Andraste's flaming knickerweasels Florien felt his heart was going to burst from his chest. He was positive Alistair could hear it from the frown he was sending him. Well it was that or the fact that Florien had just let an Antivan Crow join their party. Leiliana looked pleased, Alistair looked angry, and Sten looked…like Sten always did. Did Alistair even know much about Antivan Crows? Florien worried his bottom lip and hoped that Alistair only knew Zevran was an assassin one that had tried to kill them not an assassin who had undergone intensive and brutal training to become the best of the very best.
Florien's breath hitched in his throat, that purr added to Zevran's voice the way his fingers lingered on Florien's skin when Florien helped him rise. He was going to explode, literally explode because Florien wasn't used to being looked at like that. He seriously doubted anyone could be used to being looked at like that. Feeling his cheeks flame he tried to cover them. Curse his pale skin, he could tell Zevran knew exactly what his was doing with those dark dark eyes. Not to say that the coloration was dark, no those were a warm honey brown, but what lurked inside them was.
"Let's go back to camp." Florien said softly, feeling intensely aware of Zevran at his back watching him, analyzing his every movement. Ducking his head, he kept eye contact with the damn road. The road wasn't giving him the evil eye, nor was it undressing him, or smirking at him. The road and Florien were at a perfect understanding. He wasn't about to talk about the true reason why he had let Zevran live.
Some part of Florien wanted to cry, because he had always known that the other elf he had seen in his dreams had been real. He had always been able to discern reality from the Fade, a vision from a simple dream. Zevran was real, and it was one thing to have witnessed the tragedies and atrocities of his life when Zevran was far away. Zevran was here, Zevran had come seeking death and Florien denied it to him. It would have been wiser to let Zevran die, but Florien couldn't. Not when he could remember the assassin's anguished cries in his head the muffled sobs of 'Rinna'. Biting his tongue he felt his thoughts race, did Zevran know? No he didn't, Zevran was no mage, and he had no real awareness of the Fade or spirits. Just as he was sure Alistair didn't know he had witnessed the shattering of his mother's pendant right before he was sent to the Chantry, or the long silent hours left alone to contemplate the Maker.
It was long past bedtime when Florien eased himself from Alistair's side, a touch of magic to the elder Warden's forehead ensured he would continue to rest. He slipped his robe on and left the tent, his hair falling down his back in gentle rolling waves, with a few strands mussed from his attempt at sleep. He made it no farther than the outer ring of the firelight before a hand clamped over his mouth and another was banded across his waist. Hot breath ghosted over his ear and made Florien shiver in anticipation.
"Warden it would be foolish, even for one so powerful, to go off into the woods alone. Something so beautiful would attract predators and it would not help my position here if you were…eaten unwillingly." A dark chuckle vibrated the chest behind him and Florien felt his tension ease, mending the Veil as quickly as he had torn it. The warm hand left his mouth, though Zevran did not step back. "Unless, of course, you wish to be ravaged by a predator. Then I shall be more than happy to oblige."
"I did not come out here to be eaten." Florien protested, though to his ears it sounded almost weak, almost breathy. His skin was flushed and despite the chill to the air he was warm. "Truly? You could have had me fooled." Fingers rough and sensual trailed down Florien's jaw to his neck. The smaller elf couldn't help but swallow reflexively, was it fear or anticipation pooling in his gut? "Let me give you a sample of how a gourmet tastes and samples such a fine meal. It is the least I can do for such a beautiful creature so filled with the Maker's mercy."
The warmth pooling in Florien's gut cooled and hardened, something bitter came into his mouth and he tensed. Florien's fingers touched Zevran's and before the assassin could realize his mistake lightening danced across his skin, shocking him and forcing him away. Getting out of the grip Zevran had had on him, Florien turned and faced the assassin.
"I do not need to be repaid in such a manner, Zevran." Florien's voice shook and he couldn't help the anger that clouded his face. "You are worth far more than an offer to warm my bed. I do not want you selling yourself short, falling into a role that you feel comfortable with because you were trained to be there. You. Are. An. Assassin." Florien poked Zevran's chest with each word to drive the meaning in. "You may flirt if you wish, you may throw as many innuendos out there as you please, you may even tell Wynne she has a magical bosom for all I care, but you are not a whore and the skills I want from you, the ones I need from you are the fact you can kill and kill quickly. Warm someone's bed only if you truly desire it, not out of obligation or the thought that it is what is expected of you. If I think you're playing 'hide the knickerweasel' for any reason other than lust or love I will set your short hairs on fire and strap you into a chastity belt. Do you understand me?"
