On the Road to Orzammar: Laundry Hour

CONTENT:
Rating: Mature
Flavor: Adventure/Drama/Humor
Language: yes
Violence: no
Nudity: yes
Sex: yes (m/m)
Other: none

Author's Notes:

The following chapters/scenes take place in the nebulous region of the road to Orzammar.


Laundry Hour
==#==

Bannon sat on his rickety little camp stool, pulling his boots off. "It's cold up here in the mountains," Zevran told him. "Maybe you should sleep with your socks on."

"I never sleep with my socks on," Bannon said, not heeding the Antivan's advice.

Zevran huffed slightly. "But your feet are so rough and scratchy," he complained, pulling off his harness and leather jerkin and dropping them on the bench.

"It's from all that walking here and there," Bannon shot back. "Where's that horse you promised me?"

"I never promised you any horse!" The assassin put on a shocked look. "I said you needed a good massage."

Bannon tossed his socks in the laundry pile, and soon his leather armor joined Zevran's, though it slouched untidily off the bench. "Then massage my feet."

"Those terrible, ungainly things?" Zevran shoved him off the stool so he could sit and take off his own boots.

Bannon nimbly kept his footing. "So you're not going to get me a horse because you'd rather give me a massage, but you won't massage my feet until I get a horse so they get softer?"

"Ummm," Zevran pondered this logically. "Yes, that pretty much sums it up."

Bannon frowned at him in amused annoyance. "Well maybe I just need some new boots. I hear that Antivan leath-"

Zevran was up in an instant. "Do not even think of touching my boots!" Bannon hadn't moved back at the assassin's precipitous move. He ambushed Zevran with a kiss, pressing forcefully. He put his hands on the Antivan's waist. Zevran returned the kiss with fervor, but kept enough presence of mind to realize he was being herded away from his boots. He broke contact. "Oh no," he insisted; "you are not going anywhere near my boots!"

Bannon grinned and tugged him down onto the sleeping mat. "Assassins aren't the only ones who can get to their mark by seducing them."

"Oh, is that the way of it?" Zevran asked eagerly, one brow cocked. He pushed Bannon back on the mat and straddled him. He leaned down to kiss Bannon, and Bannon embraced him, one strong hand rubbing his back, the other tangled in his hair at the nape of his neck. It felt good, but deprivation was something the assassin was quite used to. He pulled back again and grabbed Bannon's wrists, then pinned them to the mat over the Denerim elf's head.

Bannon's eyes widened in surprise, but not fear. He pulled against the assassin's grip, but Zevran leaned forward, bearing down with his weight. His hips pressed against Bannon's, and he could feel his partner becoming aroused, as well as see it in his eyes. Bannon's lips were parted slightly after his brief struggle. Zevran bent closer, slowly, and brushed his lips over Bannon's. He teased his captive with brief kisses, always pulling away as his partner tried to respond. Soon his breathing was even heavier.

"You know," Bannon said breathlessly, "I see a flaw in your plan."

"Oh? What might that be?"

"We didn't finish undressing," the thief pointed out. "And you can't use your hands unless you let go of mine."

Zevran grinned devilishly. "Hmm..." He took some time to appraise the situation - as well as his captive's body. "I could just tie you up," he suggested. "'Twould be justice, no? After all, when we first met, you had me tied up and at your mercy."

"Mm-hmm," Bannon agreed non-committally. "But how are you going to get the rope?"

"Hrm, good point." Zevran frowned in thought. "But you know, you're only wearing a shirt and breeches. I'm quite sure I can manage these using only my teeth."

Bannon's whole body vibrated provocatively under him as the thief laughed. "Don't tell me - you once managed to nibble off all seven of a dancer's skirts!"

Zevran laughed, and suddenly Bannon surged up against him, twisting, and nearly throwing him over. For a brief instant, Zevran considered letting him - after all, it was all play in fun - but his stubborn streak kicked in. And, after all, the honor of his Antivan leather boots was at stake!

He fought back in earnest, and the two elves wrestled furiously for a minute. All that wiggling Bannon was doing under him was highly distracting, but Zevran had the advantage of the upper hand. Finally, Bannon slumped in defeat, panting with exertion. "Well," he huffed," start nibbling. This will only take all week."

Zevran grinned lopsidedly. "You exaggerate!" He, too panted, and the struggle left him as aroused as his partner - no doubt a point the Denerim elf was counting on in this bid to get Zevran to let go of him. "I'm sure it will only take two hours," Zevran insisted. Bannon groaned. "But, I have a better idea." The Antivan got up on his knees, unpinning Bannon, then rolled the other elf onto his belly. Bannon helpfully complied with this maneuver, and Zevran settled back down on his hips. He gripped Bannon's neck and squeezed, digging his fingers into the trapezius muscles. Almost instantly, the Denerin elf went limp, all the tensions and resistance completely draining from him. Zevran chuckled softly. "Now that's what I like: a willing victim."

