Zevran had a feeling Rhodri didn't like Wynne. Oh, she had been good to Wynne, kind really, but she never smiled at her, and Rhodri smiled at everyone. It was nothing but pained looks or obliging nods. Not-quite-stifled flinches, occasionally, when she was given a sharp look for those harmless little mannerisms of hers. It was a funny coincidence, really, because Zevran found himself not particularly liking Wynne, either. That curious urge to make the Senior Enchanter's life difficult had intensified quite impressively, enough that it was a persistent feeling, rather than a situational one.

When Zevran thought about it, it was hard to see the point in Wynne's being there. She did nothing to improve the Warden's spellcasting, which had been promised prior to joining the party (and those "training" sessions had usually ended up with Rhodri storming off after an hour or two). The only improvement she appeared to bring (to Zevran's mind) was in her self-appointed position of selective grandmotherly figure to Alistair– and now Leliana, too. The templar, naturally enough, drank up the fondness like a sponge, and under Wynne's gentle admonishments (she seemed to run out of these where Rhodri was concerned), Alistair was less inclined to glare or snap at Zevran.

Or, at least, ithad been that way yesterday, when Alistair had asked Wynne (quite loudly) if she had yet been informed of Zevran's career history. That sort of behaviour was nothing Zevran was unused to; if anything, it was amusing. Had Alistair hoped that Zevran would clutch his pearls and bemoan the outing of his deepest secret?

The display had attracted gratifyingly strict censure from Rhodri, who also refused at this point to tolerate Wynne's reprimands of indecorous displays of temper. Rhodri and Alistair had made up shortly after Alistair had, following his telling-off, apologised to Zevran. Sincerely, no less, and with a very red face. Zevran almost had to pinch himself.

Wynne, however, had no interest in pursuing the topic further, and put substantial distance between herself and Zevran. Rhodri had noticed the shift and, as if to make a point, paid even more attention to Zevran after that.

Late the next afternoon, Rhodri was stopped as she, Zevran, Alistair, and Leliana were leaving the Gnawed Noble to pay a visit to Sergeant Kylon in the hopes of him elucidating on an unknown issue promising good coin.

"You're going out?" Wynne, who had been in an armchair close by, rose to her feet and took her staff. "Perhaps I shall come with you. I was hoping to visit The Wonders of Thedas again before the day is out."

"We are going to see the Town Guard," Rhodri said briefly. "There may be additional work for us."

"Ah," Wynne nodded, giving Zevran a wide berth as she weaved her way around to the other side of the group. "I would be happy to assist with–"

"No, thank you," she shook her head. "Please stay here."

Zevran bit down on his lips, watching Wynne's unimpressed look out of the corner of his eye. Alistair and Leliana exchanged glances, but nothing more came of it, and with that, the four of them left.

Sergeant Kylon had been standing out the front of the Town Hall, a drier spot after the day's downpour than where they had seen him yesterday, chatting with what appeared to be a handful of his inferiors– though the wall was lined with clusters of people in all sorts of different armour. When Rhodri caught his eye and waved to him, Kylon smiled and walked the last few steps over to them.

"Ho there, Warden! You remembered me!"

Rhodri nodded. "I wouldn't forget you when you asked for help, ser. Some of my party," she gestured, "has also agreed to assist. You won't find better."

"Ah," he gave an appreciative smile. "Most kind. I know I said I'd have the lead for the next case, but I'm still waiting for one of my men to get back to me. He's taking his sweet time, isn't he?"

"Not to worry," Rhodri shrugged good-naturedly. "We can check back after dinner, if it pleases you?"

"Mm," Kylon nodded. "Hopefully that will be long enough for Cameron to report back. Ah, but before you go, I wonder if I might borrow you for a moment, Warden?" He glanced at Zevran, Alistair, and Leliana nervously. "Just Rhodri, if you don't mind. Being crowded makes me uneasy."

Rhodri accepted the request with a nod; Zevran kept a close eye on Kylon's hands– and a hand on his own knife–as they strolled back over to where Kylon had stood before.

"Pfft," Alistair snorted. "Town Guard hates being crowded. Talk about getting your dream job…"

There was a lot of noncommittal looks on Rhodri's part, and Kylon looked terribly anxious. She shrugged, held up a finger… nodded, shook her head… shrugged again… Whatever it was, Kylon eventually relaxed. When she made to leave, something said by one of the armoured men off to her right appeared to catch her intense interest.