"I understand Warden." Zevran's light voice held something unidentifiable in it. "Though what if I meant what I offered, hmmm? What would you tell me then?" Zevran took a step closer to Florien, smiling as the younger elf held his ground golden eyes narrowed his earlier anger not yet spent. Zevran had to marvel at the coloration of his new master, that hair the color of freshly spilled blood, those golden eyes the hue of a lovely sunset over the marvelous Antiva City(gold coin was far too cold for the warmth and fire that danced in those expressive eyes), skin pale like cream, and lips those very sinful lips the same color as that marvelous hair. His Grey Warden was beautiful, if he was a woman he would have been a beautiful but very deadly sex goddess, filled with fire and blood and magic. Now the man before him held all those things, with dignity and innocence that Zevran found intoxicating, but what did one call a man who dressed as a woman? Were they still a goddess or were they a god? Did the warden even need a gender, for beauty was beauty.
"I would tell you maybe." Zevran's nostrils flared, he was worth a 'maybe'? He was not used to getting such a noncommittal response, even hypothetically speaking. Certainly the Warden would tell him one way or another through body language, but the younger elf himself was uncertain as to his own willingness to sleep with him. "Then I will have to work harder, for you my beautiful Warden deserve only the finest pleasures." A smile crossed Florien's lips and those bright eyes glittered with amusement. "And I am to suppose that you are the one to show me such fine pleasures?"
"Of course, who else? Alistair? He wants you surely enough my Warden but he is no master." Florien looked at Zevran another moment before smiling, though this time it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Now why would he want me? I am a mage, a man, an elf, and an Orlesian. These qualities are things that are fine as friends but detestable traits in a lover." His tone was light as he ticked off with his fingers in the air his 'faults' and Zevran wanted to punch Alistair. He despised that look on anyone's face, but his Warden it certainly did not suit at all. He didn't betray his ire at the older Warden simply assessed how emotionally involved the young mage was with the other man.
It would take time, and careful maneuvering, especially with those ridiculous (but somehow thoughtful) restrictions on him. Still Zevran would manage it, and he would get to find out if those delicious rumors of Grey Warden stamina were truthful at all. "They are not so detestable when they are describing you Warden. You are intoxicating, exotic, dangerous, and passionate. Those things might turn a Fereldan off, with their land that smells of mud and dogs and their love of the bland, but an Antivan? Ah you would have your choice of suitors! Perhaps even the King of Antiva himself would vie to have you grace his 'presence'." Zevran watched as the bitterness left Florien's eyes, watching as they warmed again and a sweet chuckle escaped the young man. "Now you're overstating it."
"Am I? Surely you do not think so. Men should worship you, fall down to their knees and beg you for your time." A giggle interrupted him and Zevran felt his own lips curl up into a smile, this was much easier than he thought, distracting his pretty little Warden. "You should try that line on Morrigan, I bet you'd be able to charm her." Florien's voice was slightly muffled as he bit his bottom lip slightly to try and keep from laughing. "You are much prettier when you smile, I shall endeavor to make it happen more often." Zevran's hand reached up and patted Florien on the head, his fingers sliding through the hair and relishing the feel of something so soft and silken. He was going to have to ask how Florien kept so clean despite the dirtiness of travelling and fighting. Perhaps it was a mage thing, since all three mages in the party seemed to be particularly clean and refreshed compared to the other party members.
"Thank you Zev. I should go back to bed before Alistair wakes up." A dramatic sigh escaped Zevran. "You finally use my nickname just as you are going back to another man, how you wound me Warden." A hand went over his heart and Florien rolled his eyes slightly. "You'll live. Oh, and Zev, be ready to travel tomorrow. I'm taking you with me into Orzammar, you will have the best grasp on what exactly is going on. I have heard Antivan politics are similar to dwarven so I'll be relying on you." He stepped away then turning back to his shared tent with Alistair he slipped back inside, undressing and crawling back into the bedroll. Resting his head on Alistair's chest Florien closed his eyes and breathed in deeply. "I love you Alistair." He whispered into the dark waiting for tomorrow to come.
