faderift | [ OPEN ] Tonight I'm gonna have myself a real good time

Entry tags:

[ OPEN ] Tonight I'm gonna have myself a real good time

WHO: Zevran and YOU
WHAT: Zevran's Birthday and Ardent Blossom Contest
WHEN: Forward dated to Guardian 5
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Shenanigans connected to this announcement

Someone had been a sneaky little shit, preying on Zevran's lack of familiarity with traditions and dates and the weight people tend to put on something so mundane as a 'birthday'. Someone (Alistair) had spread word and made a thing of it, despite Zevran not seeing the point nor truly wishing to cause a fuss. He had, however, decided to take a day for himself to do nothing. No fuss, no stress, no real work. A day to indulge in a few of his many hobbies. He did not know what one did on their birthday normally but here he was, sitting in the Courtyard with one of his found spoils on his head, awaiting those that paid mind to his earlier announcement. When he wasn't idly sketching whoever he saw in the courtyard he was in the Herald's rest, enjoying a quiet drink and making notes on the better stories or songs he has heard throughout the day.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Even if Zevran blamed the wine Michel would be hard pressed to believe him, though he rarely drank himself he suspected it would take more than just a few sips to bring heat to those fine cheeks. Though when he looked at the assassin there wasn't triumph in his eyes, a genuineness tempered by his own fondness that broke through that serene atmosphere Michel seemed to carry with him.

And late he was in hiding his surprise, Michel had played the Game, vicious thing it was and much distaste as he had for it. He cannot say that it taught him nothing even if he wasn't always the best at reading others, some thing were clear. And carefully, so, so very carefully he leaned up brushing his lips along the line of one of those slightly drooping ears, kissing the tip gently before sitting back in his chair appropriately.

"You are all these things," at least he hoped that Zevran realized that much.

He was not supposed to blush. Michel was not supposed to be so kind about it afterward, he was to gloat or to smirk having won a point in their game- not look at him with such warmth. And yet he cannot begrudge him for it, for he was charmed. And he could not flinch away from it, for he had never before experienced the like. Zevran leaned into the brush of his lips, blush deepening before Zevran wrangled it into some form of control before he managed to claw a mask into place.

Self depreciating was Alistair's thing, not his, but this was not his usual dance. "So I have been told."

He did not believe such things. How could he? It would be foolish to do so.

"I find it helpful to be reminded of such things from time to time," no, he wouldn't gloat, and Michel was terrible at games and he couldn't quite let it recede either behind Zevran's playful mask. So rare was it that he saw hints of the man underneath and to have any sort of hand in bringing it out, even for a moment made him very reluctant to let it go.

It was Michel who stretched his leg out this time, encouraging, quite artfully for a man wearing armor, his companion to prop his feet up in the Chevalier's lap. There was no agenda to it, nothing more than to have part of him a little closer...but Michel was not without mercy also and reaching for his wine he scooped up the glass and gave it a raise in toast.

"Tacho! To you on your birthday, Zevran, may it bring you everything you want."

Without any other line, tale, or trick with which to divert attention, Zevran moves as he was coaxed, feet slipping into Michel's lap as though this was something they did. As though they were casually and openly affectionate often without fear of judgement or reprisal.

Who is this man, and what did he do with the stumbling Chevalier of a few weeks ago?

Zevran ducked his head, cleared his throat and took his wine, lifting it in return for that toast. 'Everything you want'. Here was the place for a lewd line and he spoke it. "And if what I want is you?"

The usual lilt and roll was absent- if anything the question was practically tentative.

Feet comfortably on his lap, Michel absently stroked his legs, more defined in these particular leathers...but in spite of that the material was just as soft and exquisite on him as it usually was. He continued to sip his wine as Zevran perplexed over the change in him. Certainly Michel was not used to such connections himself, it sanded his edges he supposed.

He would never think of himself as smooth and he certainly had little vibrancy or likability, not in the same way Zevran seemed to draw others. There would always be that stumbling Chevalier, but even he couldn't be impervious to what experiences touched him and how they did.

"How would you like to have me?" It was the first time Zevran had asked him this question...well, at least in such a way. It struck a chord of curiosity mingled with something else he couldn't explain, and there was a willingness there as well.

Again, with the unexpected. Michel was supposed to color and murmur some manner of yay or nay not ask for specifics. Several came to mind, of course, he was off balance not dead, but it still took him a moment to find the right words. And even then it was not a question of the right words so much as the words that were disgustingly honest.

But it was a day for such strangeness, for sentiment, for honesty, for warm hands on his legs through his leathers and warm eyes over the rim of a wine glass. How was he to prepare for this? He wasn't.