"Mmmmm," Bannon agreed, eyes closed. "Keep doing that, and you can have your way with me."

"Oh, I intend to." Zevran rubbed lower on his back, then slipped his hands up under Bannon's shirt. With long strokes, he pushed the fabric up until it was bunched at Bannon's neck. Bannon reached up and pulled it off over his head.

Zevran took a moment to pull off his own shirt, then he laid himself along his partner's back, revelling in the feel of the smooth skin against his chest. He nuzzled Bannon's dark hair and ran one palm over the swell of his bicep to grip the muscled shoulder. "You're so strong," Zevran breathed admiringly against the nape of Bannon's neck.

"Mmm," the thief agreed amiably. "And not at all hairy like those shems."

Zevran grinned at his friend's distaste of human men as sexual partners. "Yes," he admitted. "What was it you said...? You are 'eminently lickable'!" With that, he licked Bannon's shoulder, eliciting a squeak of pleasure from him. Grinning more broadly, Zevran did it again, tracing Bannon's shoulder blade with the edge of his tongue. The thief wriggled in delight as Zevran lathed his back aggressively. Then he used the tip of his tongue to trace the other elf's spine. Bannon gave a deep-throated moan.

He rolled onto one hip, and Zevran let him, for it was time to stop playing and start making love in earnest. He worked Bannon's pants loose as the other elf returned the favor by unbelting his leather kilt. As he worked the buckle, Bannon said, "In the morning, you're going to have to show me how you planned to get this off using only your teeth."

Zevran laughed. "You doubt my prowess? I am shocked and offended," he teased.

"Yeah, well I got ten gold that says you can't," the thief shot back confidently.

"Only if you pay me twenty gold just to try! No doubt I will look utterly ridiculous."

Both elves giggled as they finished shucking the last of their clothing. Then they embraced in earnest. Soon the familiar sounds of two elves pleasuring each other were once more disturbing the camp.

==#==

Alistair groaned in annoyance and rolled over, hunching his blanket up around his ears. He might have been asleep by now, if it hadn't been for all that laughing and giggling from the other tent! Maker's Mercy - giggling! He grabbed his pillow and clapped it down over his head. "Gah!" he spat as a crusty sock that had been stuck to the underside slapped him across the face.

He seized the errant sock and lurched up out of the bedroll. A brilliant idea sprang to mind as he dug around for any other socks lying around. Now was a really perfect time for washing socks!

Alistair threw on his boots (darned twigs and stones), and hurried out of his tent in only his pants. He was about to escape headlong towards the nearby stream when he ran - literally - into Shale. "Ow!" Alistair rubbed his head. "Sorry."

Shale hadn't budged an inch. Instead he said philosophically, "The noisy ones are making noise again."

"Uh, yeah."

"What is it they are doing in there?"

Alistair goggled. "Uhhh... playing tiddlywinks," he said quickly, edging around the stone obstacle.

"A game?" The golem arched a brow. "It sounds rather strenuous."

"Oh, they take it very seriously. Look," he rushed on, as Shale seemed about to make another comment - or worse, ask another question; "I really have to go and wash my socks, right now!" He tripped over a tent peg, but managed to keep his footing and hurry down to the stream bank.

==#==

To his surprise, he rounded some bushes and came upon Wynne, Leliana, and Morrigan. They had a couple of camp stools set up, a little table with a tea kettle, and instead of a fire, a pile of rocks glowing orange with heat. Strung over this were a few ropes, with various wet clothes hanging from them. The clothes steamed in the night air.

He blinked at the three women, and they stared at him. Leliana smiled and said, "Well, it looks like Alistair came to the party."

"There goes all the enjoyment, sucked right out of that," Morrigan griped.

Alistair closed his mouth. "What are you doing here?" he asked them, taking in the scene again.

"Funny," shot Morrigan, "I was about to ask you the same thing."

"Morrigan," Wynne admonished. "We were just catching up on some laundry," she told the Templar.

"Laundry... That's funny, so am I." He brandished his dirty socks. "And yet you're not worried about doing it so late at night, and your clothes being all damp in the morning." He eyed the pile of heated stones.

Wynne said, "Well, dear boy, there are many advantages to having magic."

"Not to mention," Morrigan was quick to add on, "the wits to use it cleverly."

Alistair shook a finger at them. "You mean you're out here doing laundry every night at this time?"