Alistair and Leliana, having also picked up on this, joined Zevran in beginning to sidle over, only to fall still as Rhodri shook her head at them and held up a hand. They waited and waited as the Warden spoke, too far away to hear clearly over the last-minute bustle of the marketplace behind them.

After what seemed like an age, the Warden nodded at them, said something, nodded again, and turned around in time for a dirt-caked mabari to speed through a nearby puddle, spraying her, the man, and Kylon in whatever horrific thing it had been rolling in.

Rhodri raised an eyebrow, glanced at the dog, and strode back to the party.

"Well," she said after a moment. "We may have a little extra work guaranteed. Just a follow-up, mind you, but still."

"Oh?" Leliana said.

"Kylon wanted an explanation about why there were reports of a man trapped in ice in the Pearl," Rhodri said with a shrug. "It was me, of course, but he seemed worried that the man might cause mischief again later tonight, now that he's finally thawed out, so I said I'd go back by the docks and re-freeze him if need be."

Leliana laughed behind her hand, Alistair blushed. Zevran grinned, feeling as satisfied as he might have had he cast the spell himself.

When Rhodri advised that there was nothing else to do but check back with Kylon after dinner, the party turned around and made for their lodgings again. In the corridor outside their rooms, Rhodri stopped Zevran.

"I wonder if I might have a word with you, Zev," she said quietly. "I need to wash first, but could we perhaps speak alone somewhere?"

"Of course," Zevran nodded, guts twisting a little. "Is everything all right, my Grey Warden?"

"Oh, yes," she nodded back quickly. "Nothing worrisome, but there's something I'd like to discuss with you first before I talk to the rest of the group about it."

Nothing worrisome, but merited discussing with him personally. An assassination contract, perhaps? Ooh, maybe she'd ask him to take out Wynne!

Oh, don't be ridiculous.

The curiosity gnawed at Zevran as he sat alone in his and Sten's room. It might have been something related to whatever she had heard while they were in town. What she could have heard was anyone's guess. Not anything related to the Crows, surely. Not when she had promised so damned earnestly that he wouldn't be going back to them.

No, there was nothing to do but wait until she was back from washing to speak about it with her.

Heat pooled low in his belly. Why had she mentioned she was washing, specifically?

He tsked at himself. To give a time frame, of course.

While she washed herself. Naked, no doubt.

Zevran let out a testy groan and rolled off the bed, cursing the fool notion he'd had of going to that bloody brothel and doubly cursing seeing Rhodri there. After doing twenty push-ups and snatching up the abandoned novella gathering dust on the window sill, he dropped back onto the bed and summoned all his focus on reading the text.

While Rhodri was washing. Naked. Using her hands to–

"'In the village of Ostfold, Kerensa and Pascow ran a puzzle shop,'" Zevran read aloud, tensing his legs as firmly as he could. He moved his finger under the words while he spoke, "'Everyone was baffled by the place. Surely no-one could make a living in so small a place on selling puzzles alone, but there was nothing else in the shop display.'"

It was hard to know if the interrupting knock at the door (and Rhodri announcing herself) was welcome or not. On the one hand, it meant no more reading about a puzzle shop (were Fereldans truly that naive?) that was clearly a front for a mercenary guild, but on the other, the makings of an extremely poorly-timed erection continued to threaten. Why, for the love of all good things, did a libido have to resurface now? And so insistently, too.

He kept the book open in his lap and settled back against the pillow, keeping an intentionally relaxed posture as he invited Rhodri inside.

The door opened and she stepped in wearing–

Oh, Maker, where is your robe, Rhodri?

Where was that damned robe to cover up the sleeveless linen shirt that clung to her every-fucking-where? He strained his legs hard enough to pop the joints and blinkered his periphery with his hand, looking at the wall in front of him.

"Ah, forgive me," he said. "Did you need something to cover yourself with?"

"Oh, don't worry about that," he heard her give a cheerful laugh. "My goodness, you can look at me. The modesty laws are only for public places. Here in our quarters, among friends, there's no need for that."

"Ah," he chuckled weakly and lowered his hand in time to catch Rhodri giving him a winsome smile as she strode over. There was nothing indecent about her, and it made no sense at all to dwell on her clothed state. Full-length leather breeches were a perfectly normal leg covering, and Alistair often wore a similar sleeveless shirt around camp. In fact, the front of his had an even deeper slit than Rhodri's did. Hers was only low enough for her amulet to hang out and bounce against her chest while she walked, and he would not look at her chest.

Damn the Pearl.

He blinked as Rhodri sat down on the floor by his bed cross-legged and leaned back on her hands, grinning up at him.

