Zevvy and Warden bathing in the river. Hairwashing and slow molten lovemaking plz.
Any flavor Warden, human preferred.
An assassin's work was typically clean, and Zevran found himself ill-suited to the butchery the Warden's party often found themselves in. The killing itself was no problem, and he welcomed the challenge, but the gore—today, for example, the four of them stumbled into camp covered in darkspawn and werewolf blood, the two wardens insisting that Zevran and Leliana immediately clean up instead of helping out around camp. And that was something Zevran was infinitely grateful for—regardless of Alistair's personal hygiene, both Wardens were adamant about whoever traveled with them in a day as the advance guard being fastidious.
Camp was set in a bend of a wide stream with high, heavily entrenched banks, and as both rogues made their way toward the water, Zevran asked, “My dear Leliana, would you perhaps need some help with your hair?”
She smiled, but narrowed her eyes at him in a brief glance as she kept walking at his side. “I know your game, Zevran. So thank you for the offer, but I don't think I will need any company.”
“Such a shame,” he said, sighing and shrugging in exaggerated fashion. “I suppose when werewolves fall upon us alone and naked, we will simply have to accept our fates.”
“Do not joke about such things. And either way, you are not watching me bathe.”
Zevran didn't have the energy to continue the argument, so they parted ways, each going opposite ways around the bend. Wandering downstream, Zevran found a wide, flat blue stone jutting out of the bank in a jumble of smaller boulders, the water around it deep and still. He stripped quickly, and set about the boring, laborious task of cleaning his armor and padding and everything else of darkspawn filth, in hopes everything would be dry by the time he was done bathing. Not that he'd mind walking back into camp nude, but the protestation would be... less than welcome today. Wynne's nagging and Morrigan's disgust and Oghren's jeering and Alistair's stuttering blushing—most of the time their reactions were amusing, and exactly what he desired, but even Zevran tired of using his sensuality as a shield. The longer he traveled with these people, the less interested he was in keeping up appearances, but he wanted to keep most of them at arm's length. And this was easiest.
He got all but the worst of the ground in blood and other filth out of his armor and clothes and laid them aside on that flat sun-warmed stone, closer to shore. Slipping into the chill water, he resolved to bathing quickly, but still longed for a warm tub. Such indulgences had been rare in his time with the Crows, and rarer yet in his travels with the Warden, and it made them all the more precious.
The water came up to the middle of his chest at its deepest point, and when he undid his braids and dunked his head the water rolled off pinkish, distressingly so. He felt around carefully for any injuries but found none, and so repeated the motion, holding his head under for a while in the cold water. Something like this would've been much easier than seeking out the Grey Wardens. It wasn't as if he needed an honorable death, any sort of death would do. When his lungs began to burn Zevran resurfaced, slinging his hair back and gasping a deep breath. No, he didn't need an honorable death, but he was too much a coward to hold the blade himself, and now he was oath-bound.
Zevran felt the ripples in the water breaking against the backs of his thighs just seconds before arms encircled him, drew him against a solid, warm body, nude as his own. For a moment he imagined the hard flesh behind him, well-defined lines to be a softer, rounder body, slimmer in certain places and more robust in others, perhaps Leliana.... But fingers dragging gently across his scalp and a resonant voice whispering in his ear dispelled the image. What was said never really mattered, more the tone.
Zevran preferred the soft lines of a woman's body, but he was also used to lovers with a much harsher touch, especially in men. Before the Warden, he'd not really understood the term lovemaking, finding it no more than a poetic term, one he could occasionaly use to describe the sort of sex he had with overly emotional marks. There seemed to be no special attachment in the Warden's attentions, no smitten love-sick behavior as he would expect of one so previously inexperienced, and that made it extremely novel. There were no expectations, the Warden wanted only what he could give. And Zevran asked nothing more of the Warden. He could pretend, at times, that he wasn't oath-bound, that this wasn't simply to work his way into the Warden's good graces, that they were equals, partners of some sort who simply enjoyed each other's bodies.
