dalishstorm: (grumpy theron)
[personal profile] dalishstorm

I would very much like Zevran and m!Warden of choice sexing in their tent.

Zev rides on top; kink is that they're trying very, very hard not to make any noise.
I botched this one.  Oops!

It had taken no small effort, but Zevran—with a little help, of course—had finally talked their savage-natured leader into shelling out the coin for rooms at an inn, giving them a couple of days to recuperate after the grueling trek through the Circle Tower. Lucky, that, it was during a terrible rainstorm, one no one but Vanastin fancied camping in. Some of them had to share rooms, but they had a warm meal with none of Alistair's unwelcome “help”, comfortable beds... it was that latter Zevran was almost regretting now. Zevran and Vanastin had been sleeping together for a little while, and he'd grown quite used to Vanastin's hard lust, that sex with the Warden was more like wolves rutting. With a merry fire in the hearth against the Fereldan chill, Zevran wanted little more than to rest, for once. But they shared a room, naturally, and Vanastin was insistent.

Disrobing was utilitarian, no art or seduction in it, but Vanastin paused briefly to make that strangely affectionate gesture, running his fingers alone one of Zevran's ears and up into his hair. The Dalish elf leaned forward with the gesture to whisper in Zevran's ear, “Not a sound more than I would make. And if you come first, you'll find no rest here.” The growl in his dark voice sent a shiver down Zevran's spine, and it wasn't purely pleasurable.

Even as Zevran rifled through his pack for the little vial of oil he needed to prepare himself, he was contemplating Vanastin's threat. Did Vanastin mean they'd spend the night so occupied? Or that he'd turn Zevran out to find a bed elsewhere? The Warden kept a firm grip on the group's purse strings, which meant Zevran would be finding someone else's bed to warm or pitching a tent, since he was unlikely to get any charity from their companions. Before he'd come to a conclusion Vanastin had snatched the vial from him and pushed Zevran to the bed, straddling the backs of the Antivan's thighs and effectively pinning him.

Zevran spent a long moment in anticipation before Vanastin slid a hand up the inside of one thigh, touch light. The Dalish elf had obviously paused to warm the oil between his fingers, because the slick touch at Zevran's entrance was warm, strangely gentle, circling the ring of muscle,
teasing..... Zevran was used to preparing himself, and had intended to make a show of it tonight. He'd experienced a light touch from Vanastin before, but it was rare, usually calculated to disguise some other cruelty or a rare reward.

But Vanastin took his time, and by the time Vanastin slowly pressed a single finger into him, well slicked, Zevran felt like he was on fire. He wanted more, he wanted it faster, he wanted... He had to bite back a moan, gritting his teeth against making any sound. Two fingers wasn't quite enough, even when Vanastin curled his fingers to press against him just so.... When Vanastin withdrew he was left empty and wanting, quivering with need, and pushed himself up from the bed's surface slightly to take his own aching hardness in hand.

Vanastin settled a hand on his back and pushed Zevran to the bed, trapping his hands and refusing him that release, before sliding in, agonizingly slow. And he kept at that, pace slow but angle perfect. Being pushed to the bed and trapped so rang all sorts of alarm bells for Zevran, but he quickly found he didn't want to move, it all just felt too good, and a certain heat was already curling in his belly.

Zevran had to gnaw at his lip to keep from making noise, and Vanastin even leaned down, brushing Zevran's hair aside to expose one ear, worked his way down from the tip sucking and nipping as he had before, sometimes delicately and sometimes savagely, the hand on Zevran's back supporting him and his free hand trailing down to grip at Zevran's hip, fingers tight.

By the time he drew back Zevran was contemplating the night spent cold and alone outside to keep himself from peaking too early, and the night's first clap of thunder disguised a full-throated moan that managed to escape him. It might be better, Maker, to succumb and be done with this torment and suffer whatever punishment Vanastin had in mind with his threat....

Vanastin finally spilled himself into Zevran with a gasp, coming hard, but as soon as he was spent withdrew, leaving Zevran on the verge of his own orgasm and wanting. The Antivan couldn't hold back a desperate, “What--”

But Vanastin was already urging him to roll over, and once he had nipped one of Zevran's ears hard, and Zevran drew a little blood biting his lip against crying out. “You can make all the noise you want, now.” Vanastin grinned wickedly, and worked his way down in a series of soft kisses and harsh bites and dark love marks, leaving Zevran hard but drawing away from the edge, even has his own aching need drew across Vanastin's sculpted body as the smaller elf ventured down. He took Zevran into his mouth and thrust two fingers in to fill that aching void at nearly the same instant, and Zevran made a little noise of surprise.

Somewhere between the third finger and realizing that Vanastin was swallowing around him, Zevran came blinding-hard with a harsh cry. When he surfaced from it, limbs trembling, he looked down to see Vanastin still crouched between his legs, a last splatter of Zevran's release against one cheek with a thin trail leading to Vanastin's mouth, the nearest bit of which was licked away once he had Zevran's attention. The sight sent another thrill of pleasure through Zevran, and he settled back with a sated, exhausted moan.

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