dalishstorm: (Cadryn Amell)
Zevran is cold. The Warden decides to help him warm up by sharing body heat. Whether the Warden's intentions are plantonic or he's using it as a flimsy excuse to sex Zev is entirely up to you, anon.
...And yes, I did say 'he'. Not fussy on what the Warden is, just on the fact that he's male. Any takers?
Zevran felt foolish, bundled up as he was in borrowed winter gear, a piece here and a piece there from others amongst their little group, but he'd learned his lesson on the way up. The scarf and the coat were Cadryn's, at least, which meant the coat was too long but comfortably so (it helped cut the wind) and wide enough that Zevran could probably wear his armor underneath. And he felt no guilt over taking such things from the Warden—Cadryn had gone out of his way to make it very clear there would be no arguing.

They walked single file, Sten in front and breaking a path through the deep, fresh snow. On top it was a finger's depth of fine, soft powder, and beneath that an old crust and heavy packed snow. They were foolish, of course, for traveling up into the Frostbacks so close to winter, and had taken too long in the Deep Roads. Zevran took up the rear, behind Wynne and Oghren, chiefly because the Warden had confided in him that he didn't trust the dwarf to be sober enough to hold his place in a fight, and partly because, well, he felt ridiculous, dressed as he was and still cold, and didn't want to feel the eyes of the others upon him. Vanity, but necessary in his mind.

The deep snow slowed their progress and as afternoon drew on the wind picked up. With nowhere near to make camp they had to press on, until the wind howled like like hungry wolves and the soft snow bit at exposed skin like fairy-sized knives, and when he reached out to grab the back of Oghren's coat Zevran lost sight of his own hand in the swirling wall of white.

And after a few more steps he even lost Sten's path, finding only knee-deep snow. Zevran knew nothing about cold weather, only that he needed to find shelter from the wind and should likely wait for the others to find him.

He found a fair-sized boulder to huddle behind, scooping out the snow when it swirled around the sides and threatened to bury him, and heard only that terrible howling in the wind, starving wolves—darkness drew on, white snow turning gray with the failing light, and Zevran was suddenly young again, maybe twelve at the oldest, huddling soaked and alone in the forest while he looked for the Dalish, wolves howling in the distance, tired to death but too frightened to sleep.

Warm hands sliding in under the hood of Cadryn's coat to cup his face, fingers at his throat feeling for a pulse, woke him from either a doze or a daze. Zevran groped for a dagger, but his fingers were too stiff, curled into his armpits for warmth as they'd been for—well, he wasn't sure how long. It was full dark, and the wind still howled.

“It's just me.” Zevran couldn't see him in the dark, but he knew Cadryn's voice, rich and deep and this close carrying over the wind. “Let's get you somewhere warm.”

Cadryn helped Zevran up to his feet, but the assassin had clearly been sitting too long, and his knees simply buckled. Zevran still had enough wits about him to feel doubly foolish when Cadryn hauled him up, insubstantial for a moment, and carried the smaller man against his side, like an adult might a child. But it meant that Cadryn's body was sheltering him from the worst of the wind, and he shamelessly snuggled into the warmth, burying his face against Cadryn's neck.

He was only dimly aware of Cassius joining them, leaping through the snow as if he were having the time of his life, stopping only occasionally to sniff the air. At some point Cadryn spoke to him, but he couldn't hear over the wind now, and was honestly too tired to care now that he had some measure of safety and warmth. Foolish, by his training, but a deeper instinct spoke now. Zevran decided to struggle against his weariness to try and keep from being too much of a burden, but knew the Warden would take care of him.

“Looks like Cassius has found us something closer,” Zevran caught, and the Warden shifted his hold, insubstantial again for a moment while he opened a door with his other shoulder, breaking the wood around the lock and swinging the door open violently. Snow blew in around them in a great gust, and Cadryn had to lean his weight against the door to shut it against the wind. Cassius followed suit, winding in around Cadryn's legs to push himself against it, long enough for Cadryn to set Zevran aside and brace the door with some heavy piece of furniture. Now that they were out of the white-out Zevran could see the little spell wisp hovering over Cadryn's shoulder, and the ghostly green light cast across the room only made it seem colder.

