Arrangements

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

Author's Notes:

This has been a long time coming.

Arrangements

==#==

Arl Eamon met them in the foyer. "Warden! It is good to see you safe, and unharmed, I hope?"

"I'll just need some rest and maybe a nice rack of lamb at dinner, and I'll be good as new," Bannon said.

The Arl nodded, then turned to the other Warden. "Alistair, I need to see you in my office."

"Do you?" the Templar whined. "But every time I went to your office it was to be scolded for something." Gloomily, he trudged after the Arl.

Zevran turned to Bannon. "And I need to see you in my office," he growled.

But then Wynne jumped in. "Actually, it sounds like he needs a healing."

"Aww, Wynne!" Bannon whined. "Buuuuut...!"

"No 'buts,' ser! Now let's go!"

==#==

"Now rest here until dinner," Wynne ordered. She had Bannon on a cot in the ladies' dormitory.

"But I thought you were going to heal my leg. I should be... healed! What rest?"

"And no hanky-panky," the mage scolded, just as Alistair walked in.

"What hanky-panky?" he said in concern. "Didn't I tell you two, no hanky-panky in my bed?"

Bannon threw his hands up in the air. "Couldn't Eamon have kept you an hour or three longer?"

"No!'

Then Zevran came in. "What is taking you so-? Alistair? You're done with Eamon already?"

The knight whirled on him. "Yes. And no! No hanky-panky in my bed," he emphasized.

"Where do you suggest we 'hanky-panky' then?"

"Nowhere!"

Wynne said, "He needs to rest."

To which Zevran replied, "It will be very restful! My Antivan massage techniques are very relaxing!"

"And don't start going on about your relaxing massa- too late." The mage sighed.

"It doesn't have to be in Alistair's bed," Zevran allowed. "We could use Leliana's bed. which one is hers?"

Wynne face-palmed.

"No, Morrigan's bed!"

"Just one?" Bannon asked, sitting on the edge of the cot and putting on his boots.

"Aha! Good point! We shall use them all!"

"No!" shouted Alistair and Wynne.

The mage continued, "I have knitting to catch up with. I will be sitting right here, the whole time." She crossed to a rocking chair and dug yarn and needles out of a basket beside it.

"Oh ho, a voyeur," Zevran said with a saucy waggle of his eyebrows.

"Not happening," Wynne said.

"I will be sure to put on a daring display of my prowess and flexibility!"

"No you won't!" She pointed a needle at him. "I will run this knitting needle through you; I'm not joking!"

Alistair frowned. "Isn't that my line?" He shook himself. "Listen, can we be serious now? I have a serious problem."

"What's the matter?" Bannon asked him.

"Eamon is talking about me marrying Anora!"

Wynne's brows went up, but she remained silent. Bannon said, "Well, that'd be good, right? She's an experienced queen. You said you didn't want anything to do with running a country. Just get her to do all the work."

"B-B-But! It would just be weird." Alistair paced as he complained. "She's my brother's wife. What about heirs?"

Zevran said, "Do you need instruction on that part?"

"No!" Alistair looked at Bannon. "I don't even know anything about her!"

"All right, all right." The Denerim elf stood and started calculating. "We'll just arrange a dinner for the two of you. You can sit down, chat, eat, get to know each other."

"Alone? By ourselves? Without a chaperone?" Alistair clung to Bannon's arm. "Will you come with me?"

"No." The elf tried to slide out of his grip, pushing at his hands. "Look, Eamon can chaperone. And Wynne. She's... matronly."

She looked up from her yarn. "Am I?"

"You are. You'll go, won't you?"

"Pleeeeease," Alistair added, quite desperately.

"Yes, I can go."

"All right," the knight said, finally letting go of Bannon. "That's reasonable. What will we have? What do we have? How long does it take to cook?" He started panicking again.

"You don't have to cook, remember?" the elf reminded him.

"Right! I'll go talk to the chef!" Girding his loins, Alistair strode out of the room.

"And I... will have a word with the laundress," said Bannon, following close behind.

"Laundress?" Zevran wondered. "What fo-? Bannon?"

==#==

"Bannon!"

"I'm a little busy, Morrigan."

"So it seems." She insisted on matching his quick pace towards the servants' wing. "Rumor has it that you've been kissing Zevran by the well."

"Really?" he said in shock. He was utterly surprised that'd she'd heard about it. "So?"

"Kissing? Seriously? Here I thought you were paying him off for the assassination of my mother."

