Disclaimer: Bioware owns all, I earn nothing.
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.
Acknowledgement: Many thanks to my newly-discovered grammar fairy/editor, Scarylady1. Your advice and patience are much appreciated.
Of Whoresons and Nobles
Chapter 34
The Warden remained disturbingly silent all the way back to camp. In fact, the moment that they safely reached the campsite, the Warden excused himself and disappeared off into the woods.
Zevran was tempted to run after the Warden, but thought better of it. The Warden clearly did not wish to speak about whatever burdens he was wrestling with.
And you have no right to pry into your leader's personal demons, even if you shared a bed with him.
So he simply sighed, gritted his teeth, and manfully resisted the urge to chase after the wayward, likely suicide-inclined human.
Not that he thought that the Warden would actually go that far; if there was one thing he was sure about the Warden, it was that the man had a sense of duty as unmovable as the Frostback Mountains themselves.
The Warden did not return for a long time; when he did, it was already late into the night, and Zevran was just about to crawl into bed. The human did not make a sound as he slipped inside the tent; only a draft of cold air from the briefly-open tent flap alerted Zevran to his return
Zevran raised a brow and smiled as the Warden slunk in. The human's hair was dripping wet, and he seemed to be clutching a sack in his hand. "Ah, there you are," he drawled as the soaked man dropped the sack beside the bed and started to take off his armour. "I was beginning to think that you have gotten lost in the woods."
"Really?" the Warden said, his light tone at odds with the still sombre expression. "And you haven't tried to go look for me?"
"I didn't think you would appreciate my company." Or any sort of company, as a matter of fact. Zevran watched as the Warden stripped down to his breeches. His shoulders were already damp with the dripping water. "Someone took a little swim, I see."
"Just needed to clear my head," the Warden murmured, reaching for the sack.
Clear your head, or to drown yourself?
Swallowing back the retort, Zevran let his gaze fall to the sack. "Oh? And what sort of treasure have you found while swimming?"
The Warden smiled. It was a tight smile, but it was still a smile; Zevran found himself relaxing a little at the sight. "Aside from a lot of pebbles and more freshwater shrimp than I would care to fish out, I haven't found anything." He dropped the sack on the bed, opened it, and started to rummage through it. "I found these—" His hand pulled out a pair of dark-coloured boots and set them beside Zevran. "—not too long ago, and I thought that you might like them."
Zevran blinked at the boots and, about the same time, the pungent scent of tanned leather wafted up his nose and sank its teeth into his head. He felt a smile spread across his face. "Hmmm." He took in a deep breath, and the scent sharpened in his nose. "That smell... this is Antivan leather, isn't it? I would know that anywhere!" Chuckling, he reached for the boots and looked up at the Warden. "I don't know how you found it, but thank you."
The Warden's response to Zevran's glee was to raise an eyebrow and widen his smile just a bit.
Laughing, Zevran ran his fingers over the boot in his hand, feeling his fingertips slide the buttery-smooth leather and scrape against the fine stitches. They feel like genuine Antivan leather too; marvellous!
"What are you waiting for?" the Warden asked. "Try them on."
Zevran widened his eyes in mock horror. "But I'm not finished admiring them, yet! Can you smell that?" He sniffed hard again, to punctuate his words. "Like rotting flesh. Just like back in Antiva City." He grinned as he set the boots down on the floor. "Now if you only could find me a prostitute or two, a bowl of fish chowder and a corrupt politician, I'd really feel like I was home." Laughing softly, he slipped his bare feet into the boots, feeling the comfortable snugness of the leather. "And they fit, as well!" he exclaimed. "Marvellous!"
The Warden had been silent while Zevran tried on the boots, his face wearing a charming expression that was one part disbelief and two parts disgust. "...Fish chowder?"
Zevran raised a brow at the Warden. "You don't like fish chowder?"
The Warden shuddered. He actually shuddered. "Nan loved to feed me those when I fell sick. It didn't take very long for me to get so sick of chowder that I did my best to not fall sick again."
Zevran laughed, taking off the boots (he was supposed to go to bed after all, and he doubted the Warden would appreciate having him fall asleep with his boots on) and tsk'ed at the Warden's remark. "Ah, my dear, you Fereldens couldn't make good food even if you tried. You should come to Antiva with me and taste some proper food. Of course, we can only do that once all of this is ov—"
Zevran's mind screeched to a halt, and he hastily bit back on the rest of his words.
