The pub was noisy and full of strangers, which probably was a good thing. Alistair had no wish for their conversation to be overheard; he was nervous enough about coming here with Zevran as it was. He would never have dared to ask, if he hadn't noticed Zevran's obvious reaction to his presence earlier.
The memory was more than a little exciting, actually: bending over Zevran; breathing in his scent as they looked at the screen together; bathing in the rich, sensuous timbre of his voice. And all the while, trying to keep his eyes away from the bulge in Zevran's tight jeans, because if he'd allowed his mind to wander there, he might have done something he'd regret later.
Some people would have jumped at the chance, Alistair supposed, people like Isabela, for example. She would have dragged Zevran off to the nearest broom closet and had her way with him. Well, Alistair wasn't like her. He wasn't like Zevran either, but that was beside the point.
Because here they were, sitting side by side, so close that their thighs were touching and their hands kept accidentally brushing against each other when they raised their glasses. It was heaven, or it would have been, if he hadn't been expected to talk.
He cast about for a safe topic. It wasn't easy. He knew very little about Zevran, really. He wasn't even sure where exactly he came from. Somewhere in South America, Leliana had said, but she had been vague about the details. Anyway, Alistair didn't want to seem nosy. He wasn't in the habit of talking about his own past, so why would he inquire into Zevran's?
Hobbies. That was better. He took a deep sip from his glass to wet his throat. "So, what do you do in your free time? Apart from dancing, I mean."
Zevran favoured his weak attempt at humour with a dazzling smile. "I do martial arts. Karate, mostly, and kendo."
"That's sword-fighting, right?" Alistair was glad not to be completely clueless. "Are you good at it?"
This earned him another smile, this one a little more suggestive. "I like to think so, yes. Why don't you come along and watch some time? I think you might enjoy it."
"Sure." Alistair smiled back. "I'd like that."
"I'll be at the studio on Sunday afternoon, round about three o'clock. Do we have a date?" Zevran sounded calm and relaxed, as if he asked people out on dates all the time. Which he probably did.
Alistair nodded, quickly scribbling down the address Zevran gave him. A date. He rather liked the sound of that.
The week felt very long to Alistair, but finally, it was Sunday afternoon. Fortunately, he didn't have a chess game this week. The address Zevran had given him was easy to find, a non-descript brick building, much like any gym he'd been to. Inside, it looked sparse and plain, with wooden floors and white-washed walls.
Zevran himself was already waiting for him on the sidewalk. "It used to be a ballet school," he explained. "When they turned it into a dojo, they just took off the mirrors and the bars, and left in the floorboards."
Most of the people they met were polite but distant, minding their own business. They greeted Zevran with respectful nods, but there was little talking, which suited Alistair just fine. Zevran took him to a kind of vestibule with a few wooden benches and large window on one wall. Through the window, Alistair could look into one of the training rooms, still dark and empty.
"I'll be back in a minute." Zevran disappeared through a narrow door at the back.
When he returned and joined the instructor and a few other people in the room, Alistair was surprised to see that he was wearing a kind of black armour made from hard leather that covered most of his torso as well as his arms and shoulders. There was even a helmet to go with it.
He immediately understood the need for safety precautions when the training started, though. True, the swords were made of bamboo, not steel. But this was obviously no beginners' class. After a few warm-up moves, both Zevran and the opponent he was paired with moved with incredible speed and power, their swords blurring through the air, too fast for the eye to follow.
The armour should have made it harder to tell the fighters apart, yet Alistair had no trouble identifying Zevran. There was something about the way he moved, a sinuous grace paired with obvious strength and stamina that was… Alistair's throat went dry at the sight, and he was struck by a sudden surge of sheer want that left him breathless. He had no clue what on Earth such a magnificent creature like Zevran could see in him. How could he possibly be interested in a bumbling idiot with next to no social graces who-
"Alistair? Alistair Theirin?" A deep, vaguely familiar voice from behind made him spin around.
A tall man with curly blond hair and warm, brown eyes was extending his hand to him. "It's you, isn't it? Remember me?"