Your protector is on the floor while you're goggling at her from your bed.

"Forgive me," he said quickly, and patted the bed beside him. "Please, there is no need to sit on the ground. Plenty of room up here."

He was a fool for patting the area right up by the pillow. A damned fool. Somewhere in the middle of the bed would likely have been taken as an invitation to sit upright, with a little distance between them, but Zevran, Lord of the Fools, patted right-fucking-beside him.

And, of course, the Warden who followed instructions to the letter said, "Oh! Of course," with an appreciative nod and lay her enormous, warm body down beside him on his cramped little bed. If the smell of hot salt existed, she was wearing it and starchy linen, and there was a small, pleasantly neutral fragrance of hair oil– flaxseed, perhaps. Her warm, hard arm necessarily pressed up against his side, large enough to eclipse his own arm and easily long enough to have reached any part of him she might have wanted to–

Oh, enough! Enough!

Rhodri gave a contented sigh that settled his own nerves (after all, what was there to be nervous about?), and linked her fingers on her belly.

"While we were out today," she said to the ceiling, "I overheard some mercenaries talking while I finished things up with that Kylon fellow. Remember when I asked you all to stay put?"

Zevran turned his mind back to that moment and focused on it vividly (and thus not on the simmer in regions mercifully covered by the book). "I do, yes," he replied.

"Mmm. The mercenaries were saying that they had a run-in with a Dalish clan a little south of South Reach, in the Brecilian Forest. You probably know that the Dalish signed a treaty guaranteeing to aid the Wardens in the event of a Blight. And you'll know, of course, that since the clans are often on the move, this might be our only opportunity to reach one before we need to go to Orzammar."

He nodded thoughtfully. "True enough. So we will pursue this clan with all due speed, then?"

"We will," she said. "I asked to speak with you before I told the others, because of course, none of the rest of us have any ties to the Dalish."

Zevran chuckled. "Are you seeking advice on how to proceed, my Grey Warden? I'm afraid I may fall a little short, there."

No-one in Clan Marendis hit each other. It had been a whole day since Zevran found them, and nobody had been belted, or even shouted at. The children sat restlessly through stories– not Zevran, though– and played and learned. He did, too, because they had said he was one of them, and it almost felt like he had wandered right into someone else's life.

The forest was a frightening place. More trees meant more places for people to hide behind, slipping around the tree trunk until they were at your back to sink a knife between your shoulders. But even the adults were unbothered, told Zevran with a chuckle that there was enough arrows between them to take out two bears. No mention of people. The halla grazed idly in their makeshift pastures, the fire crackled cheerfully, and his first night in the aravel was spent between two unarmed children who slept soundly. Zevran could barely believe his luck.

The Crows came after lunch the next day. Four of them; he didn't recognise anything about them except the tattoos around their eyes. They singled him out in an instant.

"That," the one in front snarled, pointing at Zevran with a curled lip, "is ours."

The Keeper, an older woman with deep brown eyes, looked unmoved by this. "Zevran is not chattel," she said coolly. "He came to us of his own free will. If he were loyal to you, he would have stayed."

The leader paid no regard to the remark and looked at Zevran. "You come with us now, and we won't kill you. Put up a fuss and we kill everyone."

He didn't need to be told twice. He got to his feet, only to pause as Uthria, who led the hunts, gently clasped a hand around his wrist.

"You may stay with us, da'len," she murmured to him. "We are not afraid to fight for our children." Uthria turned and waved a finger at the other children, who nodded and retreated into a nearby thicket.

The Crows had their knives out already, advancing on the clan with identical, stomach-turning smirks. A few Dalish nocked arrows, another few reached for a dagger strapped to their person.

"Going to make us kill a whole clan before we get to you, is it?" the backmost Crow taunted. She spun her blades with practiced ease.

The Crows would make good on their guarantees. If not now, then shortly after. He'd serve House Arainai until he died, Triana had said as much. It had seemed like an order at the time, but now it rang more as a simple truth. The clan had been good to him. No beatings; full, fresh meals with plenty of meat; stories galore. What gratitude, offering these good people up to the Crows like sacrificial pigs.

He couldn't do it to them.

Zevran moved Uthria's hand off his with all the tenderness he could, and walked over to the Crows.

"I'll go," he said to them. They smiled broadly, their eyes undoubtedly gleaming at the prospect of untold punishment.

The Keeper went to Zevran, bent down until they were eye-level.

"You are sure, da'len?" she asked softly, seriously. "You were settling in well with us. You need not go back to them if you would rather stay."