"...once all of this is over?"
Zevran blinked at the deep, questioning voice. The Warden was staring at him, and his expression... Zevran wasn't sure he wanted to know what that glint in the keen eyes meant, or why the Warden's mouth was starting to curve into a familiar grin.
"I—" He frowned. "Well, that is assuming that both of us live through this and that you are free to go. It's not written in stone that you would still be with me, after all."
The Warden's teeth were a broad, brilliant slash of white in the dark. "Written in stone, you say?" the Warden said musingly... and far too smugly for Zevran to be comfortable with. "You know, I think I would like the idea of a stone carved with—"
Zevran did not like where this conversation was heading.
Feeling more than a little cornered, his eyes darted back to the sack, an oddly-shaped lump of burlap still sitting on the bed. "So what else do you have in there?"
"Oh." The grin faded a bit. "Right. I forgot about that." The Warden reached into the sack again, and pulled out a dark-coloured glass bottle, with a finely-etched label on it. Zevran felt his eyes widen at the sight.
"Is that what I think it is?"
"Mmm..." The Warden raised the bottle up to his face, squinting at the label. "If you are asking if this is a rare Antivan passion fruit brandy, then I'd say it's exactly what you think it is."
Zevran laughed delightedly. "My, my, your ability to find rare treasures amazes me."
"I am glad you approve," the Warden drawled as he pulled off the stopper and handed the open bottle to Zevran.
Zevran eagerly picked the bottle (and almost dropped it; it was surprisingly cold to the touch) and took a mouthful straight from the bottle, savouring the tart spiciness that flowed over his tongue and burned down his throat. Licking his lips, he grinned as he gave the bottle back to the Warden. "So, what's the occasion?"
Whatever good cheer that was on the Warden's face vanished. "Nothing." He took a long swig from the bottle, his throat working as he gulped more than a few mouthfuls down (Zevran winced at the sight of such good spirits being carelessly consumed like it was water) before he set the bottle down with a sigh. "After that little experience over at the ancient temple, I thought just I just thought I needed some liquid courage."
Oh. "Isn't it customary for one to consume liquid courage before facing such trials?" Zevran asked softly, taking the bottle from the Warden before the human drunk more than his fair share.
The Warden smiled. It was just a shade too bright and too forced. "Hey, better late than never, right?"
Zevran considered that. He decided that he couldn't argue with that logic, flawed though it was.
Especially given that the Warden's eyes still held a frightening bleakness.
Smiling grimly, he raised the bottle up in a mock toast. "To getting splendidly drunk," he murmured, before tossing a mouthful back.
"Drowning sorrows, and whatnot," the Warden murmured in agreement, already reaching for the bottle again.
In the hour that followed Zevran learned two new things about his dear Warden.
The first was that the boy had absolutely no tolerance for alcohol. Although, to be fair, it had been a long day, and Zevran doubted that the Warden had eaten anything before he started drinking.
The second was that a drunken Warden was a very, very talkative Warden.
"... and so I was standing there, covered with chicken feathers and mud and Maker knows what sort of filth, with an enthusiastic mabari pup barking and dancing around me, while Nan and Mother stood there staring at me like I'd turned into an actual chicken—although considering the amount of feathers stuck to me, I suppose I was in the process of looking very much like one." The Warden laughed. "Maker's breath, you wouldn't know a good scolding until you've been scolded by two of the best scolders in Highever. At the same time, I might add. At the end of that, I was dunked into a cold bath and then sent to my room without supper, with my eardrums still ringing from it all."
Zevran smirked. They were both sprawled out on the furs, the brandy bottle a dark shape between the two of them and within easy reach. The Warden was clearly intoxicated, his face flushed and his eyes glassy and his mouth spread in a rather silly-looking grin.
Although to be entirely fair, Zevran was far from sober himself; he couldn't quite control his limbs, and his head was buzzing pleasantly with what promised to be a very painful headache come morning, but at that moment he was too relaxed with spirits and conversation to care.
"Hey," the Warden murmured, rolling over to flop on his belly, resting his head on his arm and looking at Zevran. "What about you?"
"Hmm?" Zevran smiled at the Warden. "What about me?"
"You haven't talked." The Warden frowned and gave Zevran what was supposed to be a stern look; the drunken glaze over the eyes spoilt it, however. "'S not fair that I do all the talking."
"I rather enjoyed listening to you talk."
