faderift | We've come a long way from where we began

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We've come a long way from where we began

WHO: Zevran Arainai, Alistair, & Open
WHAT: Zevran is not dealing with sentiment well
WHEN: Mid-Firstfall
WHERE: The tavern, the stables, his quarters, the healing tents, the courtyard
NOTES: Drinking, swearing, emotional vomiting.

It took a day or two to thaw out properly from the mire. To sleep, to scrub the muck from his skin, to feel alive again. Of course with the break from the mission and a quiet space to sleep it only served to remind him of how difficult it had been on the road. Of the sounds he had heard of the wardens tents. Of what their troubled sleep meant for one Warden in particular.

[ Tavern - OPEN ]

Zevran attempted to spend his days as he would before the arrival of the Grey Wardens. Some time working on his poisons and traps, some time in the tavern listening to gossip and spinning tales, playing joyful, soothing music for the weary souls within. But for tonight there was no music, there was no smiling. Zevran kept his back to the wall, his hand on a glass of wine or ale, bottle waiting for the next poor on the table beside him, eyes on something small and glinting he rolled between his fingertips. Sentiment. What good had that ever done him? What benefit did it ever hold? It was a weakness. It was an illness. And yet here he sat, sick with it. Normally the approach of company would earn a smile, a flirtatious remark- but for one night? He had no desire for masks.

[ Stables - CLOSED to Alistair ]

"As promised." The words were loose in a way only drink made them. Lulling and swooping rather than the clipped roll of his usual pattern of speech, but Zevran was at least a little drunk and looking to become a good deal more drunk before the night was through. Trouble was he trusted very few people enough to indulge as much as he desired in all of Thedas, fewer still in Skyhold. But here, staring at this ridiculous Warden in the hay with at least one dog? A warm twist of fondness bid him offer a very special bottle of Carnal, 8:69 Blessed. As he had said before, Alistair could not start his whiskey without something particularly exquisite. Between that, the carved rune stones still in his pouch, and a wrapped wheel of small cheese in addition to a bottle of his own brandy for the night? He would forgive being forced to drink in a stable. So long as it was in Alistair's company.

[ Zevran's Quarters - OPEN ]

Well this was mortifying. He had somehow misplaced his key- his spare key, and his spare, spare key in the course of the night- or he had locked all of them inside save for the one he'd slipped into Isabella's boot earlier in the day and now? Now he was crouched, fumbling with his lockpicks in a way he hadn't since his earliest years as a Crow. The lock was simple, he knew it was simple- he also knew himself to be terribly, terribly drunk. Enough so that he was not kneeling before the door in any attempt of stealthy entry and instead sitting before it, working with his picks while swearing a blue streak under his breath in Antivan, Common, with a spattering of Orlesian and even some Tevene. Until he sobered up? He would be at it for awhile. Brasca.

[ Healing tents / Courtyard the following morning - OPEN ]

Another reason why he rarely drank. The migraine. The cotton in the mouth feeling. The twist of wire that strung his guts together. Food was probably not a bad idea bu the smell of- well- anything made it twist sharper, tighter, like a dagger to his very middle. Not productive for eating anything that will settle his stomach. Water helps but it does not do much other than remind him that he should eat, but he cannot eat, and light and sound are an aching mass of unpleasantness he did not wish to linger on. Bundled tight in a cloak that was far softer on the lining than on the exterior, he stumbled his way across the courtyard to the healing tents. Perhaps one of them would give him something if he looked sad enough.

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"Where in the country is there not some manner of division? Where in the continent? If you wait for all to be settled you will die for want of a solution first." Politics. Why did no one take the direct route? Ever?

He comes from Orlais, is there such a thing as direct in politics?.

"In Orlais you have the Chevalier who are loyal to an serve the Empress Celene and you have those wo are loyal to and serve Gaspard de Chalons. I am not just loyal to Empress Celene, I was her Champion...that would not only make me unwelcome with the Chevalier that serve Gaspard, but it would sully my pride to serve him. Though he has made his interests clear," Michel only sighed and shook his head, "I have since fallen out of favor with Her Radiance between the Battle of Halamshiral and her reemergence in Val Royeaux. This would make me unwelcome, not only in court as I have said, but with Chevalier loyal to Her Radiance. If things were that simple I have no doubt that you would not be so far away from Antiva, as I understand one does not simply walk away from your line of work, yes?"