A dagger glinted in Zevran's periphery, almost certainly intentionally angled to do so. He gulped and nodded.

"I'm sure. I want to go home."

She watched him with a sad, knowing smile, and nodded. "Go then, Zevran. Mythal guide you."

"Oh, move, already," the Crow at the front shoved Zevran away and into a walk. "I don't have all fucking day."

Zevran swallowed down the lump in his throat, and didn't dare look back.

Rhodri had been watching his cheek intently enough to burn a hole through it. She nodded now. "To be honest, Zev, I didn't come with any particular questions. My priority is keeping you comfortable and safe while we carry this task out, and there's a lot to consider."

"Is there?" Zevran raised an eyebrow playfully. "Here I was thinking I was very easy to please."

Oh, you fucking fool.

"O-oh," Rhodri stiffened beside him. "I'm sorry, you are! You're great! I–"

"Ah, forgive me," he held up a hand, "I should not have joked like that. The wrong time for humour, perhaps."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh! Hah, not at all." She smiled good-naturedly. "You joke a lot, maybe I should've kept an eye out. Anyway, though, I suppose the first thing is to ask if you're comfortable coming with us. If you'd rather stay at South Reach while we go looking, you could wait for us in one of the inns there."

Zevran shook his head. "Mm, that would not be a safe option, not with the Crows on my trail." He waggled his brows at her, "And why deprive you of my sparkling company, hmm?"

Rhodri grinned. "We'll have a good time, I know it." She rubbed her chin. "Well, the only other thing I can think to ask is if you have any preferences about how we do this. I know you said you don't have very strong ties to the Dalish, but if you'd rather do the talking, or there's a certain way you think would be best to go about it, you can tell me."

He chewed his lip thoughtfully. There wasn't much to say, all told, and if anything, Rhodri seemed to be putting more importance on it than he was.

"Of course," she added quickly, "you can always tell me later, if you'd rather. Or whenever it occurs to you. Any time!"

Zevran had to say something. Had to. Something, anything. His mind darted back to the clan outside of Antiva City, where the Keeper's sympathetic wince had burned itself into the back of his eyes.

"Good to know," he said smoothly. "Truly, ah… nothing really comes to mind, at present. My ties to the Dalish, as you said, are quite minimal. I know very little about my mother, which I suppose means that any clan we meet could be family." He shrugged. "I would have no way of ruling it out."

"Would… erm… would it be acceptable to ask the clan we meet, perhaps, if they might know of your mother based on what you've been told about her?" Rhodri broached. "Only if you wanted to know, that is."

Zevran shrugged again. Shrugging was becoming something of a reflex for him these days. "I do not see why it would be unacceptable. Surely there are worse things to be curious about, though I know little of the customs, myself." He chewed his lip, thoughts of the Antivan clan creeping back in, and he sighed. It was, it seemed, his fate to plaster this unfortunate individual with the minutiae of his life.

"I did spend a day or two with a Dalish clan, though," he offered tentatively.

Her eyes hadn't left his cheek. "Oh," she murmured. "How old were you when you did that?"

"Eleven." He chuckled, the rest of the story pouring out of him before he could staunch the flow. "I had spent too long staring at my mother's gloves, I suspect, and ran away when I heard a clan was near the city. The Crows found me after a day or two and took me back to Antiva City with them."

"Oh my," Rhodri breathed. "Ah… were…? Mmm." She looked away, fingering the hem of her collar. "Forgive me, never mind."

It was hard to know what, precisely, prompted Zevran to contort his neck in an attempt to catch her eye. Perhaps it was the novelty of having someone interested enough in his blither to want to ask a question. Or a simple curiosity of his own, even. But Rhodri glanced at him, meeting his eyes for a harmless, tentative moment, and Zevran smiled before he could force himself to.

"Hmm?" he prompted gently. "Do please ask, anything you like. Some things I may not be allowed to answer, to keep the clan safe, but otherwise I am ready with all sorts of juicy information for you."

Her head turned back to face him, and she returned to studying his cheek. "I suppose it wasn't a very long visit, so it's not a very well thought-out question…"

Zevran waggled his brows. "Oh, I do love half-baked questions," he purred. "They can lead to the most interesting topics, no?" He nudged her playfully. "Do not deprive me now, my Warden! The suspense is killing me!"

Rhodri chuckled and nodded. "Hah. Bene, bene. Well, in the short time you were there, were you happy?"