He drifted for a little while, left sitting against a wall, finally shivering again and just noticing that the snow had soaked through the thick leather of Cadryn's coat. Cadryn left him there, the spell wisp following and illuminating the little hovel in small sections. The wind rattled through stout shutters somewhere, whistled through a chimney, but the howling was distant, locked outside. While Cadryn went searching for something, Cassius pushed himself up next to Zevran, laying his head in Zevran's lap, hot breath and the warmth of the mabari's body overwhelming Zevran's revulsion at the smell—Zevran embraced him, and Cassius nuzzled at Zevran's cheek. The hound's nose seemed warm to his skin, and Zevran laughed weakly at the realization.

When Cadryn returned Zevran just looked up at him, trying to smile through the daze, blinking slowly and just now realizing ice caught in his eyelashes had melted, and the eerie light of Cadryn's spell wisp made the drops sparkle like jewels. Then Cadryn was stripping him, taking away his precious collected heat, and Zevran cried out, trying to push him away and failing miserably, ended up holding onto Cadryn's shoulders with a tight grip once the man stood him up and shucked off his lower layers. Then he wrapped Zevran in a dry quilt, musty from a long storage but relatively clean and quite dry. The closeness of the fabric was a comfort, but the scratch against his skin as it came alive again was unwelcome. It kept him aware long enough to mutter, “The others...?”

From Cadryn's look of consideration, it took a moment to reason out what Zevran had said. “I left them somewhere safe, in Morrigan's care. Well, safe provided they don't come looking for us.”

After three tries Cadryn managed to light the wood stacked in the small fireplace, which Zevran hadn't seen him place. The flames caught Zevran's eye, and he lost himself again for a moment in the crackle and dance. Cadryn came back, this time nude, and he laid their wet clothes out to dry, then made a little palate in front of the fire from extra bedding. Still the mage had to help him move, but they slid into the blankets together, facing the hearth. Cadryn curled around him, embracing him loosely but perfectly spooned up against his back, and the press of that familiar flesh was just as comforting as the warmth.

When Zevran started shivering in earnest it was exhausting, and he started to drift in and out between bouts, trying to curl up but Cadryn wouldn't let him. He just kept Zevran's head cushioned on one arm, nuzzled at the back of his neck, kissed him softly and caressed him when the tremors grew more violent and somehow more frightening than when he'd been convinced he was back in the woods as a child. “You'll be fine, Zev. I won't let anything happen to you.”

Zevran clenched his teeth to keep from whimpering again, but shortly after at the height of his shivering struck Cadryn in the chin hard enough that the mage's teeth clacked together, and he made a little sound of surprise and discomfort before laughing it off. As the shivering subsided Cadryn curled around him again, enfolding Zevran in his arms, and Zevran burrowed back into the larger man's embrace, listening to his breathing and the crackling fire and the mabari's soft snores instead of the howling wind outside.

These wolves the Warden wouldn't let in, and Zevran was safe in his arms. Zevran finally drifted to sleep, exhausted and cold but warming.

For his part, Cadryn did his best to ignore his own growing hardness at the elf's little comfort-seeking motions rubbing against him, and laid a gentle kiss in Zevran's hair. I'm sure you'll pay me back for this tenfold when you're well. Because the inappropriateness of such a reaction in this situation did nothing to lessen the smell of Zevran filling his nostrils, leather and exotic spice and musk, or the feel of that muscular body pressed against him, the hard plane of Zevran's abs under one hand, the dance of firelight across his golden skin-- Cadryn had to close his eyes, to settle his hand on Zevran's hip, and do his best to tune out the other sensations.


Nov. 11th, 2010 08:46 pm
dalishstorm: (Cadryn Amell)
Anon is in the mood for some fluffy smut.

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.