"Well it's your turn now, so there."
Zevran snorted, propping his head up on his hand, his elbow braced against the furs. "Very well, my dear... what do you wish me to talk about?"
"Tell me more about your adventures."
Zevran smiled at the predictable answer, his mind already casting back for more tales of his time as a Crow before the final mission with Rin...
His mind slowed. Stopped.
It was a habit by now for him to skip past his memories of that ill-fated mission, only telling his Warden of his time before it all happened.
But he was tired, he suddenly realized, tired of running and hiding and pretending that those memories did not exist. The Guardian had asked if he had regretted her death, and he was honest with his answer to that spiritual entity.
Yet he was not entirely honest to the Warden about it.
The Warden who had been so careful to avoid asking about that last mission before he was sent to kill the Grey Wardens, even when Zevran caught glimpses of bright curiosity in the other man's gaze.
A man who had grown close to him, closer than he would like to admit, but it was an undeniable fact.
He also couldn't deny that the Warden had been remarkably open to him; Zevran doubted many of their party saw beyond that grim-faced, formidable, occasionally light-hearted, veneer of a commanding leader that the human had so carefully cultivated.
He was aware of the Warden watching him carefully as he thought about this. Again the Warden did not press him, simply waited until Zevran was comfortable enough to speak what was on his mind.
A considerate man, his Warden. One who deserved better than the secrecy that Zevran had maintained so well.
So Zevran raised his eyes to meet the Warden's gaze (that open, accepting gaze), took in a deep breath, and spoke. Softly. Slowly. "I wouldn't have spoken about it before, but... you have been a good friend. There is no reason for me not to speak of it now." He took in another breath, to ease the sudden tightness in his chest. "There is a reason I accepted this mission in Ferelden, far away from home, and it had nothing to do with any thought that I might leave the Crows. Meeting you, after all, was quite an accident."
The Warden smiled slightly at that, but he nodded, indicating for Zevran to go on.
Zevran closed his eyes, braced himself for his next words. "My last mission before this one... did not end well."
The Warden's smile had faded. His eyes narrowed, the drink only dulling the sharpness ever so slightly. "It failed? Or something else?"
Zevran shook his head slightly, winced when the movement made the inside of the tent tilt dangerously sideways. "The mission itself was quite successful. I mean that it did not end well for me." He sighed. "You must realize that until that day I was cocky and arrogant. I was the best Crow in Antiva, I believed, and I bragged of my conquests often... both as an assassin and lover."
"... You were more cocky and arrogant?"
The disbelief in the Warden's voice (and the teasing smile dancing on his lips) made Zevran chuckle. "Indeed. I was often told that I was insufferable... right before I ended up in bed with someone. Such is how it was." He let his eyes grow distant as he let long-buried memories rise again to his thoughts. "One of the Crow masters grew tired of my boasting. My bid for an incredibly difficult mark was accepted, much to my surprise: A wealthy merchant with many guards and completely silent. Taliesen agreed to be part of my team, as well as an elven lass named Rinna. She was... a marvel. Tough, smooth, wicked. Eyes that gleamed like justice. Everything I thought I desired."
"And you fell in love." The Warden's voice was quiet, barely above a whisper, the soft words carrying no emotion.
"Rinna was special," Zevran said equally softly. "I had closed off my heart, I thought, but she touched something within me. It frightened me." I had feared what she had stirred within me, and because of that, I had feared her. He closed his eyes, feeling the memories swirl in his mind like a whirlwind in the Antivan desert, carrying with them sharp emotional sands that still had the power to wound. "When Taliesen revealed to me that Rinna had accepted a bribe from the merchant, told him of our plan, I readily agreed that she needed to pay the price and allowed Taliesen to kill her."
He had to swallow past the lump that had grown in his throat before he spoke again, and even then his voice sounded hoarse to his ears: "Rinna begged me not to. On her knees, with tears in her eyes, she told me that she loved me and had not betrayed us. I laughed in her face, and said that even if it were true, I didn't care."
The Warden's eyes narrowed thoughtfully again. "But that wasn't true."
"I convinced myself it was." Zevran felt his eyes begin to burn; he had to look away and blink furiously for a moment before he felt certain that he could speak again: "Taliesen cut her throat and I watched her bleed as she stared up at me. I spat on her for betraying the Crows. When Taliesen and I finally assassinated the merchant we found the true source of his information. Rinna had not betrayed us after all."