"Mmm…" he pursed his lips and tipped his head thoughtfully. "That is no half-baked question, though I am not quite certain how to answer it. Truthfully, I never really thought about it. It was pleasant enough, certainly, but not what I was expecting." He shrugged. "I was a child, no? And I do not suppose I knew any better at that point. It was foolish, really, to run after them the way I did."

"I don't think it was." Rhodri shook her head. "Foolish, that is. It's normal to want a family, a connection."

He snorted softly. "Not in the Crows."

"Mmm, not in the Circle, either." Rhodri sighed. "But our lives in the Crows, in the Circle, they weren't normal. Even the life we have now isn't normal."

He chuckled wryly. "Hunting darkspawn is abnormal? Surely not."

"It is." She gestured at the window, where the muffled din of the nearby marketplace crept in. "Those people out there, doing their shopping and moaning about taxes and bringing vegetables home to their parents and children and spouses, they're the normal ones."

Zevran squandered a curious moment picturing himself carting food and a hatred of tariffs home to some unknown person awaiting him–

Maybe she has dark hair and is washing while she waits for you to come home. With peanuts.

He laughed. Aloud, slightly nervously. Oh, death.

"It's true," Rhodri insisted gently, apparently– and very fortunately– mistaking his spate of lascivious madness for doubt.

"A strange thought," he offered. "How very domestic."

"When we go home to Minrathous, you know, we'll be living a normal life, too."

She'll be washing every day, like normal–

"Oh?" he chuckled. "And what will our normal look like?"

Don't say washing don't say washing–

He chanced a look at Rhodri. She was frowning pensively, one eyebrow hitched heavenward.

"Well…" she began slowly. "We'll meet with friends and family. And go to parties, that's normal. Read books, go to the Sidereal Telescopium… ah! And we'll go for walks!" Rhodri nodded emphatically. "We'll take a walk to the beach every day. That's very normal. We can even go swimming, if you like!"

A droll grin took over Zevran's mouth as he pictured her in the water, taking up as much space as a small island as her robes floated out in every direction. "How do you swim in your robes, my Grey Warden?" he asked before he could curate the impulse. "Modesty is difficult enough in dry conditions. Or do you have a special set of swimming robes?"

Rhodri threw her head back and roared with laughter. "Zev!" She nudged him– with nominally more force than usual– as she wheezed into her hand. "Aeya. Oh my stars, listen to you! Swimming robes, indeed! Oh!" She wiped the tears out of her eyes and took a deep breath.

Zevran waggled his eyebrows at her, his grin broadening. "Was I that far off the mark?"

"You were! We have swimsuits. Think a singlet and short pants sewn together, in stretchy material so you can climb into them." Zevran focused on the arch look the Warden was giving him as thoughts of tightly-clinging swimsuits attempted to infiltrate his consciousness. Why had he brought the topic up?

"And it might surprise you to know," she continued, "that even though we Tevinters wear black most of the time, our swimsuits are very colourful."

"No!" He snickered. "Are they?"

"They are! Red, blue, all sorts of colours, in stripes even! At the beach, it's no holds barred. We throw caution to the wind and really let ourselves go!" Rhodri waggled her eyebrows at him as he snorted. "You may laugh, but I haven't told you the best bit yet."

He bit down on his lips. "There is something better than stripy swimsuits?"

"Oh, yes." She flexed her fingers dramatically. "There is always a vendor or two at the beach selling drinks, you see? And they come with tiny, colourful paper-wood umbrellas in them."

"No-o-o, Rhodri, they do not."

"They do!" Rhodri beamed like a wild thing and her voice took on a flourished, grand tone, "And what's more, every day on our normal walk to the normal beach, I'll go to the vendor and buy you a drink with a perfectly normal pink umbrellicula in it!"

Zevran laughed. It had only meant to be one small, low chuckle, but it hung on like a persistent cough, and Rhodri nudged him again and declared his drink would have two umbrellas in it, and stupid as it all was, he kept hoo-hoo-hoo -ing into his hand until his belly ached.

At some point it calmed, and out of the corner of his eye, Zevran could see Rhodri watching him with a broad, sunny smile. At a loss for anything else to do, he shot her a toothsome grin back.

"It's good that you're laughing more these days," she said cheerfully. "You deserve to laugh."

The sigh she made after that, mercifully, obviated the need for a response on his part– which was good, because he had absolutely nothing to say to that. Rhodri sat up and swung her legs off the bed. She looked over her shoulder at him.

"We got off topic, there," she chuckled. "I should probably leave you in peace and get dressed for dinner. Never know when there might be another Tevinter in the room, ready to scream about your wrists being on display to all and sundry."