Oct. 20th, 2010 12:24 am
dalishstorm: (Cadryn Amell)
Zevran/M!Warden, domestic bliss: M!Warden (preferably elf, but I'm not that picky) and Zevran are living their happily settled post-game life. M!Warden is doing some banal household chore (washing the dishes, doing laundry, wiping the floor, whatever floats your boat!) and Zevran is being more of a hindrance than a help.
A sexy hindrance~

Lumbering gray clouds blocked out any sign of sun or blue sky, and a heavy mist hung over the hills, the glass of the window under his hand cold—a chill day, for certain, and poor weather by late afternoon. Just thinking about it made him shiver, the long walk in the cold and wet, the mist seeping into everything in their packs and making camp doubly miserable. It was more than a day to the next town, after all.

“Would you stop that?”

Zevran half-turned to look at Cadryn, who stood on the opposite side of the bed from him, very efficiently packing their bags. He never complained about being left to it, and Zevran had noticed it helped keep him sharp, remembering where everything was as if it was all precisely cataloged. “What?”

“If you put some clothes on, you wouldn't be shivering so much.” He said nothing about the window, but green eyes flicked for a moment to look out it, and Zevran knew the blatant exhibitionism of standing in front of the window irked him, however slightly. “I never should've said anything about the bracers,” the mage muttered, and went back to packing, movements exaggerated with annoyance.

Indeed, Zevran was standing there quite nude, save for his armored bracers, dreading the dreary day ahead of them—if he failed in this gamble. Of course, if he succeeded they'd be delayed long enough that he could easily persuade Cadryn to stay here another day, and spend a lazy day making love in the warmth of a well-appointed inn. They were only just out of Ferelden after Cadryn's retirement, and money wouldn't be a problem for a while yet, so Zevran saw no reason not to take this journey leisurely. He turned back to the window, hands against the sill and leaned forward slightly.

“Damnit, Zev!” Broad hands suddenly gripped his hips, warm lips traced his tattoos from neck to one shoulder, and Zevran smiled in victory, looking Cadryn in the eye in their reflections in the glass.

By the time Cadryn had stripped and gently spread him with a practiced, knowing touch, Zevran had to brace himself against the window frame. One of the locals stopped outside to stare up at their third story window slack-jawed, shortly followed by a pair of women who whispered behind their hands. Cadryn took him just like that, on display for the people outside, and Zevran reveled in it, the looks of shock and desire on their faces, this sensation of being wanted but just beyond their reach... teasing them with this vision of ecstasy in the window. A strong, full laugh at the thought dissolved into a moan of pleasure when Cadryn's hand closed around his length.

It didn't take long, and Zevran would've been embarrassed at his own lack of stamina if the orgasm wasn't so shattering. It had been a long time since he'd done something like this, not since Cadryn had come to him in Antiva, a certain night on the balcony of his apartments. Cadryn followed soon after, pressed tight to him and gasping out his own release as Zevran's dripped from his hand and rolled down the window.

“Looks like our adoring public enjoyed the performance,” Zevran said, grinning triumphantly down at the small crowd outside. He caught Cadryn's gaze in the window again briefly, watched him nip at the tip of one ear and slid his lips down along the helix of it, making Zevran shudder.

“We'll give them an encore later,” he murmured, and led Zevran away from the window.
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.


Jul. 5th, 2010 04:46 pm
dalishstorm: (Cadryn Amell)
Original prompt: your Warden/anyone

Inspired by a few comments that I read earlier, I want to see fics involving the writer's own favorite Warden with all their quirks and flaws doing whatever with their lover of choice. Should be easy, yeah?

All I ever wanted was to
Feel like I had done something with my life
All I found was you

Read more... )
dalishstorm: (Cadryn Amell)
Original prompt: The Warden is always in charge, always in control, and always giving orders. And s/he just wants (or is convinced), for one night, to give that up and let his/her lover take command... in bed of course! Zevran should be ordering the Warden to do things, but nothing humiliating/embarrassing. How much you play up the dom/sub aspect is up to you. Bonus points if the Warden is not too keen on the idea at first but really gets into it after being convinced to try it.

Warden choice is up to the filler, but anon has a preference for M!Mahariel and Amell of either gender. Also, no dwarves or Cousland please.
At any other time, Zevran slipping into his study and sneaking up to trail a line of kisses down the back of Cadryn's neck would be welcome, the elf draping his arms over Cadryn's shoulders to caress through the fine fabric of his robes, warm breath on his ear, “Time for a break, my dear Warden,” a teasing nip at the top of his ear.

