faderift | [ OPEN ] Well I can't stand to be with myself, this liberation's seemingly rare

WHO: Zevran and Various
WHAT: Zevran sparring and dealing
WHEN: Throughout Drakonis
WHERE: Skyhold
NOTES: Violence, swearing, usual Zevran Content Warnings Apply. Open prompt below, poke me on plurk for a closed starter. Prose or actionspam welcome!

As much as he'd protested Alistair running off on some mission in the west- the time apart gives him that much more chance to train. He'd been doing so privately in the barn, occasionally squaring off against Settimo when they both had the time and patience for Settimo's paranoia and Zevran's over-adjustments for the blind side. Learning to fight with only one good eye is slowly driving Zevran to frustration. Settimo could not come at him hard enough to be a challenge, he could not learn his new limitations without a solid effort on both their parts.

Setting aside his vanity he takes to the training grounds- but working on stuffed dummies is only good for so much. Soon enough he is picking out soldiers and rogues to come at him in the dirt circle. Day to day it goes much the same. Zevran stands with bad eye covered and his swords, with his hands, with a single short sword and calls any that would step up to help him regain his awareness. It is, to be honest, slow going. More often than not if his opponent has any manner of skill he ends up on his ass. But he grits his teeth, stands, and goes at it again. And again. Afterward he recovers with the highlight of his training- a bucket of water to sluice off the sweat and grit of the day. Whether it's the relief the cold brings or the appreciative looks it tends to earn? He doesn't say. But thus he spends his days, training himself or wrestling with the fledglings, who will offer their own commentary and catcalling in Antivan during his other matches.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Hmmm...similar concept...can't imagine it ending the same way," nor did he really wish to.

And was there any room to think about talk that wasn't very intimate when Zevran was clearly being very intimate. His body surged up as a finger teased its way inside. A small voice in the back of his mind was chiding him very sternly about their location, being seen, touched wrapped up so completely. A small part of him almost regretted that penetration also meant the absence of Zevran's tongue, that had been...and obscure...pleasant experience, "then...we have our rules..."

For another time perhaps. With the way he was being teased right now, however, Michel found himself climbing up to the edge with Zevran, knees on either side of his companion's thighs. Enough coaxing, he couldn't resist being right here, fingers threading through his companion's hair, lips bearing down against Zevran's mouth. His propriety forgotten for a moment. He was hungry for more than the teasing of such a game and since the elf insisted of being so bold he would take advantage.

"Agreed. Perhaps later-" He was, cruel thing that he could be, going to withdraw his hand and leave it at that, a teasing peck to Michel's lips and a long, aching walk back up to his rooms to finish. But he had no chance for that and he could not quite complain. Not when he had Michel so eager and aching straddling his lap, claiming his mouth. Zevran chuckled low in his throat as he tipped his head back to give Michel the better angle for the kiss, oil slick fingers taking advantage of how the stance left Michel open for a deeper stroke of his fingers, for a sharper twist of his wrist.

If they were to do this, he would do it thoroughly, properly.

He braced his other hand in the small of Michel's back to support him, give him a solid point of leverage should he wish to grind his hips down or lean back for a better angle. Or to show off- but Zevran was coming around to the realization that Michel did not perform such gestures simply because it never occurred to him to use his body in that way.

A modest awareness of his beauty. It was a marvel.

It might have been better if they broke away from this, ended with a discreet kiss, rinsing the oil from their hair instead. Wisdom and lust, however, rarely shared the same space and the elf already had him stirring, excited, calm as he was trying to appear. He bore down into the kiss, trying to ease some of that tension, express it through the medium of their lips, swallow that chuckle and drown out his own soft sounds--tongue dipping into his companion's mouth to taste as much as he could. Devouring until his lungs started to burn for air, shuddering against the sensation of Michel's finger and wondering offhandedly when he'd come to enjoy this just as much as he enjoyed taking Zevran.

Bowing so that his forehead was pressed to Zevran's shoulder he adjusted his hips, rolling them down smoothly, trying to be subtle and probably failing at it. He wasn't overly aware of his body and he didn't know how to put on a show really, he simply did the things that came natural. His lips found the curve of a shoulder, teeth carefully dragging, catching, tugging skin in an effort to keep himself quiet. He alternated between the sharp contrast of this and the soft brush of his lips peppering kisses along the column of Zevran's neck to his ear.