"What?" He almost tripped on his own feet. Morrigan thought he was whoring himself out to Zevran? "No!"

"Then what are you playing at?" she growled.

"I... just... look, it's not what you think." What was he going to tell the witch now?

"Clearly," she said icily. Then she turned and stalked off.

Great, what did that mean? He'd have to think of something, but later. Right now, he really was very, very busy.

==#==

Now, everything was set. Alistair and Anora, chaperoned by Eamon and Wynne, would have a pleasant dinner with conversation and wine. Everyone else would be at dinner in the hall, but Bannon dragged Zevran into the back hall.

"What about dinner?" the Antivan asked.

"Never mind dinner. Grab that basket."

Zevran moved to the basket full of linens. "Laundry? It is laundry hour?" He followed Bannon down the hall and into the east wing. They entered a luxuriously-appointed room. "This is not the laundry room."

"No, it's Anora's room." The thief locked the door.

Zevran set the basket on the floor. "And we're here because...?"

"Because, A: Anora is stuck at dinner with Alistair for an hour or two, and B: silk sheets!" He bent and rummaged in the basket.

The assassin nodded appreciatively. "Amore... It would be perfect if you had also remembered-"

"These?" Bannon pulled the silk ropes out of the basket.

Zevran's face lit up. "You miss nothing, Amore! You know the way straight to my heart."

"Mm hm." Bannon moved to him, tipping his head to capture the assassin's mouth. He tugged at Zevran's belt while the blond pulled at his shirt.

"Now we just need a broomstick," Zevran purred.

Bannon's eyes snapped open and he jerked back.

"Haha! I see that look, you naughty elf." Zevran grinned, shaking a scolding finger at him. "No, no. The broomstick goes behind the knees, over the elbows. Once all trussed up and opened, then your lover can have his way with you." He nibbled Bannon's neck while the Denerim elf thought that over. "But we shall have to make do with you tying me to the bedposts, hm?"

Bannon eased back. Zevran wanted to be tied up? And 'taken advantage of'? It didn't sit well with the Ferelden elf. It was too much like what he knew of the Crow Masters.

"What's wrong?" Zevran asked, tracing his jaw with one finger.

Bannon looked up at him. "Show me how?"

A heated smile warmed the Antivan's lips. "Of course, lover."

==#==

The silk sheets were cool and sinfully smooth against Bannon's bare skin. Slippery. The ropes were, too, but he didn't think he could actually slip his hands out of them. Not that he wanted to, but there was a frission of fear below the excitement of sex. Zevran noticed him trembling.

"All right, lover?"

"Yes," Bannon agreed eagerly.

"It is a good thing you are so flexible."

There was no broomstick in the noble's chambers, but there was a cast iron rod for stoking the fire. It had been shockingly cold against Bannon's skin, but not for long. He was radiating body heat.

Lying on his back, knees and elbows tucked up over his torso, he wasn't sure exactly how this was going to work, but it definitely left him open and vulnerable as the Antivan had promised.

Zevran moved to check on the heating rack for the massage oils, which the thief had also remembered to bring. He tested the oil's heat and, satisfied, he laid out a measure on his palm. "Now hold still," he teased, as if Bannon could escape.

His hands clenched, but he didn't pull against the silken bonds as Zevran slicked his open cleft. He teased the entrance, then slipped a finger inside, eliciting a gasp from his partner.

"Zevran...," Bannon said, already breathless as the assassin made sure he was thoroughly prepared. "Zevran," with a little more desperation. "We have to be quiet."

"Oh?" Zevran cocked a brow. "Try a healthy dose of self control" He chuckled and took his time finishing his ministrations. To his credit, Bannon did try to strangle his moans. "No, no, lover. I have just the thing."

He pulled a pillowcase from the laundry and created an impromptu gag, reinforced with one of the drapery ropes for Bannon to bite down on.

The Denerim elf was hard, standing tall in eager anticipation. He trembled slightly, from need or the unusual strain, it didn't matter. He was beautiful. Zevran's own cock was ready, or almost. More heavenly hot oil wouldn't hurt. He stroked it on, making sure bannon's dark eyes could see, could watch.

"Now, this may be difficult, but you need to open your knees." Zevran moved atop him, pressed an elbow to the inside of his leg to help. "Yes... good..." He pressed between Bannon's legs, watched his eyes dilate wide as he slowly penetrated him.