"Aaaah. That is where I know your name from." A beat. "I will say the rumors do not do your appearance justice. 'Pretty' is too weak a description."

If he is feeling well enough for an overture perhaps he was well enough to walk- but this was fine. There were worse places to be than in the arms of a handsome knight that probably won't kill him for insinuating that he was handsome. "I am a crow no longer, to be certain, but I am still an assassin. One that is allied with the Inquisition for they likely have need of my skills, but one none the less."

"Is that the description going around of me?" Not that he was one to easily embarrass, but if one were to pay attention his face seemed to take on a more noticeable shade of color, especially given that he possessed that fair skinned Orlesian countenance, "I suspect they must be referring to the mask, monsieur."

Though it was uncommon for Chevalier's to wear masks as one could disguise themselves and walk around, fully armed, and assassinate the Empress. No one would be the wiser...and the masks were a bit ridiculous anyway crowned with a single yellow feather. Fortunately Michel was humble and not at all offended, "I'm certain the Inquisition will find themselves in good fortune having acquired an assassin of such skill."

He gave Zevran an ironic little smile that had something to do with the fact that he was carrying about such a skilled assassin.

"Unless your mask has a 'jawline chiseled by the maker himself' and is made of 'the purest alabaster' and 'lips made for kissing' among other things, I think not." Now this was far more familiar ground, the teasing, the flirting. He must say that Michel was all the more lovely when flustered. Perhaps he had a thing for pale men- so much easier to ruin in so many lovely ways.

In fact he could think of a few of them right now, all alone in the stone halls, half dressed and desperate- mmm.

It made for a wonderful thought.

"Well I have heard no complaints of my skills. It pays to have someone with deft hands and talented fingers in an organization such as this."

"Pardon?" Now that caused his knee to buckle just a bit, he was used to the mechanisms of court, the way things worked in Orlais. Men and women flirted with either gender, but he was typically on the peripheral of such attentions and too close to Celene's side to be noticed. In fact it was not his job to attract attention to himself, but to Her Radiance. Zevran's flirtations made him think of court, the fact that Zevran was flirting with him made him think of the Empress and Briala. Things that were forbidden or simply not done, his father had certainly found his mother attractive...and really he shouldn't be thinking about these things, "Such a flattering tongue would serve you well in court."

Right, this was a train of thought he ought to be wary of and given his personal mission. Warming thoughts were unbecoming and confusing given that he had been going for months without distraction, entirely on his own. He glanced down at the elf and then focused his attention straight ahead.

"I suspect that...those traits will be a credit to you and...ah...those for whom you perform such services."

"Hair like the sun, eyes of sapphire, a voice fit to make even the most devout chantry sister swoon with desire..." Zevran may be enjoying this a little too much, but flustering men that blushed so easily was a favored pastime of his and from this angle? He could follow the flow of blood easily. And the dip to Michel's otherwise stalwart stride gave him an excuse to huddle closer, one hand reaching up to brace himself on Michel's breastplate. "And that is the chaste descriptions. I could go into the more lustful ones if you like. It does well to know what others are saying of you, in order to mind one's reputation."

Oh so innocent an elf, was Zevran. "Mmmm, my tongue serves me far better in pleasant company that I choose rather than courts. And better still in bed."

The most innocent. Ever. Who would think a lustful rogue of him here?

Aside from those that knew him, of course.

"They have sung my praises more often than not."

"I appreciate that you're trying to humor me...but...the truth is I..." felt unworthy of such praises? Whether they were genuine or not. Confused? It was not that he found elves unattractive, but concealing his identity meant distancing himself from that attraction. So he had never thought to flirt with elves in the past. It made him feel even more awkward and perhaps a bit contrite for not having done so in the past, because here he was cradling one that he was trying to keep his thoughts very objective about, "...I'm not at all certain I can endure...any of the risqué details. I did not get around that much, I'm...certain..."

