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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"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."

"They would simply have to understand that my thoughts are otherwise preoccupied," and this could have meant anything, but as long as Zevran would have him his thoughts were for his Antivan seducer. He was well aware of the fact that Orlesians, particularly the nobles, could be unabashed and very hands on in their flirtations. Of course it could have also meant that he was preoccupied with his duties as well.

"I trust your judgement and your instincts in such things, I've not the knack for it...though I've heard fragrances should match the way one's body operates. Sweat and mood can alter a scent...is this true?" Masculine scents, that was his only real requirement. He couldn't imagine it being anything short of difficult, attempting to appear intimidating while smelling like a freshly cut bouquet of the most potent flowers. Perhaps if he returned to Orlais he might just take a moment to smell colognes and other fragrances just to see what suited him and his subtle tastes. For now he was content to be wrapped up in Zevran's bouquet. Literally, as those legs flanked his sides. Michel braced himself with one arm and Wound his other around his companion's waist loosely.

Waiting was perhaps one of the reasons Michel had not though to invest in such treatments, he didn't often have time. From bed to training...from breakfast to...anywhere. This right now was a luxury and while they were waitining Michel allowed his eyes to follow the lines of Zevrans face, ear, the tattoos along his body making small notes as he did. He couldn't help wondering if Zevran had pierced his ears at any point, it was an odd thing to think about right not and he cocked his head, curiously fixed on the thought, it simply seemed fitting.

He could ask. It was on the tip of his tongue to ask, to tease, to taunt Michel and himself with their association. A fine way to distance themselves from what they did and who they were-

but he could not quite bring himself to do so. Not at the moment. Not with Michel so pliant under his hands, so trusting of an Assassin, so calm and still. With his face tipped back and eyes closed in quiet concentration for the duration of the massage and Zevran was yet again reminded that for however long this lasted- for however long Michel's attention was his- this was his as well. All this skin, all this sweetly responsive flesh, all this quiet devotion.

It was the last that had him clearing his mind and his throat to tug him into a proper embrace. He would not think half so much on sentiment if he were comfortably entangled.

Eyes burn, however, and after a moment Zevran leaned back enough to quirk a brow. "I can hear the gears turning about in your head, my friend. What are you thinking?"

Michel opened his eyes as Zevran reeled him in, it might have been unexpected, but he wasn't one to cavil over displays of affection. It was the sort of affection Michel himself might chase if it weren't so close to crossing those lines of sentimentality at least as far as Michel was concerned. He wouldn't stop it, though, anything that drew Zevran closer. Instead his arm tightened slightly around the elf's waist and, for the time being, he held himself still.

It wasn't long before the moment passed and Zevran leaned back, though he didn't pull away entirely, and neither did the Chevalier. The question drew surprise from Michel if only because he wasn't aware that his thoughts were so transparent, especially since his thoughts were simply unimportant and fleeting things, "so perceptive..." he said with a floundering laugh, "...it's not really important, I just...I was thinking about your ears, whether or not you've ever had them pierced. Chevalier's are prohibited, of course..."

"I have seen elves that have done so, but personally? No. The ear is a particularly sensitive place for me and the idea of taking a needle to it?" He shivered, shaking his head- even the thought had the tips of his ears twitching faintly. Tells, he knew, but tells he could stand to give. It is not something Michel was capable of using against him- there was no harm in such cards being tipped.

"Clips, now, that look as though they are piercings? Those I have done. Wearing them is agony." He mumbles, nosing along Michel's jaw. "But taking them off? Aaah...such sweet relief."

"Oh? You know...I don't think I have taken the time to thoroughly explore such sensitivities," or exploit, rather, he's attended to Zevran's ears a few times, more in passing than genuine exploration...not that they weren't very fine ears. In fact he rather liked the way they helped him to keep track of his moods, and there was something irresistible about them when they drooped just a little. Particularly when Zevran was making sympathy eyes at him...he was quite easily a sucker for that particular look, "though I should be the only one you say such things to..."

A less honorable person might just log the sensitivity of Zevran's ears away for the sake of finding weaknesses. Sensitive ears could be used as a weakness, like a trick knee could be used as a weakness. Of course that didn't mean sensitive ears couldn't also be a strength for they most certainly could be.

"Blood flow is it?" Michel now completely entrenched in his thoughts raised a hand to stroke delicately along the top of one ear, "I've heard the same could be said about other parts."

