Okay, this was originally supposed to be a combination of all five days it takes for them to get to the Circle (next destination), but it didn't work out that way because Zev and Cat are impossible when they get together. I know this seems fast, but honest to God, you're lucky she didn't ravage him on the dirt road. Or unlucky, I guess, depending on your views! Anyway, Cat's not had a man in near a month even worse she's had no one capable of flirting with her. She's shameless and enjoys seduction and sex just as much as Zevran does. Feelings come much, much later in this Zev fic; that's not to say that there won't be relationship development, though. I promise this won't be WOO SMUT then all the sudden I LOVE YOU!

~Ser

When he was brought back to the Wardens' camp, he was disarmed (again) by the one named "Alistair" - he just thought of him as "the one with a wonderfully shaped backside". This was to be expected, as was being guarded; he had to give their gorgeous leader credit, she was brilliant enough to put her mabari and a qunari with a sense of humor that rivaled the Grand Cleric's – see: none. The assassin had no chance of charming his way out – not that something so trivial stopped him. With a rough hand, Zevran was persuaded to sit on a log by their bonfire by the statuesque warrior, who then took to staring solemnly towards the horizon, emotionless. Damon, for his part, just sat in front of him, tongue lolling out of his mouth in a sort of dog-grin.

After an hour, he broke the deafening silence. "So, Sten, is it?" he asked with a cock of his head. The qunari didn't budge, and didn't answer. "That is your 'yes' then?" Still nothing. "Good to know. I am curious of your delectable leader; would you--"

"No." he cut in, gruffly. Zevran waited for more explanation, idly plucking at bits of bark, glancing about the camp with fake interest.

Nothing.

"You really shouldn't treat your guests in such a way." he said while leaning back slightly, looking way, way up to the qunari's face, half-smiling. "It's quite rude."

Sten still did not make eye contact. "You are not a guest, elf. You are an enemy; a prisoner that has yet to prove his worth." he scoffed. To make his point clear, the frighteningly muscular man dug the tip of his greatsword into the soft ground, both hands coming to rest at the pommel in a not-quite-at-ease stance.

Zevran let out a long-suffering sigh, and turned his attention to the dog. "Well, then. Would you tell me something about her?"

Damon huffed and shook his head, drool flying in all directions, but thankfully missing the assassin. Zevran was about to continue his conversation, when the mabari practically levitated from his position, and began running in tight circles, with the occasional leap thrown in for good measure. The dog let out a series of yips as he wore down an unintentional path in the long grass, then suddenly stopped in his tracks, staring in the direction of the main camp, dropping down onto his forepaws, wagging his tail in the air with a ferocity that shook his entire body.

He understood why when Catherine appeared, two water skins tied to her loosely cinched belt, a bowl in each hand, and swinging her hips so provocatively that even he was impressed.

"Dinner's ready, you two." she said. "Go ahead and get some, I'll watch after our newest inductee into madness."

The two guards looked at her, then at him, then at each other, before shrugging (or the dog equivalent) and heading back the way Catherine came. She turned her head to watch them go, waiting until they were out of sight before turning her attention back to him – did she already trust him not to stab her in the back? He felt his brow furrow at the though – she had displayed remarkable intelligence in the short time he had known her, why do something so blatantly dangerous, stupid even?

Some of what he was thinking must have shown on his face, because the woman arched a brow, plush lips twisted into a wry grin.

He smirked back. "I had no idea that you were a serving wench as well as a fearsome slayer of darkspawn." he remarked teasingly, eager to test the woman's limits; not the smartest thing he'd ever done, but there were times his inquisitiveness overcame his common sense.

"You forgot the part about being ravishing." Her voice took on a slight purr in an imitation of his accent; she was actually quite convincing. No doubt because of her tongue, he thought as it darted out to wet her lips. "That's a full-time job, you know."

With that the woman winked and handed him a bowl of... well, he wasn't sure what it was. Zevran was always careful when it came to food – a reflex from spending most of his life amongst professional murderers who always looked for awhile to get around the immunity all Crows are forced to build up – and this sorry excuse for a stew did nothing for suspicions. Catherine sat down beside him on the log after he took the bowl, crossing her legs at the ankle so that the slit in her robes only just flashed him with tempting glances of chocolate skin.