"Of course. Cullen." Alistair took the hand and shook it. "Fancy seeing you here."
Cullen Rutherford had been a prefect at his boarding school. He was a few years older, but they had slept in the same dorm for a while. More importantly, Cullen had been one of the few people at Temple Gardens School that Alistair remembered with any kind of fondness. He'd been kind and patient, with no interest in bullying or tormenting younger students. They had even played chess together now and then. Cullen had invariably won, and Alistair smiled at the memory, wondering if he would have a better chance of beating him nowadays.
"I train here once a week." Cullen indicated his sports bag with a casual shrug. He looked to be in good form, too. "What about you?" He followed Alistair's gaze to the window. Zevran had just taken off his helmet and was shaking out his hair, laughing at something his opponent had said. "Here to watch your boyfriend practice?"
"Oh, he's not-" Alistair bit his lip hard when he realized that his first impulse had been to laugh off Cullen's assumption. And yet, it was sort of true, wasn't it? He wasn't quite sure Zevran would appreciate the term boyfriend, but if this was a date... "Yes. His name is Zevran."
"Ah. We've met." Cullen smiled warmly. "Hey, don't worry. I've always wondered… Well, let's just say, I'm not surprised."
You've wondered? Why? Alistair almost blurted out the question, but he stopped himself just in time. He was glad when Cullen changed the topic and asked him about his job. They parted shortly after, with a friendly hug and a promise to meet for a drink.
Zevran emerged from the changing room a little while later, freshly showered and buzzing with energy, accepting Alistair's enthusiastic compliments with a regal nod. When they left the studio, the wind was chilly and there was a hint of snow in the air.
"Do you want a ride home?" Zevran raised an inquiring eyebrow, jingling a set of car keys.
Alistair nodded eagerly. Zevran's offer was only too welcome. The thought of the long bus ride home had been daunting.
They squeezed into Zevran's mini, which was no mean feat for a man of Alistair's size. Zevran was quiet on the ride, asking once for Alistair's address, then focussing on the road. When they arrived, he got out of the car and walked over to Alistair's side to open the door for him.
"It gets stuck in cold weather," he explained with a shrug.
They were standing close together, almost touching. Alistair didn't really want to say goodbye yet. The ride in the small car had been sort of intimate, with the darkness surrounding them in their little cocoon of shared warmth. Being with Zevran felt so very right, natural and comfortable, yet more exciting than anything that had ever happened to him. But what now? Should he-
Fortunately, Zevran sped up his decision by rising on tiptoes to kiss him softly on the lips, which made it easy to draw him closer and deepen the kiss. Zevran's lips were soft, and he tasted faintly of cinnamon. But, most of all, the kiss immediately brought back memories of Zevran's lips on other parts of him, and Alistair's body responded with alarming swiftness. He moaned softly, and Zevran did the same, closing the remaining distance between them to let him feel exactly how much the kiss had affected him, too.
For a heartbeat, Alistair considered throwing all caution to the wind and asking him up for a coffee. Zevran felt so wonderful, and he smelled so good, and he had looked so hot while fighting. Besides, wouldn't Zevran expect it, after what had happened at the party? People didn't just go back to kissing and cuddling after that, right? But, on the other hand, the apartment was a mess, the bed unmade, and wasn't there a pile of dirty laundry in the bathroom? The fridge was probably empty, too. And he himself… He had showered in the morning, but if Zevran-
Before Alistair could quite manage to sort it all out, the moment passed and Zevran stepped back, solicitously readjusting his scarf. "You do try my patience, querido," he muttered under his breath. But, when Alistair opened his mouth to reply, he shook his head and flashed him another mischievous smile. "It's fine. Good night, and sweet dreams."
"Wait." Alistair cleared his throat. "Would you like to come over next Saturday? We could watch a movie or-"
"Oh, I'm sure we'll find something to do." Zevran's smile widened. "Yes. I would like that. Very much."
Many, many thanks to suilven for her help in sorting this out!