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

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[ 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.

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"Mmm." He tilted his face into Michel's hand, sighing at the warmth and the gentleness. One day he'd know it for the trap it is- not deliberately set but. When a body craves such things for so long? It was easy to fall into it without seeing the complications that would arise. "That would be marvelous, thank you."

They'd joked about this before- an elf being attended by a Chevalier. This wasn't the day of favor and service Zevran asked for but...he wasn't all that certain what it was. Putting a name to this was difficult enough with distance and nearly impossible when Michel was before him- but he turned all the same and rose enough that Michel would not have to reach half so far to remove the mud and dirt from his bruised back.

Kiss him. It's what his thoughts kept telling him, they were undressed and closer than they had been in quite some time, Zevran was moving into his touch easily enough. There were others around, and while Zevran seemed to be doing better he'd not given Michel any indication that he was ready for anything more than his casual affections. So he resisted the urge.

Since Michel was offering his services, as it were, this did not count toward that day of Michel's full attentiveness that had been promised. It was difficult to attach a word to what he was doing now without it being altruistic affection. Not giving it much consideration beyond that he grabbed a washing cloth, softer than his own sword calloused hands and likely more appreciated, a bit of soap...not the best, but with a neutral scent.

It wasn't long before he was brushing Zevran's hair over his shoulder and dabbing the cloth along his back, careful of the bruising that was blossoming against his skin. It didn't look bad, at the moment, but he suspected it hurt all the same and would darken in time. It was a slow and soothing process, curve of the neck, shoulder to shoulder, from the back of his neck to the small of his back, along ribs and arms. He tried not to linger on scars or anything he felt Zevran might be self conscious about, not that such things mattered much to him, but Zevran saw things slightly...different from the Chevalier in such respects.

They'd had an interesting conversation about the lack of value Michel placed in his own appearance, not that he did not value keeping himself relatively tidy, that was simply training.

What tension he carried from the day eased enough in the bath- with the gentle scrubbing of Michel's hands? He was soon listing into each touch, soft, throaty sighs rolling past his lips. The odd brush against a tender patch of skin would earn a hiss- but all and all? He was bare, he was vulnerable, he should by all rights be as tense as a tightly wound spring...but Michel had never done him harm.

Had let Zevran take point in most everything they did. Gentled everything of his usual demeanor save what he'd done in passion. He would not say he trusted the Chevalier- he was no fool- but he knew enough to guess that here would not be how he killed him, if he killed him.

Maker knew there was time and space enough to drown him if he so desired. But he had no fear of such things, the certainty he earned with every tender look and gesture settling that paranoia. As confounding as they were it was proof of something stronger than lust or fear that would stay Michel's hand. Soon enough he was drifting back to press against Michel's chest, cheek turned so his scarred skin was against his shoulder, good eye half lidded and hazy. "Have you ever been told you've a delicate touch for a Chevalier?"

If Michel ever wanted to kill anyone they would certainly see it coming with expert precision. He was no assassin, so he was not a master of stealth, but he was skilled in balance and tactics, and he always attacked head on. Not necessarily with demons and darkspawn, but with most any opponent. Drowning was not his style, so if nothing else, should the Chevalier feel the need to react violently toward Zevran, he could trust in one thing--that he would see any attack coming.

Not that Michel had any such intentions of hurting Zevran, that was the furthest thing from his mind, if it was anywhere at all. As it stood the only thing on his mind at the moment was the plateau of Zevran's back and his current task, until Zevran settled back against him forcing Michel to shift his arms. He didn't mind at all, lean and smaller than he was, the elf was a comfortable kind of weight against his chest. The new position did nothing to stop Michel's attentions, he simply turned the cloth on Zevran's stomach and chest with the same carefulness.

"Not in so many words, but some things require a gentler touch...and in my position of service I've learned a certain degree of...delicacy," he had to protect an Empress, that certainly required a gentle hand every once in a while, especially when she'd been injured. Empress aside, Michel was more taken by the picture they seemed to paint like this, Maker if they did not look like lovers. It was wrong perhaps, but anyone bold enough to come around and look would think it, they had to if Michel was thinking it. Fortunately his body hid much from what few prying eyes there were so he felt comfortable lifting his free hand to cradle the curve of Zevran's neck and caress the line of his jaw with a straying thumb.