The morning had been uneventful, well uneventful for them. Florien watched amusedly as Morrigan and Wynne threatened both Alistair and Zevran (respectively) with shape changing and brain liquidation. He finished his breakfast of… well Florien wasn't exactly sure what it was he was eating, it was edible though and his stomach hadn't rebelled yet against it so it was fine. Well as fine an unidentifiable mush was, and Florien wasn't going to contemplate what the floaty bits were in it. Some things were never meant to be known, and the exact nature of his breakfast was one of those things.
It had been two weeks since the Tower Incident, and when Florien had mentioned that they should be going to Redcliffe next Alistair put his foot down. It would be easy so it should be last, let them have the toughest fights now so they could have a nice time relaxing at Redcliffe. Alistair's adamant refusal to go anywhere near Redcliffe currently drove their course to the Frostback Mountains, to the legendary city of Orzammar. Florien would find out sooner or later what had gotten Alistair so spooked about Redcliffe but he wasn't going to bring it up.
Especially not after Florien started having his own secrets to keep. The journals in his pack, taken from the Tower that he read each evening piecing together pieces of information slowly. He had to do it slowly, carefully, without Wynne or Alistair noticing. Maker above he was beyond foolish. He was looking through notes, forbidden damnable notes for answers. Answers as to why, answers as to how, answers for questions he couldn't pose to Jowan.
Zevran had interrupted him last night, though it hadn't stalled anything other than Florien's ability to…practice. His hands clenched inside his gloves, wondering how long it was going to be before Alistair noticed, Alistair was going to notice even a former Templar was a Templar in some respects, and when he did was Florien going to end up alone.
"Ahhh Warden you look positively frozen." Blinking Florien turned to Zevran who was smiling down at him. His lips parted ever so slightly and a shock of something flashed through him at the glint in Zevran's eyes, the dark thoughts being chased away by the sight of the Antivan. Feeling his cheeks flush he looked away feeling that if he stared at Zevran too long he was going to make a fool of himself. "Only just a little, I have not been outside much in the past twelve years. The Circle Tower was cool but never cold or hot, I am afraid I am simply not yet used to the discomforts of travelling. Or snow. I am not yet used to snow." The light layer of snow that always stayed on the mountains surrounded them, making Zevran want to shiver himself. Alas he had to put on a good show for his Warden. Smirking he sat down next to Florien and wrapped an arm around the thin shoulders of his compatriot, allowing his cloak to envelop them both. Zevran tilted his head so he could get a better look at his Warden.
He was suddenly struck, sitting next to him, by how small Florien was. Not that they had much of a height difference, perhaps half a head, but it was the slight build. Florien was soft and had just enough hint to curves, no hard sharp angles, to make him so easily pass off as a woman to the untrained eye. He wasn't even one of the specialized whores who had to work hard at his beauty, even without it there was something tantalizing about Florien. Exotic and sweet, Zevran wanted to get fruit, dark colored fruit with sweet juices and feed them to Florien, making the younger elf clean off his fingers with his tongue and force him to accept Zevran's tongue as he licked off all the juices from his face. Yes, that was what he would do when they got to Denerim. He would take Florien to the Pearl, rent a room and teach this little beauty seduction and pleasure.
"Then I shall keep you warm."
A soft giggle came from Florien as he smiled up at Zevran. "Thank you Zev, but it isn't practical. What if we run into another group of assassins? The delay of me getting away from you or you from me could wind up with both of us injured."
"Life is not always about practicality, but I will allow you to slip from my grasp this once." Sighing Zevran remained for a moment or two longer, making sure Florien was pleasantly warmed before moving away. He wanted Florien to realize to the fullest extent how close Zevran had been, to miss him warmth and presence even if only for a moment. It also didn't hurt when Florien looked at him with that hint of longing in his eyes when he left that Alistair happened to have such a wonderfully dark look on his face.
Zevran wanted Alistair to realize he couldn't keep Florien. Florien was no saint, no shining paragon of saintly goodness shining with the Maker's holy light. Florien might be exceptional, might be better than the rest of them, but Florien was still a man. Still flawed, could still be broken. It was that hint of darkness in his eyes, the way he wielded his magic so efficiently for death and didn't even seem remorseful for killing, the scars crisscrossing his back. All those imperfections, the broken little pieces that made Florien something so intriguing, drew Zevran to him and would eventually push Alistair away. They spoke of a hard life, something terrible had happened to his little Warden, and Zevran wanted to find it out, ferret out the secrets he could sense and learn everything he could of Florien. Learning Florien, understanding him would give him insight as to why Florien decided to spare him, the leader of the group of crows sent to kill him.