"Monsieur," Michel began haltingly, if his arms weren't full he might be tempted to tug at his collar, he certainly would not be buying the innocent routine, "that is a very intimate wedge of information..."

...we've only just met was the unspoken undertone, but that might imply something he was certain he shouldn't be implying, intentionally or unintentionally. He did cast his eyes around a few times wondering if there was ever an end to this hold.

Were they meandering now? Was Zevran vying for more time? Was that an unworthy thought?

"Apparently the rumors of your perceived purity were true as well. My, my." He crackled a soft laugh, shifting in Michel's grip to swing his legs down and stand upon his own two feet. He staggered a bit, caught up in the oversized cloak but righted himself easily enough. "Just around this corner, though I can manage it from here, my friend. I must thank you for your assistance, making this walk on my own would have been a terrible inconvenience."

He remained close to Michel for the moment, chin tipped up, head canted, peering at him through his lashes. "If there was some way I might repay that kindness..."

Michel simply made a noncommittal noise in the back of his throat, he wasn't sure how he felt about being pure either, he certainly didn't see himself as pure. Pure people were ones that didn't carry weapons, nor did they have to, ones that wouldn't hurt anyone, ones that did not have blood on their hands. He didn't think of himself as this sort of person, perhaps not in the way that Zevran thought, though he suspected much of what the elf was saying had been his own opinions that really had nothing to do with rumors about him. He knew that the rumor about him was that he betrayed Celene and that was the only one that really mattered, "an engaging experience, it was my pleasure."

He eyed Zevran as he slid to his own feet, clearly having sobered up as to be sturdy enough to walk the few feet to his quarters. He remained within arms reach however, which enabled Michel to take note of the staggering differences in their height and a few other key traits, "I do not require repayment, but for some I understand it is a matter of honor or pride...I will not take advantage, however..."

With a gloved hand he re-angled Zevran's face gently, dipping down so that he could dispel this purity rumor with a kiss. It was strategic, just to the side of his mouth, closer to the cheek, before withdrawing, "...try not to drink so much in the future, the inquisition would be at a loss if you were felled by the stairs before your time."

He tilted his face into Michel's hand, fairly certain he knew where this was going. It was easy enough to turn that last little bit- feel more of Michel's lips on his than the Chevalier perhaps intended. If given leave he would follow it up with a firmer, albeit chaste enough, press of their lips together in a proper kiss. "You are not taking anything I do not wish to give, Soleil."

A gloved hand all his own catches Michel's elbow to have him linger a moment- it was no often he found himself so intrigued by someone that could so easily be read or goaded- and even then what it was he thought he read might not be the truth. That made him all the more intriguing, all the more worth his attention. "If I do next decide to...indulge in one of my vices, perhaps I ought to favor the second in your very fine company."

Michel was surprised, but not necessarily put out by lips finding his own, and he couldn't deny that there was an impulse to withdraw, confusion immediately gnawed at the back of his mind. That would have been absurd, absurd because had he not initiated this in the first place? And because it had been quite some time since he'd kissed anyone with such soft lips...he wanted to sink into it further. Being the pragmatic that he was he did not, pulling away when Zevran did, "ah...well that is a...relief. I would never wish to offend an assassin...especially when it is so rare to find one as amiable as you."

Ah, a pet name in his mother language? It was possibly more harmless flirting without any sort of genuine meaning to it, after all he was with an assassin and among their skill sets was the art of seduction. Still it was charming, and he had an intoxicating scent of leather...oils and other pleasant aromas. Michel offered one of his small smiles, "I'm not sure how fine my company would be, I've been riding for a few days."

"All the more reason you are in need of my deft hands- after so long a journey an Antivan massage would likely do you a world of good. I can only imagine the aches and pains you must endure even now. It would be impolite of me not to offer my skills to help you unwind after so arduous a journey." Zevran remained as much in Michel's space as he would permit, head canted, lips quirked in a smile. Allure was easy enough to read when one was accustomed to it- how much Michel was interested, well. Zevran could not quite tell but it was early and he did have a great deal to drink the day before. But there was at least a spark of interest.

Not making an attempt to play on that would be foolish indeed.