Zevran melted against Michel, eye drifting closed entirely under the steady pass of his hand. It was easy to forget the blind eye for a short while. The loss of balance, the uncertainty. Here he knew where he stood. Here? He was cherished, somewhat, in a distant way that he could tolerate. Here he was appreciated and tended to with a gentle hand that could promise more than he could bear. A cruel kindness for how averse he was to permitting such things. Sentiment-

For all that he was willing to allow his friends closer; his lovers remained in their respective boxes. Friends he beds on occasion, if that. Michel could be a friend in such a fashion, in the Antivan way.

If he wished for more...Zevran could not offer that. Nor would he ask it of anyone. "I can think of a better use for them." Innuendo thick in his voice, but he merely tipped his head against Michel's hand, a soft shiver rippling down his spine. Lovers they might appear and for the moment- they could be so. A moment or an hour or a night shared and then set aside for the light of day and the cold burden of obligation. But for now? This was well.

He felt Zevran shiver against him and he was tempted sincerely, by the innuendo, by those closed eyes, wicked lips. Perhaps he could be convinced to do more than wash Zevran, but right now he held fast to his intentions. It wasn't that he didn't want to, he desperately wanted to, he'd been aching for Zevran's company. Giving in to his wants would only make what he was feeling blatantly obvious, but playing off his companion's seduction was difficult, it was always difficult. He was a Chevalier, however, and his will was much stronger than that.

Now would be a good time to switch tasks, laying the cloth aside he adjusted their positions just enough, he wanted to cradle Zevran without applying pressure to the tender parts of his back.

"I'm sure you could...certain of it in fact," if nothing else Michel encouraged the conversation as he dipped Zevran just enough to get his hair thoroughly wet, using a free hand to spoon water over what he'd missed. He knew they would have to talk, eventually, about just how far this was to go, how deep these feelings ran if they ran deep at all. He couldn't continue this if they weren't on the same page, Michel was not completely altruistic, the more he had the more he wanted. This was not something that he was used to and so he wasn't as good at shutting it off of putting fences around things as Zevran was. It was only in good conscience, before he became intimate with Zevran again, he needed to know these things.

Not now...it didn't have to be now.

"Perhaps I should teach you massage." Michel had asked ages ago- taking the time to teach him? Would be a fine thing. Having someone else to mind the aches in his back and the base of his spine would help him on the worse nights- Alistair did half decent foot rubs but a full on massage? Was not something the warden could manage. Michel learned quickly and the basics were not so difficult. He had a deft hand, a desire to please.

An eagerness he could make use of.

For the moment he simply moved as he was bid, tilting his face away from the water, sighing as his hair is combed through. The scars were still a pale pink, still fresh. He would never truly be used to them or how they tugged at his mouth when he attempted to smirk; but he was learning.

"Is this a change of heart?" Michel didn't even bother to stifle a chuckle, he remembered very clearly the last time he'd asked Michel to teach him. Granted he would never be as skilled, but Michel knew enough about the body and enough about muscles and relaxing them that it wouldn't be difficult to teach him some cursory techniques. His enthusiasm and the outrageous standards he held himself to also made up for what he lacked in technique, "a capacity I would not mind being used for, I can promise you."

It took a little bit of acrobatics to fill his hand with a generous amount of soap for washing Zevran's hair once he'd managed to get it thoroughly soaked, but acrobatics was what he was good at. Once this had been accomplished he lifted Zevran up, careful to keep his head tilted back but not submerged in the water, and he began scrubbing the elf's scalp. It wasn't gentle, but it wasn't rough either, cleaning hair wasn't something one tickled at and Zevran had rather long hair that needed attention. In addition, there was mud caked in the usually immaculate tresses.

"Perhaps. I am allowed to change my mind from time to time." Not all that often but- on occasion it did not hurt him to do so. Besides. An excuse to have those hands on him a little more often, sliding over skin slick with oils, having the whole of that attention attending to his comfort and pleasure? How could he not find such a thing alluring? Simply put, there was no resisting the idea now that he thought this association might continue amicably. Without complication.

Or at the very least he hoped it to be the case.