It would also help him understand his own reaction to him.
Shaking his head he gathered up his pack, ignoring the looks of mistrust his other companions sent him as he went with his Warden and the other two 'lucky' ones going into Orzammar. Funny, he didn't think dwarves let non-dwarves into Orzammar.
"They'll let us in Zev." Florien glanced over his shoulder to the elder elf a faint smile playing on his lips. Aha how marvelous, if they weren't allowed entrance then they were going to make an entrance. Life was never going to be dull with his Warden leading them. "If they know what is best for them, then they will let us in. Though I cannot help but want to see you break down the very gates to the city just so you can gain an audience with the king."
"It would be very entertaining ma bell." Leliana remarked smiling as she eyed her precious charge and leader. "Perhaps I should do your hair in something other than that bun, it is very practical but not very fashionable cher." "Aha! Here another who agrees life is not about practicality, come Leiliana we must soften our Warden for the Dwarves. Show off his beauty for all, make them envious that they have nothing comparable in the dark caves, perhaps our Warden shall cause a mass conversion for them. For gazing upon his beauty would make anyone a believer in the Maker."
Florien turned around with an embarrassed laugh glaring playfully at his two mischievous companions. "Mon Cherie get that look out of your eyes or else I shall hex it out I've promised you can play with my hair all you wish in camp and you." Florien pointed at Zevran. "I need to be respectable, practical, and above all else someone to listen to. Let me do that and I promise not to let Wynne magically castrate you next time you mention her bosom." "Ah you drive a hard bargin, the sight of your lovely face turning red or the ability to pleasure you when you finally give in to me. Such a tough choice…but I do like little Zev so I will acquiesce for the moment." Reaching out Florien smiled and patted Zevran on the top of the head. "Good boy, oh yes you are for following orders. You're going to get a treat oh yes you are." Ruffling the rogue's hair a little Florien was startled from his teasing of Zevran by a faintly animalistic growl. Snatching his hand away as if it were burned Florien turned around.
Alistair was pissed off. Not even a day, not a full day since they'd gotten Zevran and Florien was cozying up to him like maybe he was interested in the other elf. Why would Florien want him? He was smarmy, rude, a lecher, an assassin, and not to mention Antivan. Sure he was handsome, but he wasn't what Florien would want. No, not at all. Florien needed a man, one who wouldn't sneak about in shadows assassinating people left and right. He needed one who'd stand beside him and fight side by side, be his shield. He needed someone who could wrap around that small form and protect it, someone who understood the goodness and light of Florien. Not the fact that Florien was beautiful and looked so damnably delectable in those robes. Everyone had noticed it, or at least everyone that had a pulse noticed it, Alistair wasn't too sure that Sten even had a beating heart.
"Alistair?" Damnit now he'd made Florien go from being all happy and giggly and teasing to worried. He felt like a damn cur because Florien didn't smile enough as it was and he felt like a gunlock for stealing it away. "I'm fine, just got something in my shoe and I can't get it out." Florien smiled and relaxed. "Well go on and sit down we can wait for you to get it out, I don't want you to get hurt." Zevran and Leiliana smirked at him knowingly behind Florien's back as he sat down and removed his boot shaking it out and letting the imaginary rock fall out into the ground. Quietly groaning he realized it was going to be a long day.
"THIS IS RIDICULOUS!" Florien shouted in his room, his arms waving around. "It is politics Warden." Zevran laid on Florien's bed, watching in amusement as his leader paced around the room Bhelen had given to him. Tomorrow they were going into the Deep Roads and Florien had sent Alistair out and away, going back to camp with the others while Zevran and Leiliana stayed with Florien in Orzammar. Oghren was going to be their fourth member to journey into the Deep Roads to search for Branka, his wife and Paragon. He had almost sent Leiliana back before quietly deciding Alistair was more important, more integral to the battle, if for some reason he and the others got lost or died Alistair would be able to lead and pick up where Florien had left off.
"Raaaagghhhh!" Florien let out a final shout and flopped face down on his bed. Zevran chuckled and let his hand soothingly wander over Florien's tense back, stroking and kneading tight muscles into relaxation. He was a like a kitten, his Warden, never turning away a kind hand. In fact the little Warden seemed to crave such attention, which is perhaps why Zevran wasn't yet electrocuted for his presumptions.