Bannon moaned into the gag, and instinctively tried to position his body to receive his lover's thrusts. He'd never dreamed he could face his lover during sex. His vision was hazy, but he watched Zevran's face relax and lose its mask of cunning and snark. The sex infused him with pleasure and freedom, and a fierceness as they approached climax.

Zevran's hand gripped his shaft, hot with oil. The assassin bent close, kissed his throat, murmured in his ear how good he was doing, how good he felt. Heat of pride swelled in Bannon's heart. He couldn't say it with his mouth, but yes, yes said his eyes, and more, oh more said his body.

They thoroughly soiled Anora's silk sheets.

Bannon had planned for this, too, though Zevran grumbled vociferously about having to remake the huge bed after such vigorous sexual antics.

"I told you, she's only gone a few hours, and if you don't help, I'm going to tie you up and leave you here in this mess to explain it all."

"I shall tell very lurid stories about you. And Sten."

"If you want your reward, you have to do the work."

"There's more reward?" The assassin's ears perked up eagerly.

"You're still hungry, aren't you?"

"Si!"

Oils packed (Zevran thought to leave them for Anora's use, but no, the annoying bitch didn't deserve it), laundry basket piled, cords wrapped up and accounted for... Bannon smoothed the coverlet. "The perfect crime," he declared with a grin.

Between them, they carted the basket out of the room. They even crossed paths with Anora and Alistaiir, but no one paid any mind to two plainly-dressed elven servants.

They brought the basket downstairs and into the large store room with three huge wooden tubs. Bannon secured the door by wedging two daggers into it. "Dump the laundry in."

"Now we are to do laundry?" Zevran wondered. "My estimation of your entertainment skills is dipping dangerously low again."

"Haven't you learned not to underestimate me?" the thief chided. He helped empty the basket - after rescuing the oils - into the steaming tub. "Is it boiling?"

"No, why?"

"Get in." Bannon started shucking his clothes.

"In the tub? On top of the laundry?"

"It's still silk, ain't it?"

"And what about the eating you promised me?"

"Aw, don't you want to eat me?" Bannon teased.

"Hmm... maybe after some real food."

Bannon moved about until he found another basket - no, two! - picnic baskets, and yes, they were full of meat and cheese and bread, and one rack of lamb. He propped them up on a folding tray table near to hand as the two elves soaked in the very hot water.

"I could get used to this," Zevran said, crunching on an apple after eating his fill. He leaned back on the edge of the tub.

Bannon leaned back beside him, dangling a bunch of grapes over his mouth to avoid them getting wet while he nibbled. He turned to Zevran. You are such an Antivan prince," he said in a throaty Antivan accent. He reached over and dangled his grapes above Zevran's lips.

"You are such a sexy serving wench." Zevran tried to bite a grape, but Bannon teased him by pulling them out of reach. "You know, a thief once told me how to deal with just such a situation as this."

"Oh?"

"Si, he said to punch the guy in the balls. Then he would drop everything he was holding."

Bannon chuckled. "He sounds like a master thief." He relinquished the grapes and moved to straddle Zevran's lap. His hands smoothed the planes of the other elf's chest.

"Quite masterful," Zevran admitted. "What are you doing?"

"An Antivan massage. This will relax you," Bannon said, still laying on the sexy accent.

"I am already so thoroughly relaxed."

"You see how good I am!" Bannon grinned.

Zevran glanced down. "Are you always so stimulated by hot water?"

"I am when there is also a hot elf involved." Bannon cocked his head. "You're really that tired?"

"Hey, I did all the work, Ser Truss Me Up And Have Your Way With Me."

"Well, Grey Wardens do have a lot of stamina."

"All the more reason-" Zevran began to ask about the Joining again.

"No."

The assassin sighed. He put the fruit aside. "Well, I can still relax you." He pushed Bannon back against the wall of the tub. "I am also very good at holding my breath."

==#==

Both thoroughly relaxed (and getting a bit pruned), the elves went to their room, where they were met by an agitated Alistair.

"You look very handsome in your fancy tunic," Zevran commented.

Alistair didn't even blink at the Antivan's interest. "Where've you guys been? Why are you all wet?"

"Wouldn't you like to-"

"We had a bath," Bannon interrupted. "How did your dinner date go?"

"Date?" the knight yelped. "That wasn't a date, it was a sentencing! Anora, she's... she's... gah! She's just like her father. She-" He slapped his hands over his head in distress. "She's Loghain in drag! You've got to get me out of this!"

"Whoa, whoa, all right." Bannon tried to calm him. "We'll work on something."

==X==