The desire to idly stroke the barely exposed skin was so powerful, Zevran had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself in check; it was easy to forget what it was like to be around a woman who knew her body and how to flaunt it so expertly.

Catherine began to eat, albeit without any gusto, face scrunched up as if she were in great agony. Judging by the smell, she likely was.

Picking up the wooden spoon, he poked at the bits of mystery meat. "Shall I assume this is how you kill all your victims?" In an attempt to be daring, he took a bite; it took all of his willpower not to grimace from the horrid taste.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, swallowing a bite before speaking. "Oh, there's nothing lethal in here, contrary to the taste." Zevran heard the mischievous lilt in her voice, but took another bite defiantly; the corner of her mouth quirked up and he regretted the action almost immediately, but didn't backpedal.

"However, there's a few herbs in there that will render you impotent for the next few days." she added, sounding more like she was commenting on the weather.

It took everything he had not to spit out the food in his mouth. She was testing his limits just as he had been testing hers. Interesting, he mused, smiling inwardly, setting the board, are we, little minx? He would not back down, Zevran rarely got the chance to banter with someone so utterly uninhibited – most Crows had no sense of humor. To that end, he swallowed, although it was more hesitant than he would have liked, and turned to face her, eyes combing over her face as she returned the motion, tilting her head playfully.

"Mmm." he murmured, leaning in close enough that their noses nearly touched. "Why would you punish yourself so, my dear?" Two of his fingers walked across her hand, which was resting on the patch of bark between them, until they came to rest on the sensitive skin of her wrist. His lips curved into a decidedly smug smirk when he saw her eyes drift close as he stroked sensually. "Though," he continued huskily, "that is only one of the many ways I can please you, kitten."

Zevran expected her to roll her eyes, perhaps giggle shyly and pull back, as a tease might be inclined to do; he had been particularly brazen for having only met the woman a few hours ago, after attempting to kill her, at that, but the woman continued to amaze him.

Hungrily, she pressed her lips to his, hand moving from the log to the nape of his neck, fingers tugging at the sensitive hairs, as if to force him to respond. As surprised as he was, Zevran was rather proud of himself for only stiffening for a moment before instinctively melting into the kiss, wrapping his hands around her waist, gripping tightly in encouragement.

A needy, mewling noise emanated from her as he slipped his tongue against hers, automatically tangling together in a sensual, teasing dance that made the taste of that horrible stew unnoticeable. Her idle hand decided to make itself useful, by dotting his bare thigh with feather light touches that sent tingles straight to his already hardening length.

The wicked minx broke the kiss with a low chuckle, sliding her hand up and down his leg before withdrawing back to her original position, though she made no move to remove his hands from her hip. Catherine had a purely female smirk on her delicious swollen lips as she breathed heavily to make up for the elongated lack of air.

Zevran's hands flexed against her hip, squeezing the curve (and eliciting a delightful gasp from the owner of them) before pulling them back, resting his wrists on his legs, hands limply hanging.

"I admit, I didn't expect that." he said, voice thick with desire. An eyebrow rose in her direction "Shall I meet you in your tent tonight, then?" He mentally thanked the Maker that he didn't sound as wanting as he really was.

She let out a small titter - it was an oddly endearing sound from someone so sexual – and shook her head, much to his disappointment. "Not yet." was all she said, before rising from her seat.

Catherine brushed off the bits of leaves and wood from her bottom, favored him with another one of her half-smiles, and prowled off back to camp, leaving him utterly alone.

She was testing him, perhaps even giving him a chance to run away, free of any obligation to her, or anyone else. Free to make his own choices, be his own man... ever since Rinna, he just didn't want anything any longer; it was all so pointless – he was nothing, as the Master had told him.

The road was before him, and yet he couldn't help but be intrigued. After all, if she was kind enough to let him go now, why would she refuse later, after he satisfied his curiosity? Well, he thought, smug grin creeping on his face, once I ruin her for other men she may not be so inclined. Deadly sex goddess, indeed.

Zevran gathered himself up and repeated the gesture she had earlier, freeing his leathers from debris, and headed toward the camp. He had always been inquisitive, and it always burned out eventually; he would be free after he slept with her, no doubt.