faderift | [ OPEN ] One time love, take care how you use it

Entry tags:

[ OPEN ] One time love, take care how you use it

WHO: Zevran Arainai, Isabela, their audience
WHAT: Zevran and Company heat up a cold night with some steamy songs from up North.
WHEN: Current
WHERE: Tavern
NOTES: Bawdy songs, salacious dancing, coin being tossed- adult language and content.

It was cold, they were bored and a little tipsy, and Zevran had run through as many stories of the fifth blight that he could stand for the night, Isabela had run through as many suckers as she could get in her game of cards as would be lured in by her laugh and her bosom. Comfortably buzzed and not wishing to become maudlin Zevran began to pick out the notes to a rather saucy Antivan song- one he recited recently for Alistair. By the time he'd gone through the first verse with just the Lute Isabela was chortling. "You wouldn't actually-"

"Oh, mia Bella, I would. I truly would." Never one to step down from such a challenge, his plucking went from idle to strong with purpose, which only had Isabela throwing her head back and cackling.

Giggling, in her own way, warm and rich and turning a few heads. The atmosphere wasn't dire or dour but it could use a little spice. A little heat. Whether it was the sudden sharp strum that brought him back to the beginning or Isabela elbowing him in the ribs to actually start singing that got more heads, he couldn't say. by the time he hit the refrain and had nudged her enough to get her standing on the table, writhing along with the music? They certainly had the attention of most if not all of the tavern. When he hit the second call and response- half the women in attendance replied, egged on by Isabela on the table still- leaping onto another in time with the music.

As he had quite a few such pieces in his repertoire, they had all night to fill with song and dance and bawdy intent.

[ ooc: tag around and have a party, everyone's game! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

By the time Zevran wound his way to Michel he'd lost his shirt and had spent a fair amount of time dancing, his hair tousled from the effort, skin warmed and shining with perspiration. Of course this made it a perfect time for him not only to settle at Michel's side but to slip into his lap entirely, one arm draped about his shoulders and the other steadying himself on the bar. "Why so shy, Soleil? I would have thought you might enjoy the show."

Michel had expected to encounter Zevran at some point during the evening, for him it was a necessary meeting, but to find his lap filled with the assassin, flushed and exhilarated from the excitement was surprising. If it had been unwelcome then he would have rearranged he elf in the chair beside him, but it was not unwelcome in spite of his own diffident treatment of Zevran. He was more delicate in handling his companion, ensconcing him with both arms so that he remained balanced in his lap. He thought vaguely of their night together, but he couldn't be distracted, "it is...not the sort of thrill that I am used to, I'm afraid. If you'll forgive the discourtesy..."

Though Michel did press his lips lightly and briefly to Zevran's brow as a means of making amends before withdrawing a bit and lowering his head thoughtfully. He wasn't sure if this was the right time to seek a favor, but time was a funny and precious thing, "...it is no mistake that I'm here for you, however, though this can always wait until you're ready...I have come to beg a favor of you."

"Mmm, if I get kisses and embraces every time you choose to be so discourteous, I am happy to forgive them." Tucking himself against Michel's chest is easily done, he is broad and fine and solid under his back and against his weary skin. So much dancing did twist the soul and take the breath; fresh from the tables he was as flushed and his breath as shallow as it had been when he lay twisted upon the sheets, writing in an entirely different fashion for Michel's pleasure.

"I think I may prefer my other, private performance for you a bit more." Just a bit.

The request for a favor, though, warrants a quirked brow and the trailing of his hand along Michel's jawline, some of the playful light lifting from his eyes and the curl of his lips. "For you? I can make time."

"How fortunate am I that you are too magnanimous with me?" at least Michel decided to forego the armor this time making it easier to wrap Zevran against him. It was an uncharacteristic display of affection for him, particularly in a place so public, but he wanted to indulge it for one just never knew, did they? He wasn't entirely loose with his attention, as shown by his inability to watch the show, but this he could do well enough.

"I preferred it as well," never one to kiss and talk about it, Michel was unusually forthcoming, though it was not his area of expertise, "you were perfect."

Though he suspected a great many of Zevran's performances were perfect, still he would keep that memory for himself. He could delude in it a bit while time permitted, but for now he got directly to the point only slightly leaning into the elf's touches, "I have to replenish all of my supplies before returning to Emprise du Lion...and I noticed that you make traps, would you be willing to part with some of them?"

Michel was aware that he could purchase them if he wanted, but the ones he had seen weren't nearly so well crafted...and Zevran too care in the detail he put into his traps. Michel only had to glance to know this. He reached into his coffers however, having spent most of his coin, he withdrew a medallion, made of a gold more refined than Michel had ever seen, a smooth white and blue stone embedded in the center of it, and around it was some kind of scripture in ancient elven that he was unable to read and found it unlikely to be a surviving language, "I do not expect this favor to come for free...this found its way into my belongings while I was in Arlathan. I would like for you to have it in exchange."