Michel had nuzzled them on occasion, dragged his lips and teeth and tongue along them during that one rather bracing encounter in the stables- but a thorough exploration? Zevran had not quite given him the time for it as he had been far more interested in what sensitivities of Michel's he might learn. Speaking of- it was easy enough to evade curious thoughts by letting a hand slide between them, fingers still soaked in oil from their hair, and rub in lazy circles back and forth across Michel's nipple.

Where Michel was honorable enough to not take advantage of such things- Zevran? Had no such scruples. "There are things-"

Oh, and a hand along his ear. Zevran's eyes went half lidded, head tilting into the touch with a shiver. "Mmm...clamps. I have a set in silver and another in gold to be placed wherever we like. Would you be interested in exploring such sensations?"

They might just have to make time for such slow, sensual explorations, wandering hands over limbs, smoothing his way slowly over skin. There was so much he could explore in the slide of his companion's body and he would need the time to indulge in as much. Perhaps catch Zevran off guard? A difficult thing to do when it was the assassin always catching him off guard.

Michel's breath hitched as a nipple was teased into excitement, it often depended on the touch as whether or not Michel could stand to have his nipples teased or if it was just unbearable. He could understand how that worked, granted some parts of the body were rarely toyed with and that often made the difference in his experience. He was new to most of the things Zevran introduced him to, though had his life taken a step just slightly off the path he found himself on, he might have been a different man.

"I..." he controlled the sound of his voice, the pitch of it, even though he couldn't control his breathing entirely...at least not in the visible rise and fall of his chest, "...want to...Zevran..."

There was something in his voice that hinted at an ache and that he was surprised at his companion's readiness. Running his finger over the very tip of the elf's ear, "...that...and more perhaps?"

Early on Michel expressed a wary concern about bringing pain into the bedroom- but this is no great pain like whips and lashes, like bruising and bites aside from those of a man made passionate. This as a slow application of pressure- a gradual pinch that clicked in little by little as Zevran watched Michel's face carefully for any sign of displeasure. Doing with his hand what the clamps would do to his chest- and to anywhere else they might see fit to place them.

Maker, that little hitch, how he leaned into it so subtly, how he ached in his voice-

Trouble, this. And he could not quite talk himself out of exploring it further. Showing Michel all his little tricks, his little toys, teasing him for hours and hours as he seemed all too pleased to ease him back. Zevran went still, biting his bottom lip at the trail of Michel's fingers. When he spoke next his voice was low, throaty. "How much more, Michel? There are a great many toys in my bag of tricks."

If only because he couldn't guarantee pain having much of an effect on his body without conditioning. Though there was something to be said about nipples, they generally were not trained to withstand sensations and were often an ignored place on a man's body regardless. Even Michel had to admit, it wasn't something he thought about outside of the occasional bush of lips or swirl of tongue. The gradual pressure on the prior to ignored buds of flesh drew sound from Michel that was sharper than he might have liked, louder.

He wrapped his hand around Zevran's wrist, not coaxing him off, not encouraging him further, but desperate for something. His voice was low and husky, rough and gritty, "the...bedroom...the bedroom please. The bedroom and anything...we'll do...please."

"We'll have to rinse the oil out first." Zevran leaned in, nosing along Michel's jawline- all idle brushes of lip and warm wash of breath against flushed, fair skin. With little warning he nipped at Michel's earlobe, a sharp nip accompanied by the barest tug of his pinching fingers. Certain sensations could be pleasing and his? this was pushing the unspoken boundary, the edges of comfort Michel seemed to have.

Please. He'd asked sweetly, asked kindly.

Zevran was not so cruel as to deny him. He released Michel's skin with a slow rub of his thumb over the worn flesh, smile not unkind. "Then the bedroom. I'll show you what I have and we can use as many or as little as you like."

He could barely hear Zevran, concentrating more on the seductive path of his lips and the pressure of fingers around his nipple. The sudden piercing sensation of teeth and the subtle tug seemed to have an unexpected and intimate connection to his cock that...he wasn't certain that he wanted his body examining too closely. Not here, and yet he could already feel it

He pulled away from Zevran slowly, sinking into the water up to his shoulders scolding himself for the lack of control he had around the elf. He wasn't entirely certain how long they had left to wait on this hair oil, but for now he was okay here--eyeing his companion from a safe distance, "that...we could experiement, I've no objections."

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