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

"Quite a memory you have..." Michel raised a hand as if to cover his own face in this portrait as if he could not make such a face and realizing just how ridiculous it was. He flipped through to the last of the pages, erotic as it was, these were still quite glorious and it was clear that this was a hobby that Zevran took great care in.

"Sit?...Of course, as you like!" It might be nice to sit in full awareness of having his portrait done, though neither one of them was at all certain when or if that would happen.

"You made quite the impression." The last wasn't something half so erotic- Michel with his arms crossed, cheek resting against his bicep, eyes closed. Shaded and lit from sunlight or candlelight or something else entirely, warm and almost ethereal. Perhaps there was more sentiment in that than he would like to otherwise show but-

He was a handsome man, was Michel. Zevran enjoyed having him.

"I...see it...it's just difficult to believe..." Michel tilted his head just a bit at the image of himself sleeping, was that how he appeared to Zevran's eyes? If truth be told, there was very little that wore Michel down enough for him to fall into such a contented sleep, there was no such thing as truly becoming comfortable. Yet he found himself in complete contentment afterward, even if it was only for a few hours--flat on his stomach, or on his side, that warm oblivion that he felt secure in.

It was such an impossible thing.

"Do you find yourself so unremarkable?" Zevran frowned across at his companion. "Do you truly think I would waste my time with someone I did not find striking in some way?"

Even were it so shallow as the cut of a jaw or the color of someone's eyes- Zevran took his lovers outside of work on the merit of a good time and a pleasing appearance. On occasion it was the hands, the voice, the need to be ruined. Sometimes it was their need for a romantic fantasy that he could provide. In Michel? Something to claim. To ruin. To own for a short while- and something so terribly fine unlike any he had ever known of noble Orlesian men.

"I do not really think about it personally, Zevran," Michel said, it was the truth of it. Maybe he glanced at himself in a mirror now and again when one was available, but he'd learned to recognize his reflection by his scars. Less so by how he might appear to others, and it wasn't such an unpleasant thing, it was part of being a Chevalier, "a Chevalier is...typically prized for their strong arm and their fortitude and a champion's existences is always to draw attention to the Empress or the Emperor, so...how I look has...never mattered outside of professionalism. Is that...wrong?"

"For an Orlesian Chevalier that was once Champion to the Empress likely as much for that fortitude as his appearance? I do not mean to diminish your skill or undermine your loyalty in saying such but Royalty? Put just as much value on the appearances of those they keep closest to them as they do their skills and their loyalty. All the more so in Orlais. To be unaware, to not make use of it-" He shook his head. "You think differently than I do. Everything of me, Everything I do? It is a weapon. For you I suppose all you are is a shield."

"In Orlais it does not take much to hide one's appearance," Michel demonstrated by lifting Zevran's journal in order to hide the top half of his face from forehead to nose, "all the ugliness buried beneath enough gold and silverite, feathers, pearls, and jewels...dazzling and distracting...anyone could be a mysterious beauty while bathed in such illusions. I was no exception, as Her Radiance's Champion I was permitted and encouraged to wear a mask, that world had a role for me...I couldn't say that it made me very happy all the time, I had no love of the game, no love of hiding...but I loved my purpose."

Michel finally lowered the journal with care, folding it in his hands, "she needed me, she trusted me, I was a devoted shield against as much of the world as I could protect her from. Appearances did not really matter when she needed me."

"And now?" To have that purpose, or even that sense of purpose wrenched from under you...Zevran knew well what it was to stagger in the aftermath. To try and fail to find his footing once again- for him? It had been easy, swept up into another quest immediately afterward despite his best attempt to simply be dead. Michel had no such benefit. He had his demon, of course but...that was a temporary solution at best. Either the demon would die or he would die-

That he was so concerned was concerning. He should not care. They are not so deeply entwined for him to bother. Yet he reached out all the same to drag his fingertips across the back of Michel's hand- turning what had been a gesture of comfort into a sensual caress. One was far safer than the other.

"And now...I put an end to Imshael. It is an endeavor I would give my life for...though not in vain...and after?" If he survived the encounter, which is implied, as he had every intention of putting up his best fight against the demon. Defeating him would help rectify one mistake and would fulfill his purpose, or at least his purpose for the past year. After that he didn't know what he would do, join the Inquisition, perhaps...

...he was distracted from his thoughts by Zevran's fingertips caressing his hand and he glanced up. The touch had the small hairs on the back of his neck standing up, he could feel the prickling, trembling sensation down his spine and he thought of something crazy for a moment. Just for a moment, before letting it go, "...the Inquisition is doing really good work, I might stay if there's a use for my skills...and reinvent my purpose..."

Zevran found that he could not quite move his hand away once he began the idle stroke, pads of his tips and nails tracing Michel's knuckles, the bones of his fingers, the narrow point of his wrists and back up. Idle, pointless patterns that, if one knew what it was, could recognize as Zevran tracing the path of veins under Michel's fair skin. "Build new masks, new contacts."