He heard his voice break near the end, and his fist clenched on the furs in front of him as long-buried guilt flooded through him, burning him. He had convinced himself that it did not matter; the pain he felt now told him otherwise, that it had only waited patiently beneath the mental walls he had built around it. Ignored, but not forgotten.
He felt a hand close around his clenched fist, warm and gentle, a quiet comfort.
"I'm so sorry." The Warden's words were soft, quiet.
Zevran opened his eyes, but the Warden was looking at him with a deep understanding, his gaze holding no hint of the pity that Zevran would have hated.
"I..." Zevran swallowed again. "I... wanted to tell the Crows what we had done, our mistake. Taliesen convinced me not to. He said it would be a foolish waste. So we reported that Rinna had died in the attempt." And what a useless lie that was. "We needn't have bothered. The Crows knew what we had done. The master who disliked me told me so to my face. He said the Crows knew... and they didn't care. And one day my turn would come." He could never forget the malicious spite in the master's voice as the words were spat at him, could never forget the vicious glee in the master's eyes at the prospect of Zevran's death.
The Warden remained quiet for a long time; he simply looked at where his hand covered Zevran's, his fingers idly tracing over the finer bones in Zevran's hand. "...I don't know what to say."
An honest answer. Zevran was grateful for that. He didn't quite know what to say about it himself.
He waited until the Warden's gaze rose up to meet his before he spoke again: "You once asked why I wanted to leave the Crows. In truth, what I wanted was to die. What better way than to throw myself at one of the fabled Grey Wardens? And then... this happened." I found you, and you found me. "And here I am."
The Warden's eyes had widened when he had said that he had wanted to die; Zevran could see a well of sadness in them, and beyond that an even deeper well of understanding. He has felt the same before, Zevran suddenly thought, and knew that it was true. But he decided not to allow himself to die after all.
Zevran wished he felt the same certainty. He had come to Ferelden with the intention of ending his own life, but now...
He wasn't sure if that was what he truly wanted.
The Warden picked up the forgotten bottle of brandy between them and set it on the ground, beside the bed, before he reached up, wrapped his arms around Zevran and pulled him close in a comforting hug.
The gesture was so sudden, so unexpected, Zevran felt himself stiffen as those arms tightened around him, a hand pressing his face towards a broad shoulder while the other hand caressed in a soothing motion up and down his back.
And strangely, the touch worked. Zevran felt it to his bones, a gentle warmth that flowed over the bleeding wounds in his soul and sealed them. Healed them. He knew (with a certainty that he rarely felt) he could now remember Rinna and that ill-fated mission without any fear of pain.
Like an old scar; one could look at it and remember what caused the scar, but could no longer feel the wound.
"That is awful, Zevran," the Warden murmured into his ear. "I'm so sorry."
The words made him stir; he lifted his head up so he could look at the Warden properly. The keen eyes still held that sadness, and a dark emotion that made Zevran wonder what exactly he was sorry for.
Zevran struggled with what to say next; he didn't know what to say, not really. Not after what he had gone through. "It... feels good to speak of it to someone. I swore I never would." He smiled slightly. "Whatever it is that I sought by leaving Antiva, I think I have found it. I owe you a great deal."
Yes, that was it. It was a strange thing to admit, but speaking with the Warden did make him feel better; he felt like he had truly forgiven himself. Perhaps, given a few more years, Zevran might have healed on his own, but he knew that it was equally likely that he would never forgive himself for it, and carry that wound for his entire life.
The Warden's presence, and more importantly, his acceptance, had made the process easier.
You seem to be making a habit of owing the Warden, a voice murmured sardonically in his head. Next thing you know, you will have a lifetime's worth of debts to pay, and what will you do?
Zevran thought about that for a moment. Decided that he didn't really care if he owed the Warden, which should have disturbed him.
Perhaps the drink had addled his wits more than he cared to admit.
The Warden was still watching him, still caressing him; although the touch was lighter, less intent than before. Even as drunk as he was, Zevran started to feel the unavoidable effects of the slow, repetitive motions of the Warden's palm over his back. Shifting up, he wiggled until their heads were level; his hand already rising up to cradle a firm jaw even as he lowered to press their lips together.
Their lips held, clung in a kiss that was as light as a feather... for all of two heartbeats.
Then the fire that had always burned between them flared to life, fuelled by spirits and battered emotions into a heat that consumed them both.
