A/N: Zevran needs some love in fanfiction land.

Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or the David Bowie song that I named this after and I never will.

Sweet Thing

"You are a quick study," Zevran said as he felt the cold steel of her dagger pressed against his throat.

"Oh, am I?" she whispered into his ear which made him shiver and he could not help but feel a fire erupt in him. Such a reversal to have his life in someone else's hands rather then for him to wield the power, as his profession so often demanded of him. The danger, oh yes, he rather liked the way this turned out. She did as well this he knew as her body was curving up against his own as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

"Flattery won't get you anywhere but I can't deny how utterly amazing I am."

Zevran chuckled and a pain soon stung at his throat as the dagger's edge dug into his flesh. Laughter was a bad idea, even if it happened because he was so obviously rubbing off on her. Oh well, she didn't notice what happened and he had no desire for her body to leave his or her warm breath to stop tickling his ear. This was all well and good for a time but the blood that was trickling down his throat in rivulets did pose somewhat of a problem.

"You didn't put poison on the dagger, I trust," he said, leaning his head back against her own.

"Of course not, we're practicing not having a duel to the death," the tone stung with sarcasm. "Why do you ask?"

"Ah, no reason. It'd be ironic, come to think of it, to die from my own poison with you using my skills to draw my blood. Other assassins you may encounter would no doubt think you foolish if you were to face them in battle and use these half-learned skills of mine."

"What do yo--wait, what? You're bleeding?" he felt her head shift so she could better see his neck, he gathered, and he heard a gasp. Now that was hardly worth a gasp, the wound was hardly life-threatening. The dagger was no longer against his flesh and he heard it fall to the ground among the foliage with a soft thud. The warmth of her body left him and he soon saw her in front of him, she moved in quick movements that would no doubt be the envy of any Crow, and her eyes widened in shock.

"I am so sorry, I didn't mean to do this," the composure that she normally held was gone and her eyes were so full of worry and regret, the kind of concern she did not show to just anyone. Concern? For him? He caught his breath and felt an unusual pleasure at the notion that was in no way sexual.

"Don't give it another thought. Accidents happen, my dear, it is nothing."

"No it's not nothing. Just look at you!"

"It looks worse then it actually is."

"But even so this blood is getting everywhere. Blood doesn't wash easily out of leather, you know."

That frown, he didn't like it and he wouldn't just let it stay there. "If you're worried about my armor, you're free to wash it instead of me if it will ease your guilty conscience."

A slight small and a stifled laugh rewarded his efforts. "Yeah, right. Last time I checked I didn't chop off you're hands by accident. Do it yourself."

"Ah, such cruelty from such a beautiful woman. You wound me," he said in a mock hurt tone as he gestured to his neck and was rewarded further with her smile widening.

"Yeah, I wounded you but now we've gotta go. C'mon, we have to get you to Wynne before--oh, right," she stopped herself, and rummaged in the small pack she kept by her side, revealing white bandages and a few tiny bottles of salves.

"Always prepared, I see."

"Yeah, I never know when things can go wrong which they seem to love to do. Now sit," she motioned to the ground beside her. "It'll be easier to bandage it before we get moving to camp to get Wynne to heal it."

Zevran chuckled, bringing pain to his neck, at the authoritative tone she used especially since she was explaining to him exactly what was to happen. Always the leader, it seemed. He sat down and came to his side immediately to quickly began to clean his wound. He frowned. What reason would she have to bring such things when she was to be alone with him? To be prepared just in case something awry would happen during an enjoyable, yet productive time with her love--he shot that word out of his head even though it still lingered in the back of his mind. Her lover. He was her lover. She had in no way indicated it to be any other way and perhaps it was foolish of him to hope for more. If she had brought these things with her when she was to be alone with him, then it most likely was a foolish notion.

"Worried that something would happen to you out here with your Zevran?"

"Huh?" her eyes shot up from his neck and her hands stilled. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it seems that you've brought quite a bit of these bandages and the like so--"

"Don't be silly," she dismissed, instantly knowing his thoughts as she batted his shoulder with a hand before she continued to treat the wound with salves. "You never know what we'll meet out here. Darkspawn and bandits seem to be everywhere now and I'd rather you--uh, both of us not die of something that's easily preventable."

"I see," Zevran was relieved, more so then he should be and he felt a sudden revulsion at the thought that he was caring for her more then he should. No, Zevran, stop that. This is not going to be like what happened Rinna, he chastised himself harshly and unwittingly his brain flashed to the image of her face in her final moments. He shut the image out as quickly as it came. This time it would be different, it was okay to care, this--

"You know," she said, bringing a gauze strip to his neck. "Maybe we should be practicing with blunted weapons instead of these sharp ones. I don't want this to happen again."

"In the Crows we did not use blunted weapons for training. It caused for more realistic sensations of the battle, even though it was still very competitive training. You should feel the same experience as I, no?"

"Not if something like this is going to happen again, I don't want to see you hurt because of me."

"All the more reason to control your actions in combat," he said, feeling a thrill at her words shoot through him. She cared if he was hurt! "I opt to stay with sharpened blades. What use would I be to you with such unattractive scars about my body?"

"Isn't that more of an argument for blunted weapons?" she said with a smile lighting her features.

"It is?" he thought about it for a moment. "Hmm, well I suppose you're right. Who am I to argue with myself?"

"You shouldn't. Besides, I think you raised a very good point. Can't have you losing your handsome body so soon, now can we?" her hands moved from his neck to his cheek, staring into his eyes with her own that twinkled in amusement. The moment was short lived and she drew it away to reach for the bandages. Zevran felt cheated out of the touch and the moment though he had no idea why. "Mind holding your hair up for me?"

"Of course," he said, and brought his hands to bring up his thin blonde hair and he felt her bring the bandages about his neck getting tighter and tighter, with fingers sometimes grazing his the skin.

"You said before that the Crows were very competitive. So if you didn't practice with blunted weapons did little slip ups like this happen often?"

"Oh, not as often as your imagination would lead you to believe. We couldn't have all of the Crow initiates dropping off like flies because of practicing amongst each other, after all, that would be an ill investment," she finished tying the bandages with a tight knot that he felt on his neck, and he brought his hair down slowly. "That was at first when we were but young children, mind you, as I got older it was not so uncommon to hear of another that died in training. Only the strong were to survive."

"That's a terrible way to grow up. I'm so sorry you had to go through that, Zevran," her brown eyes held emotions that he had never really seen anyone else hold. A mixture of pity and sorrow and sympathy roiled beneath those depths that were there for him and for nothing and no one else.

"You're very kind, mi amora," he said, as he brought a hand to brush a few strands of hair away from her cheek, letting the fingers linger there before drawing it away. She caught the hand with her own and her eyes were now unreadable to him. Kindness was something so alien to him yet here it was presented to him and despite the instincts drilled into him as an assassin that were screaming against these feelings, he did not care. This felt good and this felt right. He drew closer and brought his lips to hers, feeling her hand come to the back of his head and he moved his own free hand to her neck. Her lips were gentle and strong and warm as they moved against his own. This kiss was an affectionate one which held no promise that the ones in her tent did and he would have it no other way.

A/N: I never mentioned the Warden's name once, nor did I mention her origin story. I didn't think that either of those things were necessary for this particular story. Reviews are appreciated.