A gentle tug with one arm encouraged Zevran to lean back against him, and Zevran obliged, putting some of his weight against the Warden. With Zevran braced against him, the Warden freed up both hands to work at the mess of Zevran's hair, and by the smell and feel of it he wasn't using the harsh soap Zevran had brought with him but some of Leliana's soft, foreign concoction. It would leave him smelling of herbs for some time, but pleasantly so. Wriggling slightly against the Warden, and getting the expected involuntary reaction, Zevran sighed in exaggerated contentment. “If this were a warm candlelit bath and you had a bottle of fine wine waiting for me, I would think you were trying to seduce me, dear Warden.”
A low, rolling chuckle from the Warden reverberated through them both. “I'm not so good with heat, you know, but I'll see what I can manage.” The Warden paused in his work on Zevran's hair to lean down and lay a kiss at the nape of his neck, a second further down, one squarely between his shoulder blades, all perfectly along his spine.... and by the time the Warden had straightened the water seemed much warmer, not as warm as Zevran desired but a great deal more comfortable. Closing his eyes, Zevran focused on the fingers dragging across his scalp, slowly working in the soap and oils, occasionally brushing the tips of his ears ever so lightly..... There were certainly advantages, at least, to bedding an accomplished mage, little comforts like the increase in water temperature, and Zevran issued an involunatry moan as the soft drag of fingers across his scalp ended.
The first handful of water to pour over his head was a surprise more in its warmth than anything else, a temperature a little closer to what Zevran desired. This sort of treatment was more than a little unsettling, as no one had ever paid him such care, and Zevran suspected the Warden had noticed his ill humor and carefully designed this encounter to relieve him of whatever burdens troubled him... he didn't like being manipulated, even thusly, but calmed himself with the thought that it was with no foul intent. What had the Warden said, just a few nights ago? I need nothing from you in return. Your pleasure is enough.
Zevran didn't even pretend to understand yet, but he wanted to. With the soap and the blood and the grime washed from his hair Zevran turned to face his Warden, taking in the mage's surprisingly sleek build, little beads of water rolling down the lines of his body, the auburn hair slicked to his skin and the wholly contented smile just curling his mouth but shining brilliantly from green eyes just slightly narrowed in some private mirth. Zevran quickly found himself backed against one of the smaller boulders in the stream, and beckoned Cadryn closer with a look. The mage obeyed, of course, leaning down to kiss him, running two fingers up the length of Zevran's jaw. It was a slow duel of tongues, and when they drew apart Zevran exhaled, “If your intent was to bed me, dear Warden, I think you have succeeded.”
“Whatever my intent was is unimportant,” Cadryn offered, trailing those two fingers back down Zevran's jaw and along the sleek muscles of his neck. “If you want me, well... here I am.”
Zevran took the grin from that cheeky response with a kiss, Cadryn's hands sliding lower and their hardening sexes brushing together, sending an electric sensation through Zevran's skin, deepening his needy ache. If this was the Warden's idea of oath-bound servitude, tender gestures and lazy sex, he'd take it.
Cadryn kept him pinned there, one hand bracing against the rock and the other tracing every scar he could reach with feather-soft touches. Slick, warm skin glided over slick, warm skin as they ground against each other, kissing until their combined need was too great and there wasn't enough air between them to get a lungful or breath. With Cadryn curled over him, panting heavily into his ear, wandering hand finally stilled on the small of Zevran's back and slowly drifting lower with every thrust and grind (and keeping his back off that water-smoothed rock), Zevran had the presence of mind to leave a little love-bite on the Warden's collarbone before the need to move and relieve this building heat overcame him.
Which of them came first, Zevran decided afterward, was completely irrelevant; they were both certainly an enticing sight with their shared release spread across each other's stomachs, and it meant more tender attention from the Warden in cleaning up, which Zevran did his best to return. No one had ever treated him like this, how Cadryn treated him at every opportunity, and they were far beyond the point of leery suspicion. Whatever the Warden's game was with this gentle manner but insistence he needed no promises from Zevran, the assassin couldn't fathom, but he found with each passing day he didn't care, so long as they could keep playing at it.