At any other time. His seneschal had come down with some awful illness not a week prior, and so all the work of maintaining Amaranthine fell to Cadryn once again. He reached up with one hand to cup Zevran's cheek, but didn't look away from the ledgers he was comparing. “Not now,” Cadryn muttered. “I'll be lucky to get this done in time to sleep tonight.”

But Zevran wasn't satisfied with that answer, leaned forward to nuzzle his cheek and traced the very edge of one half of his tattoos. “Must it be done now?”

“No.” Sighing in exasperation, Cadryn drew away, shaking off Zevran's embrace with a little less care than intended. “But I'm meeting with some of the Banns tomorrow and having it done would be useful. Being able to offer financial figures for how much it costs to maintain the Wardens versus the--” Zevran kissed him, or tried to, fingers trailing up his chin and tongue seeking entrance, but Cadryn wouldn't have any of it, jerking away again and pushing Zevran back with a hand on his chest. “Are you listening? I don't have time for this.”

Zevran withdrew, and so Cadryn went back to his work, assuming the not-quite-argument over, at least until Zevran stopped directly opposite the desk from him, arms akimbo, hips canted in a very haughty but alluring posture. “My friend,” he began, head tilted forward ever so slightly, amber eyes deathly serious, maybe even a little angry. “I think perhaps in all your time alone you have forgotten a valuable lesson learned during the Blight.” Cadryn only glanced up to take in Zevran's posture, his expression, and while it always upset him to see Zevran angry he was somehow even more attractive, a smoldering fire, a snake about to strike, handsome in a terrifying way, and it stirred more than a little lust in the mage.

Focus, and Cadryn went back to his work, but Zevran would have none of it, starting at one end of the desk and sweeping everything off it in one swift motion. Of course, Cadryn bolted to his feet, drawing to his full height to look down on the elf, shouted, “Andraste's ass, Zevran! What was that? Do I pick the locks on your doors and sneak into your rooms and wreck your poisons lab when you don't immediately go bottoms-up for a hard fucking?”

Before Cadryn even registered that Zevran was moving, the Antivan had a fistful of his robes, jerked him forward so forcefully that Cadryn's thighs banged hard against the edge of the desk, kissed him. In his surprise Cadryn responded, too shocked to do much more than gape at Zevran's behavior. Zevran somehow got enough leverage to drag him down onto the desk, twisting as they fell, and when Zevran swung a leg over to straddle him Cadryn started fighting back again, bucking to throw Zevran off.

Laughing, Zevran drew away. “You see? I know what's good for you. You should listen to me more often.”

“Zevran,” Cadryn snarled. “I don't want to hurt you. But--”

Leaning in again, Zevran fisted a hand in Cadryn's hair, jerked his head down so it banged against the desk just hard enough to hurt, but not hard enough to bruise. “Do you remember the night in Eamon's estate when I tied you down?” Zevran kept perfect eye contact, pinning Cadryn with his intensity as much as with his body. “How you begged for me to stop, to keep going, to do anything? How I had my way with you?” Cadryn shuddered beneath him, eyes drifting closed for an instant, so Zevran applied just a little pressure with his hips, just a taste, a promise. “I think perhaps you have forgotten what I can do to you, do for you.”

Mouth suddenly dry, Cadryn tried to speak, for a moment couldn't find his voice, but eventually managed, “When you put it that way, I suppose--”

A dark chuckle cut him off. “You suppose?” Zevran straightened, sitting up properly, but it shifted his weight against Cadryn's growing hardness and the mage just managed to bite back a groan. “You rebuffed me so firmly earlier, mi amore, I think perhaps I will require some demonstration of your desire.”

Please,” Cadryn groaned, rolling his head to the side. “Don't play--”

A single finger to his lips silenced Cadryn, and the other hand brought his gaze back up. “You were about to say something foolish, my dear Warden. But that was a good start. Shall we begin again?”


“Good,” Zevran said, face schooled in careful thought but mirth betrayed by his eyes. “That is a good start, again. But please what? What is it your are begging for?”