The Warden's lips parted beneath his, and Zevran responded purely by instinct, his tongue plunging in to taste the lingering sweetness of the brandy. He rolled the Warden onto his back before he settled over the heavy human frame, his body sinking against the solid wall of muscle and bone. He felt the Warden's hands slide down to circle around his waist, holding their bodies close.
Something in Zevran unlocked, unfroze, and melted away.
Their kiss degenerated into something that was wet, sloppy, both frantic and lazy, before the Warden broke it with a snort of not-quite-sober laughter.
"Maker's breath," the Warden gasped, half out of breath from the kiss. "We are both so, so drunk."
"That we are," Zevran said, grinning and raising an eyebrow. "Do you mind?"
"Not a damn bit." The Warden surged up, captured Zevran's mouth in a rough kiss that sent them both reeling. One of Zevran's legs slipped between the Warden's (entirely by accident, although he would deny it if asked), and his weight shifted, so their hips pressed against their respective still-clothed erections, making them both groan.
The Warden hissed, his hands shifting down to grab Zevran's behind and give it a hard squeeze, which made Zevran moan and press down harder.
Suddenly they were both caught in a frenetic, grinding rhythm that sent them both careening halfway to the point of no return before Zevran's mind managed to pick up that fact through the combined haze of lust and drink in his head. With a heartfelt groan he forced himself up on his elbows and knees, breaking the contact between their bodies.
The Warden growled his displeasure, his eyes narrowing, but Zevran shook his head.
"Not this way," Zevran breathed, leaning up and already pulling off his tunic.
He was wriggling out of his breeches before the Warden seemed to catch on to what he said, and then the human was stripping off his own clothing, somehow managing to get gloriously naked before Zevran. The moment Zevran kicked off the last of his clothing, however, the Warden grabbed him and tossed him back on the bed, making him yelp before he was suddenly covered by hot, heavy male and a hot, hungry mouth covered his.
The Warden ravaged his mouth, taking his breath away, and sending his senses spiralling to dizzying new heights. He was feeling more than a little light-headed when the kiss broke again. Wet lips cruised down his jaw, his throat, his chest and belly. Before he even realized what was going on the Warden reached his waist and swallowed his cock all the way to the hilt, turning his spine to water and sending whatever little blood that had remained in his head down to where the Warden's mouth licked and sucked. He let out a soft, breathless moan and sank both hands into the other man's hair.
No teasing, no finesse, no polished technique (and Zevran knew that the Warden's technique in this was remarkably polished, even though he had only picked it up in the recent months), it was simply the hard heat of a sword-callused hand on the inside of his thigh and another hand fondling around the base of his erection and the Warden's mouth hot and insistent and demanding and hungry around the engorged flesh of his cock, sucking him with such force that Zevran felt like he was being bodily lifted off the bed with every pull of that devouring mouth.
The urgency and the need and the drink still buzzing in both their systems turned this into a sleazy, messy affair where the only goal was to get off and before he knew it he was coming hard and fast, his hips circling in a tight little arc as he drove up into the Warden's waiting mouth with an intensity that left him gasping, and sent blood rushing back up into his head so quickly that white spots danced in front of his eyes.
The Warden continued to suck on him, pulling out the last shreds of Zevran's orgasm and refusing to relent until Zevran was gasping, his body tingling with the aftershocks, and the Warden eventually eased back before the suction on his too-sensitive cock started to edge over to the wrong side of painful. Zevran let go of the Warden's hair, forcing his fingers to uncurl from the locked, talon-like state they had turned into, and rubbed a hand clumsily over his own face, feeling the sweat that dampened his skin and the heat of his cheeks and well-aware of how flushed he must be.
The Warden finally let him go, chuckling darkly as he shifted back up so his face was a dark shape hovering over Zevran's. "Well, that was nice," he rumbled, teeth a brief flash in the darkness. "Didn't expect you to end things so quickly though."
Zevran tried for a glare, but his face was still slack from pleasure. He finally decided there were better ways to retort to that statement. "Come here," he whispered, his hands curving around the Warden's neck, "come to me," and then he lunged up on one elbow, towards the Warden's smiling mouth.
The Warden laughed through their kiss, his mouth opening easily and his tongue stabbing out to give Zevran a taste of the lingering salty-bitterness of his own come. The hand at the Warden's neck shifted down to grip a broad shoulder and pushed, until the Warden was the one lying on his back this time and Zevran was the one on top. The moment he had the other man where he wanted, Zevran swept down, his mouth going straight from the Warden's kiss-swollen lips to the Warden's erection.
He heard the Warden bark out a startled breath, heavy hands catching at his shoulders, then scraping through his hair and over his scalp before settling to clutch wildly at the back of his neck, making him shudder. Zevran discarded half-formed ideas of teasing tricks and shows of finesse; he was too drunk and too giddy from his recent orgasm to be able to do anything more than turn this into a messy affair of spit and suction that forced the Warden to simply take take take, the muscled thighs framing Zevran's head as hard as rock whenever his cheek brushed against them.
He dug his fingers into the Warden's behind and lifted the other man up towards his mouth; the Warden's feet and arms dug into the furs in response, keeping him in that half-lifted position that allowed Zevran to work his mouth properly over the straining flesh. It was difficult to breathe that way, but Zevran knew his way around that particular difficulty. He simply breathed in sharply through his nose whenever he pulled back, before he slammed his mouth down hard, the Warden's cock slipping into his open throat as his nose reached the curly hairs at the base—
The Warden's increasingly harsh breathing warned him, and Zevran sucked harder, pulled the other man up to reach that pinnacle of bliss. It lifted the Warden straight up when he came; he bucked up hard beneath Zevran, and for a moment only his feet and shoulders were touching the bed, his body arching into a trembling arc. His eyes and his mouth both flew open as he made a choked roar, his fingers digging so hard into Zevran's neck it was almost painful.
Zevran felt the rush of the Warden's seed burn down his throat, an entirely different sort of burn from the brandy but no less glorious, and Zevran held his lover close until he collapsed back on the bed, spent and exhausted.
He let the softening flesh slip out of his mouth, his tongue darting out to lick his lips reflexively. Still wobbly-limbed, he crawled up the bed and sprawled over the Warden's body.
For a moment they both laid there in a tangle of sweaty, tired limbs, and then the Warden shifted, pulling Zevran up with his hands and settling them both into that curving hug he seemed to like so much, his arms and legs wrapped around Zevran's and his face buried into the junction between neck and shoulder.
Without thinking, Zevran's hand reached up and slowly combed through the Warden's tousled hair, scratching the scalp lightly with his fingernails, his eyes fluttering closed.
The Warden made a contented murmuring sound, but instead of settling down he raised his head to look at Zevran.
"Do you regret it?"
The quiet words poked through the sleepily blissful fog that had settled over Zevran's thoughts, and he cracked his eyes open slightly to peer at the Warden.
The handsome face was still flushed, but the eyes were clear and bright, almost sober, and his expression was quietly solemn.
For a moment he wondered if the Warden was asking about what happened with Rinna, but it did not take very long before he realized what exactly the Warden was asking.
He felt his lips curve into a smile as he raised a hand and brushed his knuckles against the Warden's cheek. "If you're asking whether I regret ever coming to Ferelden in the first place... no, I don't regret it at all."
The Warden smiled then, a happy little smile, before his head dropped back down and buried itself beside Zevran's neck again.
Zevran sighed, his head dipping down so his cheek pressed against the top of the Warden's head, his eyes drifting closed again.
A thought floated through his mind just before sleep claimed him, informing him that while he might not regret coming to Ferelden, he might regret ever telling the Warden that, and he would definitely regret drinking this much the next morning.
Yawning hugely, he tiredly shoved that thought to the back of his head, and he let himself be carried away by sleep.
Because at that very moment, the only things he cared about were the sexual bliss that left him beyond sated... and the heavy weight of his Warden lying in his arms.
~to be continued~
Author's Note: Hey everyone *waves* So sorry for the incredibly late update! I haven't abandoned this yet, don't worry! Life is busy, and I managed to sidetrack myself with painting Dragon Age fanart (bad Sesquip, BAD!). I still have a WIP art commission to work on, and Real Life(tm) work to deal with *groan*, so I'm afraid the next update will be unfashionably late. Around Halloween, to be exact. I hate to do this, but I have to, so apologies in advance.
Shameless self-promotion: That fanart I was working on? You can find them on my deviantART account (go to my Profile for the link). One is a competition piece for #TheDragonAge, the other is a commissioned piece for fellow fanfic writer jen4306. Feel free to look and comment (and if you have a deviantART account and like my "What is your Desire" painting VOTE PLEASE!)