"I--" it wasn't very often Michel found himself rendered completely immobile of thought, then again he didn't often engage in long conversations of things that were idle. If he spoke it was usually of something important or some biting, cutting, witty observation of sorts. While he certainly had been in an environment where seductions and flirtations were carried out in such a casual manner, it was...galvanizing to have it turned in his direction. More perplexing that it was an elf, "--do not misunderstand, you are...inexhaustibly attractive...," was that overstating, he's trying to be polite without being overly politic, "...but so soon after you've just been...ill, it is...perhaps...not wise...and I really do not know how to respond to such an offer."

On various levels. Perhaps he should take up the Orlesian custom of wearing a mask, because right now he felt like a true ass.

"I am not so ill that I cannot do a good turn for one that has offered me the same." He dared enough to take a step closer, hands light on Michel's shoulders. All told it would take but lifting himself on his toes to claim another kiss. Perhaps a proper one before the knight saw fit to scurry back out into the light of day and duty. Here in the back halls? There was little of either and no reason not to attempt to coax out a proper blush- or a proper reaction.

It's the most fun Zevran had since his first week in Skyhold.

He lifted himself up on his toes enough to linker a breath away, voice dripping with honey and sinful promise. "You could say yes. Join me for a short while. I dare say we might find one another invigorating. Or...you could say no and walk back the way you came. Or you might simply say 'another time', and I shall hold you to it."

"Fair enough..." was that the best response in his arsenal? It was when all he could focus on were those hands on his shoulder and whether or not he should gently extract himself lest he end up being caught. He ought to, there was something unsuitable in the way those hands made his face feel a little to warm, he felt less like a warrior and more like an initiatory being wooed for the first time. He was not a new hand at rolling into bed with someone, he was definitely unused to the ceremony, however.

In short sex and physical relationships he's had, seduction was an entirely new kind of beast to him.

Especially now that he found himself nearly nose to nose with the notion of it? Was this warm sense of veneration part of it? Was he simply so exhausted from being ceaselessly on the move for over a year that falling into it, even for a little while? He wasn't certain what compelled him, but he dipped down a bit until their lips were flush against one another's.

For a moment he wasn't certain if the bait was ripe and the line would take- it was more forward than most humans liked their elves- having their preference for the demure sort that did as the were told and were flattered for their attention. Being bold was a bit trickier of a play but with the want in Michel's eyes, the weariness of his shoulders? Perhaps the honey will be enough for this trap. Everything he'd been trained in told him this should take- but there was the human element that made for new and fascinating variables

Not a word more, not a thought- lips against his and Zevran repressed a chuckle.

Caught.

Zevran took the invitation as given to press fully against Michel's chest, hands sliding from his shoulders to his jaw to hold him there while he leaned into the kiss properly.

Zevran would never know that Michel wasn't entirely human among other thoughts that rushed through him as he returned that kiss. Like how the want in his eyes was for more than what Zevran was offering, but for the simple idea of elven agency in a human dominated society. How Briala had that agency in the arms of the most powerful figure in Orlais. Would holding on to Zevran for a little while feel something like that, or was he simply outside of his senses.

He was exhausted and that was it.

He's not so certain he would be able to use that as an excuse later, but for now it seemed adequate enough. Hypnotically drowsy enough sink into Zevran. Wind his arms around that light, adaptable body and hoist him off the ground easily enough as his jaw worked under those fingers.

The bubble of laughter in his chest at being lifted was soft enough that Zevran was able to twist it into a sigh of pleasure- and he was genuinely pleased. Many remedies are there for a worn body and aching head but a good orgasm? Happened to be his favorite. At the very least Michel would be a marvelous distraction from both the hangover and that which caused it in the first place. As he was hefted Zevran snaked his legs around Michel's waist, mounting him for better leverage.

Braced like this he could curl a hand in Michel's hair- muss it up a little, tease at his scalp as much as he teased at his lips with his teeth and tongue.

[Went ahead and move it here if you don't mind.]

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We've come a long way from where we began

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guh sorry for my slowness, finals were hell

education > rp, s'awright!

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Wanna move this to an inbox?

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