"Or perhaps I am terribly easy to please." That much was well known- and Michel knew better than most how easy Zevran was; but it worked in their mutual favor. All the more so without the armor preventing him from tucking so close, chin against his shoulder, hand idly tracing a path along Michel's fingertips. Idle, constant attention, affection, something it seemed Michel did not receive often near so easily and Zevran was content to give. Especially if Michel was going to compliment him so. "Mmm, I do try."

He was good, he knew he was good. An Artist, Isabella called him often. And how fun to enjoy a new canvas it was.

"You come to me, flatter me, kiss me and speak of business?" Zevran snorted a soft laugh. "If only more of my trading partners took this tack, I would treat them better. Yes, I can spare them, and yes, this would be more than sufficient. I've a stock already made; but I also can craft a few custom traps if you've anything particular in mind."

An offer he did not make lightly, but Michel had put in an astounding performance of his own.

"If a novice like me could give you some measure of satisfaction..." Michel offered with a vague smile, though perhaps he blamed himself more for Zevran being easy to please in that particular sense. Perhaps Michel mistook it for patience on his one-time bed companion's part, he was tolerant where there were times the Chevalier's nerves got the better of him. Even as the other man sat here in his lap he thought about how forbidden Zevran was to him, how being close to him excited him and made him feel uneasy at the same time. He didn't necessairily believe the Crow's love for sex made him easy, but it had certainly built up his tolerance.

"I understand if it's ill timed," Michel wasn't exactly reading the mood, if there was a mood...but then he hadn't expected to find himself with Zevran in his lap. Shirtless. Sweating. Drunk on the atmosphere. The mood he brought to Michel suggested he should probably lean the assassin against the surface of the bar and press his lips to his chest, inhale his warmth. It was easy to be clouded by such thoughts when he was certain it wouldn't happen again, if the Inquisition intended to head toward the Emprise du Lion then they would certainly clear out the Red Templars making it easier to get at Imshael and that wasn't an encounter he expected to bounce back from. Not that he was going to mention it out loud, "I really would appreciate anything you could you could do for me, bel homme. I've nothing left, but if I can repay you I will do my utmost, it's worth the obvious quality..."

"Oh, I was more than satisfied, Soleil, trust me." Afterward he'd been practically content which was rare enough; relaxed and glowing for at least a day afterward which was rarer still. Nobles often did not come so beautifully undone in his bed, nor did they take bruising so well. The benefits of taking a Knight, he supposed.

"Ah, this was impromptu, spurred on by a request of a song and Isabela's beautifully sinful influence." He sighed, leaning into Michel even as his eyes traced Isabela's figure from across the room, tracing every curve and curl. Gorgeous. Though he did turn back after not too terribly long to nip at the side of Michel's neck. Be it a promise or subtle punishment- that he won't say. "The medallion is payment enough. You do not need to promise me a debt nor yourself in bed again for want of tools. Were I a lesser elf? I might be insulted."

"Well...then I suppose I have no regrets on top of a new appreciation for leather," though perhaps he said it with a bit of humor in his voice, at the time the story had been a completely different one. Whether or not that was the truth of it, as a man it was gratifying to hear.

"Still...you seemed to be enjoying yourself, something I encourage in times such as these," even if he could not allow himself much of the enjoyment he saw in others given his single-mindedness to his responsibilities. He'd been too lenient on himself up until this point and for a bit longer it wouldn't hurt, but all things had endings. So he gave himself a few more moments to indulge in Zevran's teasing and the weight of his presence before climbing to his feet, elf still in his arms. He really was never quite sure what to do with him when he had him like this, "then if nothing else you have my gratitude. I'll see you one more time, but if I forget myself between now and then our brief encouter has been a distinct pleasure...and...take care of yourself."

By that he certainly was referring to the circumstances of their meeting in which Zevran was stumbling around with the painful aftereffects of drinking.

"If you have an hour or so free, I might continue enjoying myself with you." It would be a lie to say it doesn't thrill him a bit, to have this effect on someone; to confound and entice them so easily. Not that bending the will of a Chevalier was at all an inconsiderable task as they are terribly willful, terribly noble. But held like this, so close, the wine, the music, the ache for home?

Made him ache for other such vices as a distraction.

It was simple enough to lean in and press their lips together, to turn enough and murmur into Michel's ear. "I could strip you down and give you a massage while wearing my leather gloves."

