By the time Alistair unlocked the door to his apartment, some of the magic had worn off, but his skin was still tingling, and when he caught sight of himself in the hallway mirror, there was a bright, goofy smile on his face. He hadn't felt so excited in years. Or so scared.
Zevran and he had parted with another long, lingering kiss, right outside the door.
"See you on Monday, querido. I can't wait." There had been a mischievous twinkle in Zevran's eyes as he had disappeared out into the dark, chilly night, his provocative costume well hidden under a pair of ski pants and a warm winter coat.
Alistair had stayed a while longer, but he remembered little of what had been going on at the party. Well, there had been a potentially embarrassing incident, when a very drunk Oghren had made an attempt at pole dancing on a table in the middle of the room. But, thankfully Sten had intervened and dragged him off before things had happened that couldn't be unseen. After that, the room had grown considerably more quiet. Leliana had been half asleep, with her head in Aedan's lap, while Morrigan had been caught up in an earnest discussion with Mr Garevel, their tax advisor. Duncan had been one of the last to leave, with Isabela on his arm, whispering in his ear. Alistair had little doubt as to how their evening had ended.
Taking off his coat and hat, Alistair made for the bathroom, examining his apartment with a critical eye as he walked through the rooms. For the first time since he'd moved in here, he was actually considering what it would be like to bring someone home with him. What would they think, what would Zevran think of his home? Secretly, he feared it would seem boring and bland, functional and practical, but not particularly appealing. Just like myself. And yet... Zevran had said he was hot, hadn't he?
Alistair shook his head in disbelief as he took in his surroundings. The walls were bare, and his furniture was simple to the point of asceticism, just plain wood, hardly any knickknacks or decorations. The few mementoes he had of his parents - his mother's brooch and his father's monogrammed handkerchief – were safely stowed away in a box in his wardrobe. He hardly ever looked at them, and when he did, it was with an odd mixture of sadness and curiosity. His father's face was nothing but a vague memory, and he only knew his mother from old, faded pictures. He'd grown up at his uncle's place and had been sent off to boarding school at the age of ten. It had been a tough time for him, cold and dark and lonely.
Shaking off the old memories - why did they always have to come back to haunt him at Christmas? – Alistair began taking off his costume with a quick sideways glance into the mirror. Dear God, but those pants were tight! He hadn't quite realized how closely they were clinging to his ass and thighs, or how thin the fabric was. He'd better get used to the thought that all his colleagues were familiar with his… assets now. Well, maybe they will see you in a different light from now on, a small traitorous voice whispered in his head. Yeah, right. He snorted. As if.
He stepped under the shower and sighed with pleasure as the warm spray hit him. Reaching for the soap, he lathered himself up thoroughly, running his slippery hands all over his body. This is nice. He smiled to himself, then grew tense as a thought occurred to him: Was Zevran doing the same right now? Was he in the shower as well, cleaning up, getting ready for bed? Alistair had to bite back a moan at the pictures his imagination immediately provided: Zevran's lithe, golden brown body, covered in fine droplets of water, the long blond hair clinging to his back, the blissful expression on his face as he relaxed…
Only he wouldn't be relaxed, would he? He'd been so hard, so incredibly worked up. Alistair shivered at the memory of Zevran's erection pressed against his thigh, at the look in his eyes, the pupils blown so widely his eyes had almost looked black. He'd said he'd dream of Alistair, and the double meaning of those words almost made him blush again.
Was Zevran taking care of it right now, his hand wrapped around himself, stroking, squeezing, maybe massaging his balls? Was he gasping, his lips half opened, his eyes shut in ecstasy? God! Alistair whined softly, pressing his hot face against the cool tiles, as he tried to imagine what Zevran's cock would look like. Would it be long, slim, and golden brown, like the rest of him? And would he be rough, impatient to get it over with so he could catch some sleep? No, he decided, Zevran would take it slow, savour every stroke and keep himself on the edge as long as possible, until-
With a sigh, Alistair gave in, his own hand dropping down to his half hard shaft. He might as well do this properly. It had taken him long enough to be okay with this, to get rid of the nuns' voices in his head, whispering of sin and hellfire. And it had taken even longer until he'd stopped beating himself up for his fantasies, until he'd come to terms with the fact that they featured hard, lean male bodies just as prominently as soft, feminine curves. For the longest time, he'd been certain that he was a freak, a pervert, a mistake.
Leliana had been a big help, actually, talking him patiently through his doubts and worries. They had spent a fair number of evenings together at the pub, after choir practice. Just as friends, obviously, as she was very much in love with Aedan, completely captivated by their boss's charismatic personality. In a way, it had actually made it easier for him to open up to her, knowing she wasn't interested in him at all. Besides, she was one of the few people who understood Alistair's scruples, one of the few who didn't just discard the religious teachings of their childhood as irrelevant. And from what she'd mentioned of her past, he rather suspected that her own sexual preferences were a bit unorthodox as well. Which was quite an intriguing concept, actually...
But Alistair wasn't thinking of Leliana as he gripped himself harder, groaning at the feel of his soap-slicked hand on his cock. No, it was Zevran's mouth he was devouring in his imagination, Zevran's smooth golden skin under his hands, Zevran's amber eyes, burning with passion. Within moments, he was trembling so violently he had to steady himself with one hand against the tiles of the wall, thrusting hard into his own fist. It felt amazing, and yet he wanted more, wanted the real thing, wanted Zevran, not just the pale shadow of his own fantasies. When he came for the second time that night, shuddering all over and unable to stop himself from crying out loud, he knew he was in deep trouble.
Carefully, he rinsed himself off and reached for a towel. Time to go to bed. Tomorrow was Sunday and he had the day off, barring any computer-related emergencies at work, but he wanted to be up in time for his early morning run, before the streets started to fill with people. And he'd need at least six hours of sleep if he wanted to have a clear head for his chess game in the afternoon.
He was on his way to his bed, yawning and stretching, when his phone buzzed once, signaling an incoming message. His heart beat faster when he saw it was from Zevran. Just three words: Thinking of you, and a picture. Alistair swallowed hard when he realized what he was looking at.
Zevran's upper body, bared down to his waist, with the pattern of his tattoos emphasizing the play of muscles under the skin. And, at the bottom of the picture, Zevran's hand disappearing out of sight, the posture daring him to imagine- Alistair had to close his eyes for a moment. The picture wasn't exactly pornographic; it was quite tasteful as a matter of fact, with the lighting carefully arranged to throw artful shadows. And yet, looking at it did things to him he couldn't quite explain.
With shaking fingers he typed his answer: Me, too, then tossed the phone onto his nightstand and turned off the light, staring into the darkness, his heart beating wildly. He probably wasn't going to get enough sleep after all.
A great big thank you to suilven for her help, and thank you all for reviewing. Still not sure where exactly this story is going, but I'm having so much fun writing it. :)