"Mmmmm that feels good." Tilting his head to the side he kept his eyes closed as he felt Zevran shift his weight to straddle Florien's back. Devoid of armor it was rather nice having Zevran on top of him. "I shall continue then, on one condition." Zevran smirked as he slowly slid his hands up and down Florien's back, teasing him ever so slightly with the promise of a massage.
"What do you want?"
"To share your bed in the same manner as you share with Alistair. No surprises, no hidden motives, I simply know that if one has spent most of their life in close proximity to others while sleeping it is unsettling to sleep alone. I want you to be well rested for our excursion. You are watching my back, no? I want you to be able to set fire to whatever tries to jump on it rather than me."
Florien twisted as much as he could, finding Zevran allowing him to move so he was on his back now, rather than his stomach. He stared up at the Antivan, looking at him, looking through him to try and dissect his intentions, his soul. It was an unsettling feeling that perhaps Florien knew Zevran better than he let on. That he may bluff and fool and play games but Florien always could see his true intentions, his motives. It was odd how this young man seemed to know his sins and yet welcomed him into his party. Allowed him to be so close.
It made him angry. Shifting back Zevran pulled Florien up to a sitting position, his hand gripping the back of Florien's neck fingers tangled in his hair and a knife was drawn, pressed against the pale skin of Florien's throat. "I could kill you right now." How odd that he was so angry inside yet his voice was so light, almost teasing except for that hard steely edge making his words dangerous. "No one can hear you within this room if you screamed for help. I could slit your throat and run. You know this, you know how easily I can kill you."
"If that is what you want, then do it." Florien's voice was soft and soothing and Zevran's anger was incised. He should not be calm! He should be trembling and afraid. He shouldn't be practically giving Zevran permission to slit his throat. "I trust you Zevran, I trust your word."
Muttering a curse Zevran threw his knife away. "You are foolish and naïve." He said warningly letting Florien go, not able to be so close to him, to have him so easily within Zevran's reach. "Perhaps." Florien lay back on the bed closing his eyes. "Before you interrupted I was going to tell you yes, I would share my bed with you but it seems you'd rather be away from me than near me right now."
Zevran snorted. "I am just worried that you could be so easily killed by any you call friend. Such trust is not healthy in Antiva. It is something even a child should know. It would be unfortunate if the one who spared my life so benevolently is killed by the same benevolence."
"I won't be because I have you to watch my back." Florien opened one eye and stared at him. "So am I going to get my back rub or are you retracting your offer?"
"You will have to take off the top part of your robes, perhaps wear something you do not mind sleeping in." Reluctantly Zevran got off Florien, allowing him up to get undressed while Zevran went to his pack to get out a small vial of scented oil. Tonight would have no seduction, at least not the obvious kind. He was going to build upon trust, on friendship. Florien would know his hands first as a comrade then later as a lover, but for now it was to be a show of how comfortable Florien was with him.
As it turned out, after two weeks in the Deep Roads, Zevran knew how comfortable Florien was with him.
"Oh Maker. Oh Maker preserve me." Florien's soft utterances in between his dry heaves and the faint rocking of the small body made Zevran want to kill Branka for ever allowing such a thing to come into being, such a thing to be placed in their path to where Florien had to see it. Zevran sat on the thankfully dry ground of the tunnel next to the Broodmother's former lair. He reached out and pulled Florien into his lap, holding him tightly. He could feel each spasmodic shudder, the accelerated breathing, the absolute horror still running through his Warden's body and mind. They were covered in blood, vomit, and other unmentionable things but it didn't keep Zevran from holding his exhausted and frightened mage close.
"It wasn't an accident. Zevran it wasn't an accident." Florien's voice was somewhere between anguished, horrified, and furious. Zevran contented himself with undoing Florien's bun, combing his fingers through the mucked up strands, picking out darkspawn flesh and then carefully twisting it back up. He knew Florien didn't want him to speak, not yet, but he needed someone close someone willing to be there. Leiliana stood off to the side, watching the scene with a small amount of interest in her eyes though also alert for any other possible attack. Oghren stood near her, drinking heavily from the flask he carried with him constantly. It must be terrible for him to see what his wife was capable of in the name of the Anvil.