Zevran snorted and shook his head.

"But, ah…" she peered at him searchingly, "Was there anything else you wanted to tell me about the Dalish elves today, before I go?"

"Nothing more leaps to mind at the moment."

"You'll tell me though, yes, if there's anything?"

He managed a lopsided smile and nodded. "I will."

Rhodri smiled back. "Good. In which case, I'll excuse myself…"

Zevran hushed a quick thanks to the Maker, considering himself just about in the clear as she rose to her feet and took her warmth and freshly-bathed everything up there with her. All in all, that had gone well. The book in his lap had been an inspired, entirely necessary idea, and these damned breeches were too cramped for comfort now, but he had made it.

And then, right there in front of him, she stretched.

Long and languid, rolling her shoulders and tipping her head back to bare her neck to him completely unselfconsciously– and entirely unintentionally, no doubt.

… Or?

It was poor timing either way; Zevran cursed the prickling heat in his bastarding breeches and looked away, rescinding all prior religious gratitude with a despairing inward grumble.

Rhodri's footfalls caught his attention, and he– completely unintentionally, of course– caught sight of her lower half as he watched her sidle away to the door. Long legs, almost absurdly so, and rounded out with thick, solid muscle that bulged under that tight leather all the way up to–

Oh, didn't Zevran know about bulging right now. Mother of Mercy, could it not have happened at any other time?

He gulped and busied himself with cleaning something– anything– off his fingernail, making sure the book stayed over his lap.

"See you in a bit, then."

Zevran looked up in time to catch Rhodri wave and go, closing the door behind her before he could so much as smile back. He waited until he heard her own door open and close totsk, toss the book away, and unlace his breeches.

A sigh of relief escaped him as he hooked a finger down his smallclothes and rotated his erection to lie flat against his belly (how had he missed the pain of it crushed down like that?).

The walls in this place were too damned thin. If Rhodri didn't hear the wet sounds of him fucking his hand from her own room, she'd catch it when she walked down the hallway to go to dinner. Zevran compromised by sliding his foreskin back, licking two fingers, and carefully rubbing small circles under the exposed frenulum, not daring to breathe more than half a slow, silent lungful of air as he did. The touch, minimal as it was, was surprisingly sufficient. Enough to make his toes curl, certainly.

She was going to be the death of him. Sleek, black hair and smooth, warm skin, pressing against him without a second thought. Hot salt and starchy linen and fresh, clean body, washed from head to toe. She could wash him from head to toe if she only said the word–

Zevran froze, holding his breath as a door shut. Quick, even footsteps with a springiness you could hear in the push-off– had to be Rhodri's– passed along the hallway and away down the stairs, quieter and quieter.

And then, finally, nothing.

He sighed, spat into his palm, and took himself in hand again, working his cock in rapid, unrefined motions. No build-up, no technique whatsoever, paying no heed to the amateurishly audible slicking and sucking the action was making, now he was sure it wasn't Rhodri who'd hear it. Terribly desperate, really; there was a hint of some silly, wry embarrassment about it he'd pay attention to later.

It could have been him. Hard, warm arms holding him against the wall of the whorehouse, long fingers cradling his jaw while her mouth availed itself of his like he was fresh water. Hungry Tevene filth in his ear, all tender, drawled vowels, every single word of it genuine when it came from the mouth of a blunt speaker. Steering him into that little bedroom when her patience had sufficiently waned. Zevran let out a small whine and gripped a little tighter, his hips curling into his hand. Oh, please.

Oh, please.

A wave of gooseflesh crawled up Zevran's spine (already?) and he sat up, not bothering to begin fumbling around for something to finish into. If he'd had any sense, he would have grabbed something beforehand. Absently resigning himself to a messy finish, he sped up, biting his lip hard enough to draw blood, and a choked gasp stuck in his throat as his orgasm hit him like a sharp slap, much intenser than such hasty, amateurish work deserved. Reflex sent his other hand south in time to catch most of the spend. Even then, though, a thread had evaded him and hit the middle of his tunic.

Brasca.

Zevran flopped back onto the bed and lay still awhile, letting the throbs die down as he remastered the art of breathing normally. When he trusted himself to walk again, he shambled over to where the basin stood, peeled his shirt off, and cleaned himself up.

He rinsed his face once, twice, until the third mirror check showed his cheeks had returned to their usual colour, and once satisfied that nobody would guess how he spent the last two (two!) minutes, he dressed and went downstairs.