Jul. 20th, 2010

dalishstorm: (Cadryn Amell)
Original Prompt: Post Origins, the Warden and his/her LI are separated for whatever storyline reason is appropriate. Alistair is at Weisshaupt/building Duncan's memorial/being King, Zevran is slaughtering crows in Antiva, Morrigan is off doing her thing, etc. One night, the two happen to meet up in the Fade while asleep, and they both believe they are just dreaming of the other person. Dream sex ensues.

Here's the kicker: they miss each other terribly, and one or both of them take the opportunity to say or do things they they normally wouldn't (Hey, it's just a dream, right?). Maybe Zevran or Morrigan says something unusually sentimental, or Alistair has a hidden kink that he's never revealed before.

The reaction of the other party, the Warden's origin, the LI, and whether either of them eventually figure out that the other person is not part of the dream is up to anon. Will take any pairing, but Anon admits a preference for Zevran/M!Warden (specifically M!Mahariel). I guess that, technically, dwarves won't work just because they can't normally enter the Fade, but if anon really wants to use a dwarf and comes up with some reason for them to be there, I won't complain.
Waking inside a dream was always strange, like surfacing from cold water into a hot, muggy evening, the dream air still oppressive around a waking mind. And this certainly wasn't any simple Fade construction, still within the structure of the dream, and absolutely fascinating for it. Cadryn had never heard of anything like it, let alone experienced it himself, and the scholar in him wanted to observe and catalog. And the dream was so very vivid! Surely it was from the lyrium, but such dreams were usually marked with haunting visions and strange, deluded imaginings. This was a secluded strip of fine white sand at the base of a high cliff, gentle waves spilling up towards them, a delicious breeze countering the supreme heat of the day. The only thing too strange to be real about the dream was how intensely blue the sky was, a perfect lyrium blue.

Of course, it was hard to take all this in with academic detachment with Zevran intimately familiarizing himself with the tattoo across Cadryn's shoulder with lips and tongue, in particular enamored of the part that seemed to twine around the very edge of his clavicle. “This is new,” Zevran muttered. “And it suits you. I approve.”

Since it was a dream he almost didn't respond, but Cadryn reasoned it couldn't possibly hurt to indulge. “Someone left me with a taste for ink,” drew a smile and a satisfied purr, Zevran's breath across his skin was warm compared to the cool sea breeze. He couldn't remember anything of the dream before this, and in fact seemed to remember a completely different dream, so he had no idea how they'd ended up naked in each other's arms on an Antivan beach—for some reason Cadryn was certain this was Antiva, in the way only dream logic could provide—and didn't much care. He simply relaxed into the soft haze of emotion here, running a hand through Zevran's unbound hair, knowing the assassin enjoyed the tingle of those fingertips running across his scalp (again, dream logic providing him this information) as Zevran worked his way down to the tattoo at Cadryn's hip, exploring that as well.

There was a certainty here, strange, almost an empathy, that Zevran did appreciate these little gestures, didn't find them foolish or embarrassing or weak, when Cadryn ran his fingers through the assassin's hair, or reached down and traced that tattoo across his cheek. “I've missed you,” Cadryn said, throat suddenly tight. “So much.” Zevran looked up at him, caught Cadryn's gaze with hooded eyes, shifted slightly so that he was running his mouth parallel to Cadryn's hardness, breath playing hot across sensitive flesh, and tracing a single finger up the opposite side, those hard hands using such a light touch it was hardly more than the breath or the breeze. At the apex of his motion Zevran paused, a hungry little flick of his tongue across his lips, but before he could lunge down to take Cadryn in mouth Cadryn gasped out, “Together. Please.”

A brief moment of rearrangement and caresses, pausing to exchange a kiss and Cadryn murmuring, “Even absent, you carry me through all this,” as they parted. It was a dream, of course, and dream-Zevran didn't need to understand what Cadryn referred to, but he looked appropriately confused for a moment, briefly concerned, before accepting the statement for what it was.

“I will return to you,” Zevran responded. “You must believe. And whatever 'this' is, I will see it pass.”

And then they were each laying on his side, faced with each other's need, and their height difference seemed less of an obstruction in this dream scenario. But Cadryn was beginning to doubt, because the dreamscape was too detailed to be anything less than a memory, and Zevran's actions and reactions were too perfect. He certainly had a strong impression of Zevran's appearance and personality, but had a hard time believing he'd captured the elf's unpredictability so well. Zevran often knew what Cadryn wanted before he'd realized it himself, and aside from that there were a scattering of new scars across his lover's skin, a long, thin one across his ribs and four punctures, relatively fresh, across the flat plane of his hip.

But Cadryn lost the thought, lost himself in the wet heat around him and the hard flesh in his mouth, and eventually decided that since this was a dream he would try, for once, to make Zevran come first, and since this was a dream he could take his well-gifted lover down to the hilt, unlike in the real world where this was always an affair of hands and pauses for breath and terribly unsexy on Cadryn's part (though Zevran always told him it felt marvelous, no matter what Cadryn thought of his own performance). So for once his hands were free to roam, to trace all the hard lines of his lover's sleek body, to linger in sensitive places. Many of these soft caresses he timed with flicks of the tongue or variations in movement, and Zevran seemed almost to forget what he was supposed to be doing.

And it would've worked, save Zevran was making the most amazing sounds around the fullness in his mouth, making it almost impossible not to simply thrust into the smaller man's mouth and finish himself right then. Cadryn did make a gentler motion, bringing that aching need to his lover's attention, and he felt Zevran's lips stretch in a smile, felt the soft laugh around him jolt down to his very core.

Later Cadryn wouldn't be able to recall which of them came first, because the sensation was too intense, but it happened in quick succession, one after the other. And they lay like that for a moment after, each with his head on the other's thigh, struggling to catch their breath in the heavy air, before before moving again to properly embrace each other, Zevran draping himself over Cadryn's chest and burying his face in the crook of the mage's neck.

I love you.” Soft, in Antivan, because he never could say it in Fereldan.

Cadryn smiled, hands trailing down from Zevran's shoulders to unconsciously trace the tattoos across the assassin's back, patterns so familiar he sometimes found himself tracing them unconsciously on the nearest convenient surface. “You don't have to say things like that,” Cadryn told him. “I already know. And I know that it hurts.”

“I should be telling you every day we are together, and whispering it to the dawn every day we are apart. I think I will try that, when I wake. It will be a secret between us, the sun and I.” Zevran pushed himself up, looking down at Cadryn with a soft smirk. “This is a dream, certainly, a dream both of us would enjoy. You are a more confident lover, enough to daze even me, and the poetry that comes so naturally to you does not stick in my throat.” Zevran kissed him, just a light touch, their tongues only met for an instant. “I will miss this when I wake.”

Cadryn sat bolt upright in his bed in Vigil's Keep, staring wide-eyed into the dark, and the dry cold was terrible because he could still feel the Antivan heat on his skin, could still smell Zevran's musk and taste his release, though none of it had been real.

But it had, in a way. He didn't know how, and the prospect that they had somehow reached across the Fade to each other (though Cadryn got the distinct impression Zevran had called him, and by some instinct the mage had found his way to his lover's arms, taking his dream-self's place in a dream in progress) seemed at once utterly ludicrous and exciting. And clearly, it had been real enough--the evidence of that was spread across his tangled sheets.

He lay back, smiling, closing his eyes and imagining that heat and his lover's touch. That one moment would surely sustain him for some time—and the hope that it might happen again.


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