"Like this." Just- this for a little while longer. Warm and companionable and without expectation. "And later in the hot springs, when it is not so crowded."

As long as they were feeling bold.

Michel was under the impression that one ought to get as much of what they wished for as they could. He might not celebrate his own, but he'd seen enough to know how it worked and felt not reason to begrudge Zevran, though certain other factors helped.

He had very little with which he could grant wishes and desires at the moment, that he could do this much? Well it was satisfying in its own way.

"Do you want me to wash your back?" There was a bit of that Chevalier from days before in his expression, warmth just around the edges of his collar. It didn't distract him from the careful way his hands smoothed over his companion's legs.

"Now that'd be a fine thing, having a Chevalier attend me in the bath." An attempt at distance that did not quite fit the warmth of his tone, the softness in his eyes. More a reminder for himself than for Michel and he still cannot place why this had him so off center.

But at the first bloom of that blush, his lips twisted wickedly. "And perhaps you might wash the rest of me as well, mm? Oil me afterward for your enjoyment."

"Perhaps a better gift would have been to offer you my services for an entire day if that idea pleases you," Michel might have been joking, he had them, he wasn't known for them, but it was not impossible...though he seemed quite sincere as well, "perhaps in addition to this you can pick a day, any of your choosing."

"Only if you can manage to behave long enough, I...think I can fulfill that request," Zevran had a way about him that enabled him to turn the tables on Michel in certain situations. If the assassin caught him off guard then washing and oiling him up might be difficult, though he wasn't wrong in that Michel would certainly find enjoyment in the task. Of course it was only having said it that Michel realized his own words and he offered his companion a sheepish nod.

"A dangerous offer." This- this was closer to the game he knows, the smirks and coy glances, the heated words. Attended by Michel for the entirety of a day? They likely wouldn't leave his bed for much other than food and perhaps a soak were it up to him. And perhaps a day may come when he had need of such an offer. "I accept."

When, though- that was the trick of it. But he set the thought aside, or as far aside as he could with Michel's hands warm and idle on his calves; recalling well the breathless question of learning to return the favor. Perhaps that would be how they spent the evening. "I would be as chaste as a chantry sister, you have my word."

And the most innocent look he could muster, one hand pressed to his chest, ears dipped slightly, eyes wide and doelike.

Michel offered a nod at Zevran's acceptance, as good as his word on any given day, no matter what shape they were in down the road or time that passed, it was an offer that Zevran could call on at any time. The Chevalier was perfectly capable of attending to others as he had done so for the Empress when it was just the two of them. Though not trained in such a way as a Chevalier, he was competent enough to take care of anyone under his charge.

The offer made, Michel picked up his wine again and finished the glass. He would abstain from drinking more as drinking was not something he was accustomed to and he had little desire to stumble around drunk today. More than that he tried to picture Zevran as a chaste chantry sister and failed spectacularly in conjuring the image. The innocent look he mustered did nothing to convince the Chevalier, but his lips quirked into a smile anyway, "those are high expectations, bel homme...I should hold you to it."

Should, but he probably would not.

"I can behave perfectly well if pressed." Case in point, how well he was behaving now. His feet in Michel's lap, honey on this lovely bread, and not a single salacious wink or innuendo to be had. Though now that he thought of it fighting the impulse to do something untoward was becoming more difficult. Now that he was attempting to not. In an attempt to distract himself he took another bite of the peasant bread, licking the honey from the pad of his thumb in the most efficient manner possible, sipped his wine and-

Well no that was not working, not with Michel's hands so warm against his calves. Working against his natural inclination to make everything about sex left only the vague stirrings of Sentiment to think on and that he had no desire to slip into with how off center he already was.

But see? Chaste. Utterly chaste.

"It was unworthy of me to underestimate you, you have my sincerest apologies," his apology was sincere, but it was also too warm not to be a lighthearted gesture. To emphasize, however, he gave Zevran's leg a gentle pat without realizing he was only stripping the man of his reserves. Regardless he was holding up well.

Arguably Michel was the one who seemed to be having more trouble with it now that Zevran had drawn the connection between himself and a chaste chantry sister. It was terribly inappropriate, but he took a sip of his wine and tried not to warm too noticeably at his own thoughts.

"Oh, good. Being chaste is so exhausting." Being salacious even more so in other, far more pleasant ways but he dropped a bit of the posture, licking wine from his lips and rolling a foot against Michel's lap. Idle indolence. "I do not know how they do it. Pious vows to the maker, but even the chant itself can be terribly...thrilling, if given the proper tone."