Boneless from the scrubbing and the water, Zevran leaned and listed where Michel wished him to be, a rumbling groan thrumming through his chest at the attention to his hair. Muck and sweat and dirt- yes, and his hair would need a good oiling afterward to make up for it, but the suds did their job of returning his hair to it's usual golden luster. "You are quite good at this, Soleil."

"Such a mercurial soul, it is all part of your inexhaustible charm," naturally, he did not mind Zevran's change of heart, it was a temptation for him as well. He'd yet to experiment with skin and oil in such a way, oil as a means to ease his passage, certainly, but not to ease muscles. It would also make him versatile in taking care of his companion, how could he not be attracted to the idea, "anytime and anywhere you wish."

While he certainly enjoyed washing Zevran's back, Michel took his time on Zevran's hait, from root to tip, scrubbing and working the shampoo in. He rinced after thoroughly washing once before plying his hair with more soap, a second wash just to be certain he'd removed all of the mud. Not that it was just about the dirt, I was about wringing more of those sounds from he elf's throat, "perhaps I should take up a hobby?"

"Mhmm. There are reasons they posted warnings about me at the Antivan border." Mercurial and beautiful and lethal in so many ways- ah youth. But the offer for this whenever he wanted, wherever he wanted? Held it's own appeal. "I will hold you to that."

One day. For now he had a bathing attendant that was quick and kind and thorough, working grit and mud from his hair. The second pass went quicker than the first- nothing left but sodden gold in Michel's hands. "Mmmhmm. Something on the side from being a Chevalier. Miche de Chevin, scalp masseuse. Battles demons and stress in dedicated hands."

"How terrifying these warnings must have been," not that Michel seemed all that terrified as he ran his thumb along the rim of Zevran's ear, recalling just how deceptively innocent he looked when they dropped just a bit. Perhaps it was because Michel feared very little, but what he did fear had nothing to do with physical pain or suffering, "it is bona fide."

Satisfied that Zevran's hair was clean and nothing short of simply being sopping wet, he righted his companion so that they were now sitting relatively face to face. Smoothing his the elf's hair back so that he could look at him properly, his body still a wall between his companion and the rest of the world, "there's a market for everything--though it seems like it might be very time consuming."

He kept his eye closed at first, face tilted down so the scars were not quite so obvious. He could not remain as such forever no matter how delightful the visual of Michel's dripping chest and abdomen might have been- all fair and flushed from the heat, begging for bruises.

...perhaps he might simply peer down for awhile. But the moment couldn't last and he looked up, blinking. One eye the same burnished gold- the other milky white, the scars curving along his jaw enough to pull at his smirk when he managed one. "Perhaps I might keep you all to myself, mm? Is it still a hobby if you only do this for me?"

Michel wasn't impatient, he wouldn't force Zevran to look at him, attractiveness was a subjective thing and it had not changed for him. He knew that his companion had different feelings on the matter...feelings that had been no doubt reinforced as an assassin. Seducing targets meant placing value in appearance...and he could only suspect that this played a part in the assassin's struggles. It wasn't everything he was sure, but a part.

While he was waiting he continued to smooth Zevran's hair away from his face and off of his shoulders, wringing some of the wet out. When Zevran finally looked his way Michel simply felt warmth creeping over his skin, fortunately it was something that could be attributed to the water. The attention was enough, but the question earned Zevran a look of mild surprise with the vaguest trace of a smile, "sadly, I fear I might have to charge you for my services...not in coin," Michel stroked the line of Zevran's jaw with his thumb, "would you kiss me?"

"Oh ho, I knew your kindness came at a price." Teasing- though his smirk was edged in something wary. No one was this consistently kind without wanting something and for Michel? He only had so much he might give comfortably. They knew the dangers of asking for more. Michel knew to not. Zevran knew to divert. Before anything could be said- before questions were asked or offense taken- he stepped in close.

If this was to be a kiss it would be one on his own terms. His hands slid in teasing paths up Michel's torso, brushing along his chest as they moved from his hips to his shoulders. All but painted against the Chevalier he leaned up, lips soft and warm and open, taking as much as touching.

