way those hard hands trailing over his back were almost clawing at him, the Warden felt the same.

At least, the Warden felt the same in the wanting; he knew the Warden had no experience in this arena, not with men—and he was very sure the human hadn't actually given a thought about how they would be making love, and all its little variations in positions.

Give me a bit of time.

Well, the Warden asked for time, and Zevran agreed to give it. And the experienced lover in him told him that going any further than a kiss right here, right now, would not be the best way to lure the Warden into sharing the earthy delights that could be had between two men.

So with an ease born of practice and discipline, he harnessed his own passions and desire, and then set his mind, his hands, his lips to the task of slowly easing both of them from a kiss that had grown far from incendiary long ago.

Gently, he drew back from the Warden's mouth with a last, teasing lick, and looked at the Warden.

The human's eyes were heavy-lidded, and beneath the dark lashes (longer and thicker than even most women's, Zevran noted with amusement and appreciation) the eyes glittered brightly, almost feverish. The Warden's lips were swollen from the kiss, and still lightly parted by light panting breaths.

Beautiful. That's how he thought the Warden looked in a state of passion—although he doubted the other man would appreciate that particular description being applied to him.

"I suppose this payment is enough, then?"

Zevran chuckled at the huskiness in the usually-smooth voice. He sat back, but kept his hand beneath the Warden's chin, thumb lightly brushing over the human's lower lip. "I believed that I'm satisfied, querido. For now."

A light shudder went through the Warden's frame. "I see." Brows rose, faintly challenging. "So how much more do you want before you're satisfied with the repayment of my debt?"

"Hmm…" Zevran's gaze lowered to the Warden's lips, and then flicked up to the keen eyes that were watching him. His smile was sultry, and darkly intent. "For that…I intend to kiss you again." The hand cupping the Warden's chin dropped, trailed a lone finger over the human's throat. "I will spend a great deal of time favoring your lips, your mouth. And after that…" He let the tip of his finger rest on the leaping pulse at the base. "I'll spend even more time savoring the rest of you, all of you. Every inch of your skin, every hollow, every plane. I am going to know you infinitely better than you know yourself."

His voice had lowered into a purring whisper; glancing up, he saw the Warden's eyes had widened with sensual shock—and the human appeared to be holding his breath, while the pulse beneath Zevran's finger fluttered wildly.

"I'm going to learn all of you, intimately." Zevran let that last word roll over his tongue, savored its implications. "I fully intend to explore all of you until there is nothing left to learn—until I know what makes you gasp, what makes you moan, and what makes you scream. And then I will make you do all three. Again and again and again."

The Warden swallowed—Zevran saw the lump at the human's throat bob. Then the Warden laughed, somewhat breathlessly. "You drive a hard bargain, Zevran."

The elf's lips quirked as he raised a light blond brow, his gaze drifting back to the Warden's eyes. "Ah…but I believe it's a bargain that you'd agree to."

The Warden was silent for a while, smiling slightly, the eyes still widened. Then the lips twitched, and the Warden inclined his head. "We have a bargain, then."

Zevran couldn't stop himself from letting out a soft, dark laugh as he drew back fully, his hand falling back to rest on his leg. "We have a bargain," he repeated, smiling.

The Warden made an inarticulate sound, and then got to his feet—with only the slightest of wobbles. "I'll see you later, Zevran," he said. The keen eyes met Zevran's, held them in a brief stare. "Good night, and sleep well."

With that, the Warden walked away, toward the campfire.

Zevran watched the straight-backed figure move away until it went around a tent and was out of his sight. Then, with a sigh that was part frustration and part satisfaction, he lay back on the pallet and stared up at the sky.

His body throbbed, and desire was a living thing prowling beneath his skin—and all from a single heated kiss?

He frowned, puzzled and not a little irritated. He'd experienced all kinds of sexual pleasures, but this…hunger was something he had never felt, and did not entirely understand. In all of his previous dances with various lovers he had never been mindless, never had a single person reduce him to such a state—with good reason, since an assassin cannot afford to lose their head like that—but the Warden rather effectively lured out some primitive part of him that only thought about possessing the human in every possible physical way.

Snorting, he rolled over, pulled the blanket and furs over his body and settled down. Well, at least the Warden was agreeable to his demand—which meant that the desire riding him would soon be allowed to slake itself.

Smiling darkly, he closed his eyes and, with some effort, ignored the ache between his legs and fell asleep.

~to be continued~


Author's note: ...err, yes, new chapter. (clears throat) Is it getting a bit hot in here, or is it just me?

But Zevran is alive (yay!) and he gets to kiss the Warden (double yay!), and my readers seem to be enjoying the story so far (triple yay, I hope?)

So, uhm, yes, reviews welcome, and do notify me of errors and other such silliness.

Cheers!