The Art of Falling

Genitive had gotten in over his head. Sten and Morrigan reported that his apprentice had been killed and his identity assumed by someone sending Arl Eamon's knights to their deaths. They had taken care of the imposter and did some follow up work in the Brother's research. Apparently he was on his way to a town called Haven, far to the northwest.

Zevran stole a glance over at the Warden. After camp was set up, Alistair and Alyssa started poring over a series of maps to plot out their course and digging into a bag of dried fruit. They were near Wynne and Leliana's tents, a good distance from the camp fire, and completely oblivious to anything else going on.

A quick whistle summoned Ashfur to his side. The Mabari bounded over with tongue lolling out at the side of his mouth. He nuzzled Zevran with his stubby snout. The elf smiled and said, "Just as we planned, yes?"

"Wuff!" Ashfur barked and wagged his tail. He walked to the opposite side of the fire and waited.

Zevran knelt by the pile of firewood, craft knife in hand, and began cutting off bits of leaves that had not yet been trimmed. A flash of the blade and he jumped up with a shout, holding his hand to his chest. "Braska!"

Alyssa was up from the maps and at his side in an instant, "Let me see."

Zevran tucked his hand under his arm, "It's nothing. Only a small cut." He kept moving away, turning his body and commanding her full attention. It made him want to giggle.

"That will be a cold comfort if it gets infected." She took his wrist to inspect the damage, but when she finally got a good look there was no blood or wound. "Oh you lying sack a' sh—"

"Can't keep your hands off me, can you?" The assassin stepped in, closing the distance between them and caressing her hands. "I'm irresistible. It's a curse really."

Alyssa sighed, "Zev, I'm trying to work here."

Alistair waved from the map pile, "I can handle the rest."

"You're not helping," she glared at him.

With Alyssa distracted, Zevran dropped his right hand and made a flicking movement with his fingers in Ashfur's direction.

"Alone at last," he whispered in her ear.

"I'm going to stab you now," she said. "I might not stop."

"Such fire! You know it drives me wild," he grinned. "Besides, I checked. You are not armed."

She lowered her head, flashing a toothy grin, "I don't have to be armed to be dangerous."

"Quite right. Yet here you are, practically in my arms and you're not struggling." Zevran saw the Mabari rear up behind Alyssa. He shifted his weight as she was pushed forward, into his arms and onto his lips.

Finally! After months of flirting and teasing he felt her mouth on his, hot honeyed breath mixing with the taste of her. Excitement filled his chest as he deepened the kiss and wrapped his arms around her waist. The assassin flicked his tongue along her bottom lip feeling her moan under him. He felt the texture of it on his tongue, soft, pliant, swollen. Probing delicately inside her mouth, he tasted sweetness from the dried cherries she had moments before. He could feel her heartbeat thunder against his, her body pressing firmly against him.

The world, all its charms and perils, slipped away for that single moment as Zevran felt every fiber of his being fall weightless into the headiness of the kiss. He felt her starting to pull away and something he tried to hold onto for so long shattered. He whispered desperate, pleading, not caring about walls, "Don't leave me."

"Never," Alyssa said before crashing against his lips once again. She ran her hands around his back and laced her fingers in his hair tracing her nails down the back of his scalp. A thrill fluttered in his stomach. Heat spread from his core up his spine and down his legs causing his knees to tremble. Zevran felt her tugging him forward as she walked back. She started kissing up his jawline to his earlobe. "I have rules," she said, breathless.

"I am very good at following rules." When she started nibbling on his ear, Zevran nearly toppled over from the surge of passion that jolted in him. He felt her push a piece of folded cloth into his hands before they ducked into her tent. She could have told him to pluck the moon from the sky and he would have found a way. Anything she asked of him, she would have, just as long as she allowed him to drown in her embrace and be set ablaze by her kisses. The last thought that drifted through his mind before he completely surrendered to his Warden was, 'Si vivo un día sin usted en mis brazos, el corazón romperá...'

(Translation: If I live a day without you in my arms, my heart shall break.)