Which was five kinds of heretical but Zevran was nothing if not an honest sinner.

"Mmm. Now there's a look. Copper for your thoughts?" Or perhaps a kiss.

Perhaps it was no coincidence that Zevran's idle indolence in tandem with the profane way he referred to such things had him shifting in his seat. The Chevalier was not wholly Andrastian, as it was not something that they pushed quite so much on Chevaliers, but that didn't make his thoughts, however brief, any less uncomfortable.

And less so when Zevran's attention was drawn to them, "I...do not think my thoughts are very appropriate, bel homme."

Not at all considering he was trying to picture Zevran in Chantry attire and this did him very little in the way of good. He couldn't imagine what that made him at the moment.

"All the more reason to share them, mm?" His smirk became wide and wicked. As much as chaste thought was something he could manage- sinful indulgences were far more fascinating and prompting anyone pious into the same gave him far too much pleasure for him to ignore the perverse urge. That Michel flustered and colored so prettily only made twisting something of the like out of him all the more worthwhile.

"Are you imagining, perhaps, how I might recite the chant?"

"That is...certainly part of it..." Michel confessed, though he supposed since Zevran had rooted him out this far and since it was his birthday he should probably confess the whole of it, "...dressed in chantry robes...leaning back against a desk..."

Michel bowed his head and ran his fingers through his hair, yes, he should be appropriately ashamed, shouldn't he? And that made it difficult to look Zevran directly in the eyes, "I suppose this is when I am to be struck by lightening?"

"While you kneel and give worship?" And now that- was that not a marvelous mental image made all the better by the slight coloring of Michel's cheeks, the way his hair fell in front of his eyes once disturbed. A terribly handsome man, was Michel, and he knew it. The idea of having Michel kneeling before him as he recited the chant in every perverse way he knew how?

That was a birthday present to cling to.

If by giving worship Zevran meant to have Michel take the elf into his mouth, then it was indeed a titillating image, especially if it meant going underneath robes to do it. Michel was not well practiced in the art, but there was merit there and it was obvious he was giving it consideration...consideration until had couldn't anymore.

With a cough to disguise his own embarrassment, he gave Zevran's leg a gentle pat, "I...ah...I do not think I can go on, bel homme...I feel as though I should go repent somewhere..."

"Confess your sinful thoughts to me, my child, and I will give you absolution." Something so sacred should not be twisted about in the voice to sound so terribly profane; but Zevran had a skill for such things. Especially when he had so handsome and charming an audience.

"I cannot be certain that would be the best idea, lest the urge strikes me to do something tremendously secular to you right here in the open," it was difficult trying to keep the serene expression of a knight in place when talking like a complete idolator. He at least had the decency to make eye contact with his win glass and not directly with Zevran.

"Another time, perhaps." It'd be easy enough to tease and keep teasing, to string the joke and fantasy along until they were pressed against one another in some quiet corner of the tavern but...For the first time he can recall since he'd met the man, Zevran wished to simply sit and speak for a little while longer more than he wished to kiss him.

What fresh madness was this?

"I thank you for your mercy," Michel said half laughing and giving Zevran's leg another companionable rub. Besides, he had more pressing thoughts on his mind, sitting and speaking meant getting to know someone. He would like to know a bit more about Zevran for...future occasions such as this. It was odd to think of someone in the long term, at least for Michel who hadn't the luxury of family or friends. Empress Celene being his charge meant they could not be friends in spite of their trust, or what trust they once had.

"I do not think I've really asked you about your hobbies, bel homme...what sort of things do you enjoy doing?" Aside from the obvious, his tone seemed to suggest.

That was a good look for him, the laughing. So many grave faces for so handsome a man- he was tempted to say as such and fluster him further but enjoying this quiet companionship took precedent. Somehow. Zevran did not wish to explain it. "Well...I suppose this is as good of one as any."

He wiped his hands clean and took up his journal once again, turning it about so Michel might flip through it. Images of Dorian lounging indolently in the library, the Iron Bull sparring, Alistair and Morrigan And Leliana about a fire- old clothing and armor but their faces as they were now, Michel himself in the afterglow, warm and sated and lounging- may pages, many faces, all smudged into careful life with charcoal.

When offered the journal Michel made sure his own hands were clean before accepting and slowly flipping though the pages, it wasn't what he expected to find. Words certainly, but these finely drawn portraits were...surprisingly wonderful and he was not expecting it and for a long time hw as quite and he carefully moved from picture to picture, enamored by the talent, though when coming upon his own images he felt a bit of heat creep along his neck, "did you...draw some of these from memory?"

He could not remember being sketched like this.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject