faderift | [ OPEN ] And I'm on tonight you know my hips don't lie and I'm starting to feel it's right

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[ OPEN ] And I'm on tonight you know my hips don't lie and I'm starting to feel it's right

WHO: Zevran, His Kestrels, and You
WHAT: Music, Dance, Shenanigans
WHEN: Current
WHERE: The Herald's Rest
NOTES: It's Zev and dancing. There might end up being shiftlessness, seductions, and intoxication.

[ The Learning ]

It wasn't an intentional lesson, this. There was music, there was wine, there was talk of dancing in the small cleared space between tables. Tossing about ideas of what to play, how to dance, when Zevran made mention of a method of training oneself to isolate movement that was more or less a dance and the younger Kestrels (all but Settimo) expressed their interest. He sent Vitta to gather a few coin covered scarves and belts in all manner of colors from his room and gathered the rest to walk them through it.

Anyone else that was curious might join in, Zevran was something of a hands on teacher, adjusting posture with a hand to the plane of a back, the curve of a hip, showing with his own demonstrations as much as by moving his students by feel so they knew how it was to stand, to move, to roll. Little things, hip rolls, undulating like a snake, how to pop one's hip or hold one's shoulders still while the legs and hips do their work- these he went through as best he could before Vita returned and he offered a proper demonstration.

[ The Dancing ]

After a quick duet, all rolling hips and wide, flirtatious smiles, the Kestrels took turns dancing either on their own or with someone else that had expressed interest. Zevran, likewise, was content to either offer pointers here and there or dance alongside- or against- anyone that would have him. There was wine, there was music, there was warmth in the building and he could think of no better reason than to attempt to have a good time. The show seemed more than enough for those that didn't wish to participate on their own- apparently anything was a good change of pace from Maryden's ballads now and then.

[ The Mending / The Resting ]

Learning to bend oneself in new and exciting ways, to move or not move as one willed- it could create soreness or the occasional sprain if one was not careful. Teresa took time away from the dancing and the drinking to tend to any that might have twisted something they should not, had slipped and fallen or overextended a limb in an attempt to learn this manner of dancing. Or, more often, to offer glasses of either watered down ale or water proper to those taking a break from all the dancing. Zevran himself would flop down on a chair time to time, shirtless and sweating, watching the group with a crackle of laughter. Now this? This was living.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Much as he had for the last performance of a sort he'd made in the Tavern- Zevran wound around back to where Michel sat with his water. Both sober and warm and he far less likely to simply slip out and abandon his fledglings to the crowd; but the situation was familiar enough for him to think nothing at all of settling into Michel's lap, nuzzling the side of his throat.

"Enjoying the show, Soleil?" Had it not started thus months ago?

It was certainly very familiar, this--the dancing, the Herald's Rest, the atmosphere...and Zevran sliding comfortably into his lap. He was also well aware of what this led the last time they had a conversation under similar circumstances. He pushed it to the back of his mind, in spite of the fact that Zevran was compact and warm in his lap and it was tempting to follow that same path again.

"I wasn't...not that it...it is enjoyable," but how was it that Zevran managed to suss him out each and every time? Shaking off the way it flustered him, he rerouted his thoughts, "lines...have you ever thought about painting lines on your body?"

"You were resting between bouts of training, I know." Zevran, pay attention to someone's schedule? Never. Always. Perhaps on occasion when it pleased him to do so. For the moment it pleased him to lean into Michel and take one of the Chevalier's hands between his own, stroking the skin with idle swipes of his thumb. Pointless contact simply for the sake of touching.

"You mean in addition to the tattoos you do so love to trace?" He crackled a soft laugh, tipping his head up to smile against Michel's skin. "Mmm. I have done more than think about it- I have done so. There was one performance where I was stripped to the waist, wrapped in sheer silks, and had gold painted as a contrast to my tattoos."

"You know this?" Did he keep his attention fixed on Michel now and then? Well it was predictable, Michel rarely deviated from his routine, with the exception of Zevran. It might have been interesting to watch a sweat soaked Chevalier go through forms over and over again, he did not know. For Zevran seemed to bring out a side of him that was often distracted...like now, for instance, with his hand captured by Zevran's. Incredibly distracting.

"In addition..." ah, how predictable it was that the heat began to work its way up from underneath the collar of his shirt. He was also failing spectacularly not to imagine it. Naked to the waist, sheer silks, and gold paint was terribly tempting...who had he done this for? Michel did not wish to know the answer, though he might wish to experience it, "...ah...I was thinking as a learning tool...when I was learning to waltz they would mark me with black lines to show me how certain muscles and parts of the body moved. It was...very visual...not as interesting as gold paint, however."

