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

[ombranera]

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.

Comments

[disgracedchampion]

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.

[ombranera]

"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.