I want you.

Shaking his head, Zevran tsked. “While I am certain I know what you mean, there is still some doubt. Could you perhaps spell it out for me?”

Cadryn made a noise of frustration, one that reverberated in his chest, so strong that Zevran even felt it where he straddled the mage's hips. “Fuck me.

“Hm, that sounded like an order. And is just a little too to the point, I think. No, I need some more sincere demonstration, I believe.”

Finally, Cadryn sighed in exasperation, relaxed against the desk. “What do you want me to do?”

Gesturing down to the lacing on his leathers, Zevran said, “Firstly, this will have to go.” So Cadryn dutifully unlaced them, laying careless caresses as he did so. He peeled everything back and down just far enough to expose Zevran, to pull him out half-hard, wrapped one hand around the shaft. “Now, what was it you said to me in the hall a few days ago, when you were so eager to have me in your mouth? Ah, I believe it was, 'I'm Arl, I'll do what I please.' Well, Arl, it would please me to see a repeat performance.”

Zevran moved up until he was straddling Cadryn's chest just beneath the shoulders, and Cadryn reached around to work his off hand under the back of Zevran's shirt, to urge the elf forward. It was a slightly awkward position, Cadryn craning his neck up to bring first just the head to his mouth, laying sucking kisses and teasing licks in the most sensitive places. Zevran offered some support by digging his fingers into Cadryn's hair, grabbing a handful around back and applying a gentle pressure. “You should not have cut this.” Zevran ran his other hand through auburn hair, a tender gesture. “It looks good, but I can't get a sure hold.”

Cadryn glanced up at him, but said nothing, instead finally taking Zevran into his mouth, removing his hand from Zevran's shaft to grip the Antivan's left hip, pulling him a little closer still, until Zevran had to hunch over and plant his free hand against the desk. Awkward as the position was, it was good, somehow more intimate. This wasn't about controlling Cadryn, after all, not about domination or power play, but seeing him willingly surrender, setting aside his self control for a moment. It was the trust implied in the act, something Zevran had never hoped to gain after his assassination attempt and during his awkward face-first tumble into love with this man. That, and having Cadryn so senseless that he didn't know which way was up, just that he wanted more, those were the goals.

Cadryn took him in as far as possible with the awkward angle, still teasing with his tongue as he went, and with an appreciative moan Zevran said, “This is one thing you have not forgotten, at least.”

Zevran felt the amused hum in response all along his length, and Cadryn began to work him in earnest. The human was a little too eager, though, and Zevran feared he might not last long, all this build up leaving him as ready as Cadryn clearly was. Zevran drew away just as Cadryn reached the peak of his momentum, leaving a trail of moisture across the Warden's lips. “Zev?” He looked confused, perhaps even a little hurt.

Carefully, Zevran dismounted the table, keeping himself firmly in hand, and said, “Off with your robes.”

Much as Zevran wanted to unlace them himself, watching Cadryn do it while under the strain of anticipation, skin flushed and eyes locked on where Zevran had himself firmly in hand was somehow more tantilizing. For Cadryn it was that sensation of being a spectacle again, of being enough in sight alone to stir Zevran's desire, and he was shrugging out of his robes in short order, leaving them draped across the desk. Hands went to his smallclothes, but didn't remove them until Zevran nodded his assent.

“Touch yourself,” Zevran ordered, and Cadryn complied, keeping his eyes on Zevran the entire time, strong fingers wrapping around his girth and starting in on long, slow strokes, making a show of the motion and skin gliding across skin. This he had missed, the sight of Cadryn in such a state, and now that he had it again he didn't think he could ever drink in enough, all these little physical cues of their mutual desire and affection. “Harder.” A little twitch from Cadryn as he obeyed, and Zevran wasn't sure if it was the command or hearing the loss of control in Zevran's voice, that it was turning husky.

Approaching again, Zevran kissed the mage, let his hands wander, even briefly putting a hand over Cadryn's as he worked himself, controlling the pace and grip a little more directly. When Cadryn reached out with his free hand to touch Zevran in kind, the elf stopped him, muttered, “Not yet,” against Cadryn's skin.