His lips curled into a smirk- one that could be mocking were it not for the weight of understanding in Zevran's eyes. "A new life."

Michel watched his companion's fingers, it was hypnotic, not that he was really paying attention to the path they were tracing along his veins. It would be interesting to him if he could think about anything else aside from that touch. Find something to devote his skills to, find something to protect, to really put that stout heart of his into. Something that would give him just as much pride.

"A new life...here..." his gaze moved from Zevran's fingers to catch the look in Zevran's eyes and his own expression relaxed tremendously, "it is not a bad idea...I could reinvent myself, serve here..."

"Build a new reputation." As he had for himself. Zevran knew that trouble- had worked through it alongside those that scrabbled and fought for their own scrap of destiny for their own reasons. Here it was a little less, the Inquisition had it's own army but- all the tales had space for many faces, many hands. Another scrap of history. Another scrap of destiny. Perhaps whatever Michel accomplishes here and now would do more for his name than the disgrace he suffered in Val Royeaux.

He tugged Michel's hand closer, cupping it in his hand as he leaned down to run his lips over that same wandering path. Idle. Teasing. Without any true heat.

"You mean put a beautiful mask over the treachery reputation?" Michel said with a small smile in his voice. He wasn't so much concerned about glory or anything like that, just purpose would do for him and being needed somewhere. It wasn't easy to think about such things when Zevran's lips were working his hand over and while it might have been subtle it felt...flirtatious. Yes, he was definitely distracted now.

"It is not so terrible thing, being a traitor. I myself am a traitor to the Crows and have carved out a place for myself as I liked. You might do the same." He turned Michel's hand around so he might trail his lips across his palm, the pads of his fingertips, the thin skin of his inner wrist. Fine and lovely and he did not quite know what the aim was, here. What he meant to do aside from the fact that he found Michel's skin pleasing and wished to touch him.

"I should adopt your optimistic outlook then, it would certainly serve me well," Michel continued to watch the display fondly, not certain where this was going either, but it was intriguing and...cute in its own way. He knew his palms had to be rough against those smooth lips, but that made the contrast all the more luxurious. When those lips made their way to his wrist Michel gently scratched the soft pallet underneath Zevran's chin with the pads of his fingers.

It was a remarkably feline thing, the brushing of his lips and cheek against Michel's calloused hand- though not one Zevran truly thought of until those fingers turned to scratch his chin. His eartips twitched and his eyes went half lidded- one row raised. Did Michel think him so easily tamed?

If Zevran's half lidded eyes were anything to go by, then he would certainly have to say that Zevran appeared quite tame to him right now. He was half expecting a purr, but he knew that was a high expectation, so instead he stroke under his companion's chin while leaning forward to drop a kiss on his forehead. Truly, Zevran was special.

Now that- that was something of a surprise and again (one day he would sort out what it was that made the heat bloom in his cheeks when Michel did such things, but it was not this day) Zevran blushed. His coloring made it less obvious than Michel's own fair skin; but close as they were? It was easy enough to discern. He tipped his head back and leaned up enough to press their lips together, quick and chaste.

Michel's eyes might have been heavy-lidded, but he was still analyzing every feature of Zevran's face, including the warmth in his companion's cheeks. Sometimes the Chevalier thought that he saw it, or thought he saw it, occasionally, his tawny skin often made it difficult to say for certain. This close, however, he knew the assassin was blushing and after that quick, chaste kiss Michel withdrew pretending he'd seen nothing, but logging the encounter away for himself.

"You are a strange and daring man, Michel de Chevin." And yet it was said with a smile, something smaller, sweeter than his usual leers and smirks and all the more honest for it. "Should you ever need a few pointers on how to live as a traitor, well. You know where to find me, yes? I am always available for you to call upon."

"That is quite the praise, bel homme," not that he minds at all being strange and daring, for him daring had to be these affectionate gestures out in the open where anyone could see and extrapolate what they wished. This was not Orlais and he wasn't sitting on a throne, being so intimate and companionable with Zevran? It felt safe here, "that's the sort of training that...would take quite a bit of time and dedicated effort. I'm glad you have the time for me."

"What can I say? I have a soft spot for charming men with blue eyes." Or perhaps simply charming men with luscious lips and far too much sincerity for their own good.

"Should I count myself fortunate that I tick all of your boxes?" Michel withdrew, but not before pressing his lips to Zevran's tattooed cheek.

"Some of my Boxes. I have a great many." Not blushing. He was not blushing- it was the wine, it was desire. Not sentiment. Zevran took another bite of his honey'd bread, licking the sticky sweetness from his lips.

"Does that mean I have a goal?" Michel mused rubbing his chin with his index finger, part of him wondering just how many boxes there were to tick. It wasn't a point to be overwhelmed by, but it was certainly something to think about.

(no subject)

ombranera - 2016-03-01 00:31 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only