"Deeper..." he whispered, it was for Zevran only and the appeal was accompanied by a gentle tug at the lobe with his lips. He really was quite fascinated, "...harder..." ah, he knew Zevran could only accomplish so much with his finger, but Michel demanded all the same.

"Ask sweetly." Not that he wouldn't. Not that he wasn't. He gave Michel exactly what he asked for, a deeper stroke of his fingers, a harder press upon that crackling glad as requested. He was feeling terribly indulgent at the moment and how could he not be with Michel's hips working down in slow, smooth circles. A Chevalier, after all, knew how to ride. Zevran wondered if sex was ever included in those lessons as allegory or an alternative means of practice.

Considered again the stoicism that they all held so dear, the quiet, unassuming nature of Michel in the bedroom. Quick and furtive and occasionally bruising. Never, ever something easy to enjoy. To savor.

He tilted his head to the side to bare more of his throat and shoulder to Michel's wandering mouth, groaned, body twitching at the bite to his ear. As expected Michel was exploiting the weakness in the most decadent way possible. Zevran couldn't mind it. Did not. It stirred him all the more, cock hard and twitching against Michel's thigh as he worked a second finger in...and stopped thrusting quite so hard, quite so deep, wrist still so Michel might work himself all on his own. "That's it, Soleil. Slow, steady. Show me how you ride."

He was prepared to, ready to plea for more if that's what it took to get what he needed from Zevran. Part of him was still aware of where they were and desired to end this quickly...and the other part simply desired. Fortunately he did not have to plea for his needs, not yet, his companion gave him exactly what he wanted encouraging the Chevalier to move with purpose.

As Zevran might have surmised sex was not included in the teaching regimen at the Academie des Chevaliers, as neither an allegory or an alternative. Not that he would mind it terribly if Zevran brought up sex and riding.

Not that he had time to think of much beyond satisfaction and keeping himself manageably quiet. Hand cradling the elf's jaw as he tipped his head to the side giving Michel access to his neck and ear. Exposed flesh only made it easier to redirect his soft sex cries and low growls, grounding it into skin.

And then he slowed to a near stop at the presence of a second finger and while Michel did not protest he exhaled sharply, withdrawing just a bit to gaze down at Zevran quizzically. For a moment he wasn't sure what was happening, it took a moment for the demand to register before the warrior, the gentle coaxing that gave him pause and had him wanting.

And submitting to what Zevran desired as well. It had been some time since he last found himself in this position and then his companion had put in more of the...riding effort. Closing his eyes and bracing his hand against the elf's shoulder, he responded with a deep roll of his hips, pulling him in deeper, guiding those fingers to touch him precisely, drowning out his groans by bowing his head against his shoulder.

Just as putting himself on display in a public place was foreign, so was this.

"Good, so good." Not as stable as it could be- keeping his voice even was difficult when Michel nosed and bit at his throat, teased his ear with breath and lips and teeth. So small a thing, that, but more than enough to drive Zevran to distraction. Not so far that he lost track of the angle of Michel's hips, the flush in his skin, the smooth rolling of his hips as though he were, in fact, riding. Many lovely details to paint a sultry picture. Anyone else would know and shift how they sat to make a better image. Taunt Zevran with their appearance or play coy, or grumble demands to have him instead. But Michel-

Enjoyed. Reveled in this. Took his pleasure as it was given and asked for so little aside from the silent plea to be allowed to be quiet. As much as Zevran enjoyed coaxing out soft cries from his throat, he was feeling indulgent. Protective, possessive. "Look at you...Perhaps I should find a mirror for our room so you might see the picture you make."

Easy to degrade like this, to imply a lack of virtue, a lowering of oneself- but Zevran did not wish to do so.

"Beautiful, Soleil. You are so lovely like this." He twisted his wrist, pressed up harder, gave Michel more room to work with, more to take in.

[ OPEN ] Well I can't stand to be with myself, this liberation's seemingly rare

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belated NSFW warning

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