Zevran got the mage uncomfortably close to release, then pulled Cadryn's hands away, out to the sides, gripped at the wrists. “Zev,” he begged, pleading just as emphatically with his eyes. Zevran just kissed him softly on one cheek, barely missing the bottom curl of the man's tattoos.

“Wait for me,” Zevran whispered, and then left Cadryn lying there for a moment, the man whimpering involuntarily at the loss of contact and even thrusting up a little, hands clenching to keep from reaching out for a caress of flesh.

Zevran shucked off his shirt on the way out of Cadryn's study, every motion calculated to tantilize, as he could feel the man's eyes on him, hungry and wanting. There was only one other room of consequence in the Warden's apartments: his bedroom. And Zevran found what he sought with ease, the little bottle of oil easily accessible (the Warden had learned his lesson early on). Zevran found a stray sash from a set of mage's robes as well, and on a whim took it, carefully folding it as he went.

Cadryn was laying exactly as Zevran had left him, arms outstretched and fists clenched, body just drawing back from the edge, but now his eyes were tightly shut—likely trying to not touch himself in Zevran's absence. So Zevran started in kissing him gently, touching him insistently again, and Cadryn moaned into his mouth, which was a sure sign the man was ready.

Pulling him up into a sitting position, Zevran set about slowly shuffling them around until they were both standing, Cadryn leaning against the desk while Zevran continued his slow attentions, using them as a distraction as he tied the man's wrists together with the folded sash. When the elf ran his lips along a heavy collarbone, Cadryn gasped, “Please,” voice almost pained.

Zevran jerked on the sash like a leash, finally drawing Cadryn's attention to it, then moved nimbly across the desk, giving just enough slack so Cadryn could follow his command of, “Down,” before the leash pulled truly taught. Zevran ducked briefly to tie off the free end underneath the desk, tethering him in place.

“Zev?” Always with that worried tone in his voice when something like this happened, always making Zevran doubt for a moment.

“Amore,” Zevran murmured, stroking his hair soothingly, looking up into green eyes for a moment. “You need only say the word, and I will stop.”

“Never stop.”

Zevran took those words from his lips with a kiss, tangling both hands in what remained of the man's hair (there was just enough to grip now), and when they drew apart stood, presenting himself to the mage's mouth again. “Zev,” he groaned. “Please. Just--”

“I could leave you here like this,” Zevran said, looking down at the Warden with a wicked gleam in his eyes, just the faintest hint of a smile. “Stretched so lewdly across the desk, left wanting, for someone to discover in the morning.”

“You wouldn't.”

Quirking an eyebrow down at him, as Cadryn strained to look up and make eye contact, Zevran's smile only widened. “I wouldn't?” When Cadryn didn't rise to the bait, Zevran said, “You are very right. But I might simply take my pleasure of you and leave you to take matters into your own hands, as it were.”

No. Whatever you want.” Cadryn strained against the bonds, trying to reach out for Zevran. “I need you.”

And from the way he sucked when presented with Zevran's hardness again Zevran believed it--need was the only word that could describe such a state, the dedication there, the complete attention in his ministrations. And the sight of him stretched so lasciviously across the desk—Zevran grew too near too soon, pulled Cadryn away a little more roughly than intended.

He was not as gentle in his preparations as usual, and wondered briefly which of them was really in control here, for the man who was tied up to have him fumbling and harsh and far too eager to be inside of him, to find a shared release. Cadryn's response to Zevran's rough manner in slicking and stretching him was to simply lean into the treatment, biting back a sound half-pain/half-pleasure.

Zevran slid himself fully in with one stroke, and Cadryn managed a breathy, “Finally,” full of sarcasm, almost as if he'd been saving up the will and energy for it. So Zevran made sure to set a quick pace and aim true, to keep Cadryn breathless and moaning instead of snarking. When Zevran finally came, too soon for his liking but at the same time not soon enough, it was intense, near to blinding, but he rode it out, trying to bring Cadryn to climax before before he finished, reaching around and taking the other man's hardness in hand to jerk him to completion. Cadryn joined him with a cry, sagging against the desk as his knees gave out, and Zevran pressed himself to the larger man's back, strangely exhausted, seeking strength in that contact.