The women looked defensive. Leliana said, "It is a time-honored tradition for women of the community to gather together and share chores, yes?"

"Yes," Wynne took up the thread, "laundry hour is a pleasant time for the women to get together and talk. Women-talk," she added pointedly.

Alistair grinned. "Oh, no...," he said. "Laundry hour my foot! You guys are out here, away from camp while those two are making out like rabid weasels! That's what this is!"

Leliana flushed slightly, and Wynne glanced at the ground, somewhat chagrined. Morrigan rolled her eyes heavenwards. "Well, even a stopped clock is right twice a day. Congratulations, Alistair, you managed to figure something out."

"Ha ha," he replied. "Just one thing I want to know." He eyed each in turn, accusingly. "Why didn't you invite me?"

Ever quick with an answer for him, Morrigan said, "Because we like to gather for intellectual conversation."

He nodded. "Oh, right, all that intellectual 'women-talk,' like sewing and knitting, and how to make doilies, and exchanging cookie recipes."

Leliana frowned at him. "Hey!"

"Oh, and talking about shoes! Mustn't forget that one!" The bard growled at him.

"Really, Alistair," said Wynne, "we didn't think you'd be interested in... well, doing chores and chit-chatting."

"Hey, I can chit-chat. And do chores. And I can knit, too!" He shook his finger at them again. "Templars aren't helpless without women, you know!"

"Oh good, can you knit me a doily?" Morrigan asked sweetly.

"Doilies are crocheted, not knitted," Alistair sniped right back. "Hah! I know something you didn't!"

Wynne and Leliana tried to stifle laughter as the witch turned red. And so, forging onward with trusty knitting needles and doily shield, Alistair became an honored member of Laundry Hour.

==#==

Later, Bannon lay curled against the Antivan's side, sleeping soundly. Zevran stared up at the tent ceiling, feeling... Suddenly, it struck him: he was smiling. He looked down at the elf beside him. Bannon was a lot of fun; he made a fantastic partner - both in and out of bed. Oh, he was a neophyte to taking pleasure with men, but he was willing to learn. And adventurous, too. Zevran grinned and lightly brushed his fingers over Bannon's dark silky hair. The other elf barely stirred, only sighing softly against Zevran's shoulder. No wonder, after the workout the assassin had given him. He should be so exhausted he'd never remember that crazy bet in the morning.

Zevran's fingertips traced the fine cheekbone of Bannon's foxen face. His long dark lashes rested lightly on his skin. He really was a beautiful young man. Zevran sighed and lay back again. He hadn't been this happy since... Well. It's too bad Bannon wasn't interested in a longer term relationship; he had been very quick to agree that they should keep it strictly casual, without bothersome attachments. After this business with the Blight was over... Zevran felt strangely overcome with melancholy.

He frowned and berated himself. What was he thinking? Sure, Bannon was fun, but it was just a fling. Perhaps he had a woman waiting for him back in Denerim. Hadn't he mentioned something about a fiancee? Zevran pushed that thought away. The Crows would probably catch up with him soon anyway. If they couldn't dispatch him while he was under the protection of the Grey Wardens, they'd surely not have any trouble doing it after all this business was over. Love is not for you, he told himself; *only death.* And that being the case, he really ought to just enjoy his fun and pleasures while he had the chance, and stop worrying about a future that may never come.

So he eased his arm around the warm body next to him, and made sure the blankets covered them well (especially Bannon's poor, abused feet), and closed his eyes to sleep.

==#==

Alistair looked up from folding up his tent to find Zevran lurking nearby. "Can I ask you something?" The Antivan somehow didn't look his usual cheerfully annoying self. He looked actually thoughtful.

"Uh, sure. What is it?"

"You talked to Bannon that one night, didn't you? About that mess in Denerim and the arl's son?"

Oh, that. Alistair paused thoughtfully. "Yeah, why?"

"Did he tell you the whole story?"

The Templar shrugged. "Yeah. Why?" What was the assassin getting at?

Zevran shifted his weight. "Well, would you tell me? I am curious. And - did he not mention a fiancee? Is he married?"

Alistair coughed lightly in disbelief. "Do you care?"

The Antivan frowned. "I am only asking!"

"Well why don't you ask him? Why are you asking me?" Alistair returned his attention to packing the tent fabric down.

"I don't want to pry."

"You don't-? So instead of asking him, you're going behind his back to ask me?" Alistair looked up at him incredulously. "Spying? Instead of prying?"

"Uhhh..." Zevran shrugged guiltily.

Alistair rolled his eyes. "Just ask him. And if he won't tell you, then let me know, so I won't tell you either."

"Ah, great," the Antivan said sourly. "Thanks so much."

==X==