"It is hard to miss you in the practice yard. You cut quite a figure." As though it is nothing- even when he probably shouldn't take time out of his day to watch. So strong, so solid, so skilled- it was a beautiful thing to watch Michel work. On occasion he imagined, perhaps, daring to go down and spar with him but that might cross levels of association best kept separate.

One day the temptation will be too much, but today? Was not that day.

"Now there's an idea. It would have to be something that would contrast with my skin and my tattoos as to remain visible. That would help a great deal as this is highly focused and particular muscle control." Gold, again, or red. His preference was for gold and how it made him all the more alluring. Idly his hand traced a line from Michel's palm to his inner elbow and back, imagining those lines. "I might have to try that."

That...was something Michel had no idea how to respond to, honestly as he rarely thought about his training in terms of aesthetics. It was practical, if not tremendously effective, in spite of the Chevalier's having the reputations that they did they were known, even in Ferelden, for being formidable...and with good reason. They weren't merely taught to fight within a certain style, they learned to fight like Templars and they learned Grey Warden tactics. If Chevalier could incorporate Mage abilities into their ranks then they likely would, but that required being a Mage.

He would actually welcome Zevran to spar with him, it was the one area that he could separate from everything else. Granted he was a taskmaster.

"I...would have to see the paint on you..." Michel might have gone with red, or perhaps a white...his skin was very much like gold to the Chevalier in terms of the tone and warmth. He tried to imagine him without the tattoos now and again, and he could, he's mapped his way across that body with his fingers and he knew the scars...some of them were small, faded things, some of them felt like silk under his fingers. Granted it was difficult trying to keep himself focused on Zevran's body with the elf fingering along the length of his arm, "...the muscles in your back...I noticed that they are emphasized a great deal, highlighting your spine and shoulders..."

Not that Michel wanted to promote highlighting Zevran's spine and shoulders, but he could try his hand at being neutral. It was working so far.

"That was the intent of the tattoos. Some of the symbols are sacred to the Crows- as much as they hold anything sacred, but most? Are there to accentuate the lines of the body... its curves and musculature. To make me more alluring, more dangerous. And to hide the scars, of course. As an elf in Antiva, when undressed and with anyone- well. I am most often seen from behind, yes? Such things are done in that way." He shrugged, a fluid motion of his shoulders against Michel's arm. "As such they received the most attention. To make me alluring and mysterious to those I would bed for the job."

It was easier to distance himself thusly, now. Before he'd enjoyed it or pretended to but- with age came wisdom and with wisdom? Realization.

Michel's hold on Zevran tightened reflexively for a moment, just briefly, but the gesture was enough to indicate a shift in the Chevalier. A shift in his way of thinking about his companion's tattoos in a way he'd never thought about them before. Yes they accentuated him, and nicely in fact, Michel found himself often tracing the lines of them because they were a part of Zevran's body and that was intriguing...but now that too made him think about things he's never really considered.

"Did you want the tattoos?" Michel tipped his head at Zevran, looking at him curiously, "sometimes...the way you speak of them...it seems like the reason you have them...is for accentuating purposes. To make you appear more attractive, not as your own person, but as an object for others."

Perhaps that was a sensitive subject, Michel wasn't all that certain, he'd simply been subjected to enough art to know when people were removed from the status of personhood to the status of object. This was the same with slaves...and in most cases elves, who were often seen as aesthetically pleasing.

Though sometimes Michel caught himself imagining the tattoos weren't there, it might have been part of the reason he traced them so often, to feel and interpret what was underneath. Had Zevran wanted all of them? Some of them, certainly, but had all of it been because he wanted them, or because it would make him a better tool for the crows by appearing more alluring.

"Mmm...you...do not have to answer that question..."

"The Crows like to mark their property." It was the usual answer offered in the usual offhand fashion- the lines upon his skin were not of his doing but after so long with them? What more could he do but learn to live with them, enjoy them. It was not as though he could cut them from his skin and live without- such a task would see him dead. And the scarring- Maker. No, he was resigned to them and had long since learned to turn them in his favor. But for Michel, to test his awareness, to...reward that subtle show of protective comfort and curiosity? He elaborated.

If only to see what might come of it.

"It was a test as much as anything else- the process is not entirely painless and the more pain you can take without flinching, the better assassin you are thought to be." And Zevran had been determined to be the best possible Assassin that he could manage for his own sake. For Tali's pride. For Rinna's affection. "And, of course, the Crows often purchased elves because humans finds us pretty."

Michel ran his hand along the side of Zevran's face, thumb caressing the tattoo there, from his temple down to his cheek. They weren't unattractive by any means, but at the same time Zevran no longer belonged to the crows or with the. He belonged with...the Inquisition, naturally, or wherever it was he wanted to go.