There were a handful of moments Zevran treasured between them, moments he felt embodied their relationship in a single phrase or gesture. The needful look and sound around, ”Never stop.” was surely one of them—Cadryn had meant more than this physical thing between them.

Once he had some presence of mind Cadryn mumbled beneath him, “Zevran?”

“Si, amore?”

“These were some of my best robes.”

And now the fine silk beneath them was surely covered in the mage's release, ruined without careful work that Cadryn would surely leave no other to—Zevran laughed softly, cheek pressed against his back. “I have a reputation to keep, yes?”
dalishstorm: (Cadryn Amell)
Original prompt: Any pairing, preferably slash

Two lovers are in their tent, totally hot for each other, but taking off all that armor proves very difficult and unsexy. By the time they actually get naked the mood has been killed, and they end up just chilling and discussing darkspawn killing techniques or something.

Their first moments of privacy in more than a week came when Bhelen offered them rooms in the palace to recover from their trek through the Deep Roads. Indeed, they hadn't even paused to rest, but gone straight to the council with Caridin's crown and their choice. They were standing in an otherwise empty hall outside the room meant for the Warden, hesitating, uncertain of what to do—torn between going their separate ways for much-needed rest or taking advantage of the situation.

Cadryn came to a decision first, and when Zevran opened his mouth to bid the Warden goodnight Cadryn covered it with his own, an almost forceful, lust-driven kiss. Not hard and bruising or claiming, but certainly stronger than the Warden's usual tender manner. Now, when Cadryn gripped his shoulders and pressed him against the wall, that was truly surprising, and Cadryn trailing one hand down to grip his hip, fingers twitching in a grip just hard enough to really feel it through the leather armor, pulled a lusty gasp from Zevran's throat, a sound half-voiced into the kiss. Zevran almost forgot to respond, shocked by the normally reserved Warden's unabashed desire.

When he did, it was to return the kiss with equal fervor, to gather together a handful each of the Warden's robes where they were tighter across the chest, pulling him closer. Cadryn obliged with a little grunt, and ended up having to bend his knees slightly to maintain the kiss, one of them ended up sliding between Zevran's thighs, and Cadryn had to shift his off hand from Zevran's shoulder to the wall in order to take his weight and maintain balance. The position was doubly awkward between the restrictive cut of Cadryn's robes and Zevran's now cumbersome armor, so Cadryn pulled away, whispered in Zevran's ear, “I want you,” hot breath making Zevran strain toward the promise of his touch imperceptibly. And just who was supposed to be the master of seduction here?

The belts of Zevran's baldric fell away as soon as they were through the door, weapons cast aside with less care than they deserved, and the belts at Cadryn's waist and the harness for his staff met a similar fate, clattering down in a heap. They didn't make it far from the door before Zevran caught Cadryn's face between his hands, pulled him down for another kiss, teasing the Warden's bottom lip with a gentle, sucking and biting playfully as if a promise of things to come. It earned an appreciative sound out of the man, who tangled a hand in Zevran's hair for a moment before he went searching for all the little buckles and ties to Zevran's armor.

They'd been in the Deep Roads for nearly a week, beset on all sides by Darkspawn and smaller, more annoying creatures, hardly able to sleep properly, and there had been precious little time to care for his armor properly. So the first buckle took two hands, the leather creaking under new stress. Zevran peeled back the collar of Cadryn's robe and ran his fingers across the sensitive flesh there at the base of the human's throat before attacking it, teasing in the same fashion as he had the man's lips. He took Cadryn's behavior as leave to be a little rougher than usual, made an effort to leave a little mark that would just be visible over the edge of the collar.

Cadryn swore when the next buckle finally gave, then muttered with no small amount of dark humor, “You know, your armor is covered in a very fine layer of lyrium dust. Like you rolled in it.”

Pulling away to nuzzle at the growing mark on Cadryn's skin, Zevran asked, “Should that concern me?”