More was exactly what plagued him, however cautious Michel might be while Zevran danced around it to keep the fun going. Things couldn't be that simple, in fact nothing was ever that simple, perhaps if Michel were more flighty, but devotion was more in line with his character. Purpose. Perhaps a need to be needed in some way to keep him grounded so he didn't have to think so much about who he was and risked losing the pieces of himself he'd spent so long cultivating.

Michel kept his hands chaste as Zevran puzzled their bodies together, settling on the upper most part of his arms. The strength in those arms, the muscle was very deceptive, though Zevran was built more like a rogue and not like a warrior, Michel often thought about how well shaped his companions limbs were. It kept his mind entertained for a moment before hands slid their way along his body and that familiar, generous mouth found his.

It was tempting to crush the assassin against him and deepen the moment, he wasn't just realizing how much he'd ached for this. He did not, however, if Zevran was just starting to get comfortable with himself again he didn't want to push. It might even be better to let his companion get reacquainted in his own way, not that he didn't respond to those soft lips by parting his own and working his jaw slowly.

Playful and content to remain so, teasing and please to be so, Zevran kept the kiss light. Soft lips and gentle drags of his tongue, seeking to take as much as Michel was willing to give. Apparently in this he was offered the chance to lead and, selfish man he was, he took it with both hands. Took Michel's face in both hands to adjust the angle of the kiss and press deeply, tongue curling in Michel's mouth for a slow, tantalizing moment before he dropped back on his heels. Eye bright, face warm from the water, from the contact, and as he'd suspected a little hard against his thigh, Zevran considered that a kiss well earned.

"Mm. Next time? Ask sweetly and you might be given more." Disengaging was a trial; but he could not, would not here in the heat and wet. Too much noise, too many people watching. Before? he would not have cared, let them see. Now? He would rather keep the eye to himself, if not Michel's blissful expression and soft cries.

Zevran slipped back and began combing his fingers through his hair, stretching a hand to catch at his trousers on the rough stone. He figured he'd end up down here directly from the circle and thus, fished out a vial of hair oil. Perched in indolent repose on the side of the hotsprings he upended the vial in his hands, combing it through his sodden hair.

Michel could stifle a soft groan as he felt Zevran's hands take hold of his face and the elf's tongue slip past his lips. He was suspended in that place, warm euphoria and smooth sultry heat pressed against him, inside of him. He was close, so close to dipping his companion back and coaxing more from him. Michel could feel the stirrings just below the waist and he knew it would be only too tempting.

"I'll remember to say please in the future, for the sake of the various parts of me that ache for more," Michel's voice was soft as they withdrew, almost conspiratorial even at the loss of contact. It was a wrench to have to let him go, but before it became too heated...and Zevran's lips certainly did that to him, Michel relented. He was a private man by nature and appreciated, at least, some degree of privacy.

While washing Zevran's hair he could do well enough, he left the oiling to his companion as that was something best left to personal taste than Michel guessing. For now he attended to his own bathing of which he took less care than he did with Zevran, he was thorough in scrubbing himself all over, but it was business. The same with his own hair, washed clean, eyes shut against the soap, but entirely business

"And which parts would those be, Soleil?" It paid to be specific after all- and if he could get Michel to be a little bold, a little saucy in public? That would be time well spent. Also the idea of hearing Michel describe his desperate desire with that accent when normally the man was so serene, so stoic? Warmed something hot and coiling in the pit of Zevran's stomach.

For now, words and hair oil and-

Zevran frowned the longer he watched Michel handle himself. Not that he expected much of a show, a Chevalier was a Chevalier, warriors wash with no true languor, but skin so fine, hair so soft?

And that was how he treated it? Wondering how much more fine, how silken these things could be with proper care- that had him stretching a hand out to tug Michel close to where he was perched, clucking his tongue. "Such abuse, is it only ever soap and water? You are so terribly unkind to yourself, clearly someone must show you how this is to be done."

When asked about specific parts, Michel laughed in a way that pretended not to be sheepish. He didn't know if the question was entirely serious or not. He also wasn't prepared to answer it with soap running down his face. Embarrassed he might be for confessing such things aloud. He would be a mess trying to do it with soap in his mouth. Not that he had to think about it for long as he began rinsing his hair off, not aware that he was being scrutinized until he felt himself being tugged on.