"I was...curious, you do not always speak of them like they were a choice you made, thank you for indulging me, bel homme," he pressed a warm kiss to his companion's forehead, withdrawing slightly after, "I confess I have more than one reason for tracing them the way I often do...aside form the fact that they take me to sensual places. I suspect that was a given..."

"Truth be told, I did not have the freedom to make a great many choices until the Fifth Blight." He cannot blame the honesty on drink nor on any attempt to twist this into a game. Perhaps it was a dare, a blade long turned inward he now used to cut at whatever regard Michel had for him. A test. This was what he was, this was how he'd lived, this was where Michel stood in the way he saw the world. The shadows he cast and the ghosts he called forth.

Zevran tilted his face into the touch all the same, turning enough to brush his lips against Michel's fingertips. "Oh? And what reasons might those be? Curiosity? Would you wish for marks of your own one day? I know the art quite well and have my needles with me."

"A peculiar time for finding freedom...but I suppose the Fifth Blight was a time of change for many...how fitting it that it opened those doors for you and led you here," and arguably into the arms of another disaster that held the fate of all of Thedas in the balance. Not that he seemed terribly daunted by it, very little seemed to get to Zevran...but that couldn't be the whole of it. Of course there were things that must have weighed heavily on him...he never talked about the incident with the Crows. Not with Michel and Michel did not push for it either. Either he was very resilient, or he buried his emotions deeply.

"Would you like to tattoo my body? You've but to ask, anywhere on my body you like," Michel invited running his thumb over Zevran's bottom lip, impossibly soft for a man...overwhelmingly alluring, "normally it is a training exercise...but when I close my eyes and move my hands over your body, I visualize you, memorize. Explore you underneath the tattoos."

"Not terribly. I was far from Antiva and it was the first time I'd been offered a choice. Stay with the Warden and help- or run." Even that had not been much of a choice; running would mean the crows which meant death. He had to stay if he wished to live. Actual choices, actual freedom? Came later. But that was a dark conversation for such a warm, wonderful night.

Without missing a beat Zevran parted his lips, tip of his tongue darting out to swipe across the pad of Michel's thumb- something to tease and perhaps make the man go red. He was so terribly handsome when he was flushed and flustered after all. It made him easy to tease. "Truly? You would think nothing of having my mark upon you?"

As could only be predicted, Michel easily forgot about the deeper part of their conversation in favor of eyeing Zevran's tongue as it swiped over his thumb. He was almost tempted to join him, dance with his companion's tongue around that digit he was rightfully envious of. Even more anticipated was the warmth that began spreading its way along his neck and high on his cheeks, "I wouldn't say nothing...I would think that it would be...quite something, actually. If it was your mark...after all, bites and bruises heal with time..."

"Anywhere, you said." Zevran's voice dropped low, rumbling into a purr mor often heard in the bedroom than the tavern. Rich with sinful promise and faintly amused as his hand slipped up to trace a path from Michel's jaw to his chest. His fingers wander idly, tracing the contours of his muscle through his shirt, wandering inward to rest over his heart. "Here, perhaps? A lion like that which you have on your armor. Or something else..."

The smallest thing, the pass of his thumb over Michel's nipple through the shirt, his eyes bright and wicked. "Or perhaps something like mine, here. It would be incredibly sensitive afterward for weeks as it healed."

And the more intimate Zevran became with him, the more Michel closed the very little distance between their bodies, capitalizing on that intimacy. He would not have allowed this with anyone in the past and his imagination could not have prepared him for anything quite like this. He kept this warmth to himself, hoarding all of this time like a miser. His breathing changed when Zevran's hand rested over his heart, and while many of his gestures were calm and nearly imperceptible, save for the heat creeping along his neck, his heart was racing at the simple touch.

"A...lion is a fine thing," Michel all but whispered, the sound of his voice changing, a stutter, a sharp intake, gravel beneath the calm surface, "but it would be an Orlesian mark, yes? If you would take care of it for me, then I would much rather have something that reminds me of you when I see it."

He cannot leave his fledglings here on their own and cart Michel off to ruin him as sweetly as he'd wish- no matter how tempting the idea. The longer Michel remains so quietly flustered, the more the red blooms under his skin and his heart raced- the more tempted Zevran became. This was not like the other night with the songs of Antiva and the casual obligation of earning coin. This was a lesson in how to live. Abandoning them would be a poor choice.

That did not make it any less alluring.

Zevran leaned in, nosing at Michel's jaw, lips light along the now flushed skin as he murmured in his ear. "Are you so certain? It would be on your skin until the end of your days, a constant reminder of my hands and my mouth upon you. A brand, marking you as mine."

That was the tipping point- if Michel truly wished for it? He could test it without committing to the permanence of the needles and ink. The novelty might be all he wants. Assuming otherwise was far too optimistic.

Michel would not expect Zevran to abandon his fledglings to run off with him for a while, want him the Chevalier did, but he also understood duty very well. Still, he would be hard pressed to let him get back to what he was doing, at least not without a bit of handling. Topless, a bit damp, sweat only heightening the scents he wore. Of course he wanted more than the teasing and the affectionate nosing when Zevran offered it, and perhaps he would be generous and act upon it completely, at least when they were alone.

For now he simply tipped his head slightly, enough to let Zevran nudge up against him, but also to keep it discreet. He did not want the attention drawn away from the lessons, "that would not be bad at all, carrying a piece of you with me...the past is just as real as the future. Yes..."

And it was rare when Michel backpedaled once he decided on something, so this, he was entirely sure of. If Zevran would be around to take care of it as it healed then he had no reservations.

"Later tonight, then." Behave. He must be a good example for his students, must be responsible, and behave. Even if a year he might have nudged Michel to the closest dark alcove to have him without thought to what was going on in the rest of the room. Five or six years ago? He would have murmured to the man to keep as still and silent as possible and slipped under the table to tend to him while he pretended nothing was wrong. Ten years ago Taliesin would be on the other side of the tavern with Rinna while he discreetly rode him. It can be done, he had done it many a time in the past.

How age an wisdom change a man. Still. He could not leave Michel so quietly wanting when he was saying such things.

In the name of discretion he tugged the collar of Michel's shirt aside to find a patch of skin on his throat that would otherwise be covered and began to bite and kiss a soft bruise into the skin.

"Should I do anything in the meantime?" Aside from holding still and remaining as calm as possible while Zevran worked a mark into his skin. Discreet he might have preferred, but he was keenly aware that the relaxed expression he wore spoke of his pleasure more intensely than it should have. He was also aware of the fact that he was asking Zevran how he should prepare himself for the elf, though perhaps not in such a manner...for the tattoo.

"Mmm..." Zevran pulled away enough to blow cool air across the blooming bruise, one hand slipping up to tease the hair at the nape of Michel's neck. "A bath would not be out of the question. The oils I ordered for you have come in and are waiting on my desk in my room. You may pick them up before you soak in the hotsprings if you wish."

A recommendation rather than an order, truly. "Take some time to pamper yourself."

Michel's eyes were still closed, even as Zevran drew away and while there was nothing chilly about the act, he shivered in response to Zevran blowing against his neck. He wanted to control it, but his body responded to the impulses now, becoming accustomed to the elf, accepting his guidance as flesh molded to whim and need, "not part of my usual routine...but I will...take it under advisement...before I see you again."

No expert at pampering himself or soaking, it would certainly be an exercise for the Chevalier who treated cleaning as a thing of efficiency more than anything else. He wondered idly at just what sort of scents Zevran had chose for him, something similar to his own? Or did he pick something suitable to Michel?

"Good. After the work you put in today? You have earned it." Every blush and shiver, every stutter and strained pitch to Michel's voice- any and every crack he could put in that stoic veneer was a moment to be proud of in Zevran's mind. Even when he took the time for a long seduction, even when he toyed with Nobles it was never quite this intimate. They never knew him- he never truly knew them either. This thing- knowing Michel, telling him about his life, his wounds.

Wanting him and having him. Being wanted and cherished in some way in return? He could not quite parse how it made him felt. But it made him wish to, perhaps, spoil the Chevalier in ways he found acceptable. Another reason why he dropped his mouth back to his reddened skin, deepening the bruise.

Michel laughed, it was a throaty, personal laugh, one too relaxed to be full blown humor...but he was certainly intrigued by the idea that he'd earned this right to pamper himself for working hard. Perhaps real nobles felt this sense of entitlement? It wasn't unknown to him that even some Chevalier's would take time to dote on themselves, but Michel could be training...ah...he should be training right now.

"Mm...honestly looking forward to later rather than...oh..." he wasn't expecting the encore as Zevran dipped back into him, kissing him, bruising him, perhaps something for others to wonder at while he was bathing. It drew a soft groan from Michel, who was growing eager for the elf, the longer they enjoyed one another's company.

Oh, that soft sound. The rumble of his pulse, the way Zevran can feel his breath quicken. Temptation abounds but he must not give in. It would be simpler if Michel stopped making it so difficult. Once satisfied with the bruise he pulled back to nip at his jaw, leaning in for a proper kiss. Unlike the usual teasing, sultry things this was...remarkably chaste.

There was sentiment here. Scraps of it, a wary offering of perhaps more than mere lust held tightly guarded. It wasnot much but it is something.

[ OPEN ] And I'm on tonight you know my hips don't lie and I'm starting to feel it's right

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