Maker help me, the fluffy plot bunnies have invaded my brain and taken to fornicating shamelessly. Hence, another Zevran/Tabris story from my Twio Sides universe. Of course, it could simply be all this cold winter weather making me think warm, fuzzy thoughts.
Either way, enjoy! And many thanks to those who've reviewed and all you lurkers in the shadows.
The long sliver of bright sunlight slicing across the intricately patterned rug of their room told Zevran that the morning was almost over. The ringing of the noon Chantry bell less then a minute later confirmed it. He smiled and stretched, carefully, so as not to wake his Warden. Rolling over, he tucked his arm under his pillow and gazed at the man sleeping beside him.
Sprawled on his stomach, the light summer blanket kicked down well past Darrian's hips…Zevran, content, sighed very softly and enjoyed the sight of so much luscious, creamy skin and sleek lithe muscle exposed to his view. His Warden's left arm was curved around his pillow, while his right arm was pulled in close, his hand relaxed and open. Thick russet hair spilled across his shoulders. Zevran resisted the urge to tuck stray wisps behind his ear, not wanting to wake him.
The assassin wasn't surprised that he had slept the morning away, but that his Warden also had…now that was a rare thing. He wanted to take advantage of this opportunity to simply drink in the sight of him. Not that he bypassed opportunities when Darrian was awake. Certainly not. But the man was usually clothed and…doing something. Practicing with weapons. Sketching. Tending to some mundane chore. Not a man to sit idle, his Warden.
Just lying here, being with him in a way that demanded nothing from either of them was a rare treat. Zevran smiled, and felt desire stir. His eyes wandered over a body he'd explored every square inch of with hands, lips, and tongue these past two years. Hmmm, speaking of lips…Darrian's were slightly parted, full and so soft, ready to be kissed. Ah, it would be rude to refuse such an exquisite invitation, yes?
His Warden pulled in a sudden breath, snorting and wrinkling his nose.
Well, that certainly disrupted the mood, Zevran thought, suppressing a chuckle.
His hand slid forward, and stopped, just a breath from his lover's.
The Arch-demon was a month dead. Alistair was starting to settle, albeit uncomfortably, into his role as king. Something resembling normal life had settled back into the towns and the countryside through which they passed. Well, Zevran assumed it was normal life for Fereldans. In the common room last night during a reasonably good meal, he'd heard people speaking, with cautious hope, about the future.
His smile faded a little. The future was never something he'd given a lot of thought to. He'd asked Darrian once - in between killing Darkspawn, bounty hunters, and the occasional bandit foolish enough to attack them – what the man intended to do with him once this Blight business was over with. His Warden had joked about it, made some remark about being able to always find a use or two for a handsome elf. At the time Zevran had passed it off as flirting, something even he might have said had their situations been reversed. Now, though…He realized now that even in that early time, the Warden's feelings had run deeper than a casual bedding. So had his, come to think of it, though it had taken him much longer to accept it.
Zevran slipped his hand around Darrian's. While his Warden stirred, he didn't wake, though his fingers closed around the assassin's.
The future lay before them now, like a Satanalia gift all tied up with bright, pretty ribbons. And he no idea how to unwrap it, let alone what he would do with it once he opened it.
He squeezed Darrian's hand, and the Warden stirred, his eyes opening.
"Good morning, amor." Zevran chuckled. "Or perhaps I should say good afternoon?"
Darrian groaned, and shifted to his side, keeping hold of Zevran's hand. "Oh, Creators, don't tell me I slept the morning away."
Zevran moved closer, throwing a muscular leg over his lover's hip. "Well, after last night's endeavors, I'm surprised you woke this early."
That brought a smile, and a deep kiss. So sweet, those kisses. So light, those fingers, trailing down the side of his face, and over his chest before coming to rest on his hip.
"Hmmm, not that I'd mind some more…endeavors, but I really had planned on making some time today," Darrian said, tucking a strand of hair behind Zevran's ear.
"It's not as if we have to be anywhere." The assassin waved a hand at the heavily curtained window. "Tomorrow, the road will still be there."
Darrian sighed and rolled to his back. "I know. It's just…" He blew out a breath. "I guess it's just old habits. Always thinking about the next move, and the ones after that. Trying to anticipate the future."
Zevran propped his head on his hand. "And what do you anticipate?"
"I don't know. Now, that I don't have to worry about something trying to kill me, I'm not sure."
"Trust me, amor," Zevran said with a chuckle. "Something will always be trying to kill you. There are still plenty of bandits around. And I wouldn't be surprised if there's even a bounty or hunter or two who hasn't gotten the word yet that Grey Wardens are no longer on the menu."
Darrian's fingers brushed his cheek, then he let his hand settle there. "Not to mention the Crows."
"Yes, well, since they still think I'm dead, we should be safe for a few more months." Zevran turned and kissed his lover's palm. "If we stay on the move, probably longer."
"Which still leaves the future." Darrian sat up. "Zev, I won't…I'm not going to get old, but almost thirty years…that's still a long time …I…"
He looked away, his hands tightening on his thighs. Zevran rose, and slipped his arms around him, pulled him close.
"So, we should buy a little house somewhere, tend a garden….adopt a dog, perhaps?"
Darrian smiled. "We already have a dog. No, it's just…" He turned and buried his face in Zevran's hair, as his arms slid around the assassin. "Remember what I said, just before we went after the Arch-demon?"
Zevran's hands tightened. I love you, Zevran Arainai. And will, to my dying breath. A handful of words, whispered with quick, desperate intensity just before they'd dashed to the roof to confront the Arch-demon. Because if the future was going to be stolen from them, Darrian hadn't wanted to die with those words unsaid between them.
How many times had Zevran heard those words exchanged between lovers, licit or otherwise, when he stalked the shadows? Sometimes, the parties involved even meant it. Even those who did, though, often tossed them around without thought. But if there was one thing he had learned about Darrian Tabris in the last two years, it was that the man did nothing without thought. Sometimes, in Zevran's opinion at least, he thought too much. But, if the assassin were pressed about the matter, he would readily admit better that fault, then not thinking about something at all.
He could make some joke about the matter, and Darrian would smile and kiss him, and probably make love to him for the next hour or two…or three. Saying with his body what the assassin couldn't say with words. No, not couldn't…wouldn't. But wasn't the time for that past? The future, however short or long, lay before them. It deserved more then jokes, and better than to be bounded by old fears.
So Zevran pulled back, and slipped his hands into that thick, russet hair. He brushed his lips against Darrian's. A lover and a friend deserved the truth, even if saying it frightened the assassin more than any demon.
He closed his eyes. "I love you, amor," he whispered, and felt his lover smile against his lips.