"Ah?" Michel rubbed his eyes with the back of a hand so that he could clearly see what was going on, finding himself face to face with Zevran. At firs he was confused and then he looked down at himself and the soap still sliding down his body. Michel had not known his parents really, his mother for a time, but his father, not at all. Their only gift to him had been some of their physical traits that he didn't think about, but were obvious to him from time to time. Particularly with Zevran who spent a generous amount of time running his hands over the Chevalier's body and through his hair making it impossible not to think about it. His skin was touchable if not scarred, and his hair was soft considering, "soap and water has served me well in the past...I wasn't aware that I was missing something...am I?"

"Even your Orlesian soaps are not all meant to be used everywhere. The bar is for your body, a cream for your face, a liquid soap for your hair." He muttered under his breath, combing his fingers through Michel's hair. "I will have to order some for you as I do not have anything meant for someone quite so fair."

The oils and creams he made use of for his skin were meant for those that lived in the sun and tanned evenly. They would not work half so well on Michel. But the hair? He tugged a little at the locks, threaded them through his fingers. The texture was similar- silken and thick. He took what oil was left in the vial and poured it into his hands, massaging it into Michel's hair. It smelled of clove and cardamom, of anise and faintly of orange peel; warm and spiced and masculine. "Wash with whatever you like if you must, but use this after at least once a week."

"Soaps were a luxury in the alienage...even as a soldier if you were training or deployed...I suppose I never really thought about it," different soaps, creams, oils...for different hair and skin types. It all seemed so complicated and he glanced up at Zevran as his companion offered to order some of these things for him, such gifts were luxurious...he would have to pay him for it. He wouldn't deny the offer, however...looking almost thoughtful. Was Zevran priming his body for such enjoyments? Smoother, silkier skin and softer hair?

Did his companion wish to own his body in part?

True enough Zevran's creams wouldn't work well on skin that wasn't as exposed as Zevran's was, and when he did get sun he burned. Hair was a different story, however, therefore he submitted when Michel oiled his hair, it was a very curious thing, with curious smells that were unfamiliar to him, "once a week? You leave it in then?"

"Well now you are going to have to start thinking about it. We are all of us representatives of the Inquisition." Not that he expected people to reach out and touch Michel when they saw him despite all the temptation to do so; bu there was a look, a luster to skin well tended and hair well minded that could give him that much more. If Michel was not to care over his own skin and hair, Zevran would in his stead.

Someone must mind appearances, after all.

"You leave it to soak for ten minutes and rinse gently. There are lighter serums you might comb through your hair each morning to keep it soft if you are somewhere particularly dry." He dug his nails into Michel's scalp a moment, considering the skin hidden under all that hair, before deepening the massage to ensure the roots are equally tended to. "What scents do you prefer? This is my blend and you will smell of me for some time-"

He was going to ignore the little thrill that gave him. "-But there are others available."

"This means being silky smooth and touchable? Someone might take it as an invitation," thinking along those same lines, not that he imagine anyone would touch him without impunity. Michel figured his only asset was his sword arm and his gifts for battle and in this he was very capable. So he would leave this aspect of himself up to more...capable parties.

Michel was a quick study, but this was not part of his usual routine so he would have to train himself and dedicate himself to skin and hair care. Closing his eyes he concentrated as Zevran massaged the oil into his hair, not able to watch he had to determine how he could go about doing this for himself. He was acutely aware of the scent of the oil, the scent of Zevran...his oil and it would be with him for some time, "I...don't have a preference, really...as long as there is no lavender involved...lavender reminds me of Orlesian courts, a scent that was often abused. Covering the scent of oppression and deception I expect..."

"They will want you, but not have you." For Zevran would have him- no. For. Whomever Michel so chose to share his company with, they would have him. Zevran made no claim to Michel's person or his time. What they had while they had it was an enjoyable diversion in an otherwise stressful time.

He had to remind himself of that more and more often as of late.

"No lavender- I think that is reasonable enough. Something warm and bright, perhaps? Citrus and spices." Similar to Zevran's own but less so. For now he was content to share the oil he had, working it from root to tip through Michel's hair. Once finished he hooked his legs on either side of Michel's hips, hands settling on his shoulders to tug him in for a soft, brief kiss. "There. Now we wait."

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