True enough Chevalier were well trained in brutal, but effective ways, steadfast and unshakable, without fear in battle made them highly effective in combat situations. Michel had his weaknesses, however, and he knew them well enough...he was intelligent, he could think on his feet, but the Game had a tendency to stymie him now and again. Additionally, unlike most Chevalier, he had a history to hide and that presented him with his only fear...a fear that had weakened somewhat over the past year, but it was still present. Then there were situations like this, Chevalier were not trained in the art of seduction or the ability to resist it, that was entirely dependent on the individual...and then there was this urge to protect that Zevran seemed to inspire in him given the pattern of their meetings as of late. Protection from something else as well, perhaps? He looked small in Michel's arms, he couldn't really say no, "I could be convinced to loose a night with you..."

There was humor in his voice, though he wouldn't say so if he didn't wish to follow through...

...and Zevran was making that a worthy task indeed as he could feel himself melting under the influence, that Chevalier resolve bending under those warm, wine-sweetened lips, voice soft against his ear. Michel fully believed in his honor, but that did not make him impervious, "...spoil me too much and I may find leaving difficult...but you have me convinced..."

"You do recall the way to my room, yes?" Again he may have to kick out Alistair yet again but for Michel? It would be well worth it. He had a few ideas as to what else they might do together, how he can introduce Michel to yet more delicious little deviances and thoroughly indulge his appreciation for leather. There was nothing he enjoyed more than exploring the newness of sensual vices with a partner that had not yet explored them.

Perhaps he ought to bring out the silk scarves that Isabela favored and see what it was Michel thought of them. Or the warming oils. Or wax. Mmm.

"The walk was very memorable, even if I tried I couldn't forget," and even though most of those memories involved pawing of some sort a great many of them included navigating and that much he was good at. He could wind his way back to Zevran's room as easily as if it had been his own, not that Michel had taken up residency. A tent was enough to suit his needs as it meant not depriving a more permanent resident of a space, granted there was a great deal of space, but the following was growing as well.

He really hadn't thought beyond Zevran's initial promise, not having considered other sexual proclivities...well he considered it, but not to the extent Zevran was. Sexual turpitude was typically outside of his range of experience, but not beyond considering given their last encounter. On top of that Michel had an incredibly high threshold for a great many things, most of which he wasn't aware of as his tolerance was also an extension of his training as a Chevalier.

Wrapping Zevran in his traveling cloak, because Michel had no idea what and where his shirt had gotten up to, he glanced down at his companion, "ready?"

Normally to earn this sort of treatment Zevran would have to be injured, in the midst of a deeper ploy, or terribly ill; for Michel to humor him not only the once, but to indulge a second time without the asking? Perhaps there was something to be said for the nobility of Orlesian Chevaliers- or perhaps the simpler answer was the one Zevran found to be true most often. Elves were small and seemed fragile, vulnerable. Whether a man found that enticing to abuse or enticing to protect depended upon the man.

Michel, unreservedly, fell into the latter category. It spoke well of him for all the social moors that would have him think nothing of elves.

Zevran cannot help but find that at least slightly endearing. Even if he was not at all above manipulating that sentiment, tucking himself closer, smaller to Michel's chest, nosing up along the side of his throat for warmth. "Mmmmhmm."

His shirt was- well. Somewhere. He would find it again later and Isabela might mind the crowd easily enough.

Some would say that Chevaliers had no humor, but if asked, Michel was not at all too proud to talk about the time he dueled with a feather.

He would also be the first to admit that being a Chevalier, as with most organizations in the world, possessed qualities that were less than noble. He clung to every bit of the ideals that resonated him and dismissed the vices that most developed a taste for after initiation. His history grounded him in his the sense of honor that he'd crafted for himself. Chevalier's could be seen as abusive given what they could be, just like anyone, but Michel had made it his practice to protect when and where he could.

Part of the reason he did this had to do with his protective instincts, though another part had something to do with developing a taste for the assassin's body curled up in his arms like this. Knowing that he was deceptively dangerous and yet appeared completely harmless while intentionally shrinking himself against Michel...it would be a lie to say that it didn't play havoc with what he knew to be true and what appeared to be true. It had simply reached a point where he didn't mind at all...

...and it offered him the opportunity to keep Zevran close for now, and warm, if the face pressing up against the column of his neck was anything he should judge by. It set off the familiar hammering of his pulse, but the Chevalier simply gathered his composure and walked out into the air as if this was perfectly natural with the elf bundled in his cloak.

The way to Zevran's room was determined more by his instincts at this point, even though the conversation was minimal, he was preoccupied with stroking his companion's hair into place.

[ ooc: continued here ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ OPEN ] One time love, take care how you use it

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

Zevran Approves + 5

and thus a tradition was born!

srsly he should end up carrying him at least once a thread >_>