Finally the trembling stopped and Florien stared up at Zevran. "There you are coming back to me Florien." Zevran's voice was soft and it made Florien focus more on him. Had Zevran ever used his name before? Yes, one time before when Florien had been picked up by an Ogre he had heard the Antivan scream his name as he was being crushed. "Good, come now, it is probably not going to be the worst we will see in these damnable Roads, but it will be the only one to catch us by surprise." Florien nodded allowing Zevran to bring them both onto their feet. "Thank you." Florien whispered to him, standing up on his toes and placing a soft kiss on Zevran's cheek. All his aches and pains melted away as a warm familiar tingling sensation washed over him.
"You little minx, perhaps I should ask you to always kiss my wounds better."
"If I do that more often, you're not going to fight as well as you should." Florien stepped away his Warden mask slipping back into place and Zevran felt a sense of sadness seeing Florien retreat like that. He watched as Florien went over to Leiliana, checking her over and healing her wounds. He was no Wynne, but Florien was much better than nothing and more effective than a health poultice sometimes.
They trudged onwards, fighting through Darkspawn, ghosts, and puzzles til they reached the Anvil. Zevran wanted to shake Florien, true it was the morally correct choice but was it the best tactical choice? He had to disagree. They needed stronger warriors, and not much else was stronger than a Golem, well besides their party that is.
Yet he couldn't dissuade Florien from his choice. It exasperated and endeared Florien to him all at once. When Branka lay dead (which truly was all that she deserved, even Zevran could see that) and the crown forged they began their long arduous trek back through the Deep Roads.
"Zevran I need your assistance."
Zevran was going to figure out how Florien knew he was there even when he was trying to sneak around. Poking his head through the door to Florien's bathroom Zevran let his eyes linger on the pale skin exposed to him above the water.
"With what my dear Warden? Scrubbing your back? Washing your hair?"
"Yes" Florien's voice sounded so tired, so absolutely worn out that Zevran took a better look at him. Florien was in fact too pale. He mentally cursed himself. It was the blood magic, the dark secret revealed in the dark roads in the deep. Florien was practicing blood magic, and while it came in handy when Florien had no mana left and needed to still cast spells, it was incredibly taxing on the body. How long had Florien been pushing back his exhaustion?
Damn he was going to have to get better at reading his Warden.
"Ah I knew you couldn't resist me for so long." He teased, grabbing the supplies nearby and a stool as he sat by the edge of the tub and gently began washing Florien. This was different than before the Deep Roads, Florien had had some clothing then, and he hadn't been so very wet and naked and pliant. There was also something else, something that two weeks in the dark did to the bond between them.
His hands scrubbed Florien's back, washing away the dirt and grime that clung to his skin. He took his time, gazing at the scars he could see, both old and new. Washing Florien's hair was harder, dried bits of a multitude of creatures clung to the long strands. It took a long time but he did it.
"I am going to assume the water is cold by now, come Florien you need to go to bed." A soft protesting whine escaped the exhausted mage and Zevran chuckled. "I said up." Zevran hoisted Florien up and steadied him on his feet. Taking a towel he wrapped it around Florien's shoulders, then taking another he began to towel off his hair. Florien didn't protest only giving Zevran a mildly offended look to which the other replied with a smirk.
He was amazed at how willing he was to help Florien, even if the other hadn't been so deliciously naked. Perhaps it was because he knew that Florien would have done the same, with a good deal amount less of lurid staring. That if he hadn't done it that Florien would have haphazardly scrubbed himself clean and then gone to bed still dirty and Florien would have hated that.
Florien slipped on a pair of Zevran's pants, all of his clothes having gone off to the wash. He didn't even ask, he didn't even look disturbed he had gone through Zevran's pack to find clothes. It made Zevran smile a little, wondering what Alistair's reaction would be to knowing just how comfortable Florien was with him now. Oh he was going to have to see it as soon as they got back to camp.
"Come to bed mi rosa bella." Zevran coaxed, firmly taking Florien's arm and leading him to the bed. They had no pretenses right now, not after what they had done in the Deep Roads. Florien crawled into bed and when Zevran joined him, he curled up beside him, head resting on his chest as Zevran's hand came to play with the damp strands of Florien's hair. It was quiet; they needed no talking to fill up their comfortable silence. Zevran pressed a soft kiss to the top of Florien's head, comforting more than seductive.
His Warden deserved to be treated far better than this, deserved smile to have his day brightened up, to be given a reason to fight this horrible fight for something more than an lofty ideal. Tomorrow, he thought to himself, Florien was going to be introduced to Antivan love poetry. That he knew, would bring a smile to anyone's face.