“It's not enough to worry about.” And he swore again as a tie finally parted, then moved on to another buckle. Zevran's hands wandered down to the lacing on Cadryn's robe and began working at the knots, found the knots tight and the lacing hard and slick, as if worn by overuse. It took more attention than he would've liked, and eventually all of his attention, until the two of them were standing there in frustration and waning lust, picking and tugging at the infuriating impediments to taking their desire out on one another. Cadryn swore again, something colorful involving Andraste's mother, and the fabric and flesh beneath Zevran's fingers flickered momentarily, fading to insubstantial mist, and Zevran felt part of himself pulled along as Cadryn slipped half into the Fade to exert his real strength against an exceptionally stubborn buckle.

Cadryn succeeded first, though Zevran playfully told him, “Using magic is cheating,” trying to lighten the foul mood growing between them.

“I'd do worse things to get you out of this stuff faster,” Cadryn growled, and the last buckle came loose, Cadryn carefully pulling the armor away, which left Zevran in the padding underneath. Cadryn made an exasperated noise, somewhere low in his throat. “And I was just getting excited.”

Finally giving in, Zevran stepped away from the mage, shucking out of the padding and his small clothes as he retrieved a dagger. “This seems the only way, my friend.”

“I'm beyond caring any more,” and Cadryn held out his arms low to the sides, exposing the complex lacing. Zevran split the ties easily with the dagger, which clattered to the floor in favor of running his hands over the faintly golden skin revealed as he pushed the robes away.

They tumbled into the bed, a flurry of kisses and nips, enthusiasm renewed, but each carried a sluggishness to his motions, a weariness. An nothing, it seemed, could fully restore either of them to hardness, too worn and weary by this point.

So they abandoned mutual pleasure by unspoken agreement, simply stared at each other for a moment, each with his head propped against the others thigh (and how lovely this would have been, Zevran thought, to catch snatches and glimpses of Cadryn eagerly working him with his mouth as Zevran did the same).

“I hate this place,” Cadryn eventually said.

“Agreed. Let us never return, if we can help it.”

Nuzzling at the flesh of Zevran's inner thigh, laying a delicate kiss with the faintest swirl of his tongue, got an appreciative moan, a twitch, but nothing else, so Cadryn said, “In the morning.”

“Yes. In the morning.”

Passing the night in each others arms was well enough, at least, and Zevran was too tired to even to worry over the implications of his growing regard for the Warden, as usually happened with such intimacy.

Zevran stretched languidly, reveling in the relief, the intense sense of comfort from a good night's sleep (he slept better in Cadryn's arms than he'd ever slept, which was still disconcerting) and shared release with an eager lover. He didn't allow himself these indulgences much, this wallowing in the afterglow, but Zevran felt he'd earned it, and his eyes slid over Cadryn's form approvingly as the man's weight slipped from the bed.

He could get used to this, quite easily.

When Cadryn swore, Zevran sat up, propping himself up on his elbows to see the mage standing with his robes in hand, plucking the shredded laces out.

"I didn't bring a spare," the Warden announced, "and am an idiot."
dalishstorm: (Cadryn Amell)
Original prompt:  In camp, they compete to see who makes the other scream first.

How delightful, that moment of shared release—Zevran clawed at the blankets beneath him, head thrown back in a silent cry, as Cadryn roughly thrust in and stilled, hands clutching the elf's hips in a bruising grip, filling him, coming hard with a throaty gasp. Spent, Cadryn lowered his head to Zevran's shoulder with an moan, somewhere between satisfied and exasperated.

“Ah, do not despair, my dear Warden. That was much nearer than your previous attempts.” Zevran settled a hand at the base of Cadryn's spine, ran fingertips lightly up to the nape of his neck, twining them lightly in auburn hair.

“Its impossible,” Cadryn muttered into Zevran's shoulder. “Not that I don't enjoy trying.” Chuckling, Zevran drew his other hand up to give Cadryn's shoulder a squeeze.

They'd been at this for two weeks now, this contest, and one of them would inevitably fold. Zevran had the advantage, of course, confident that he could tease the most lascivious cries from his Warden at his leisure. He drew the contest out for selfish reasons: Cadryn, a healer by nature despite the intensity of his rare emotional outbursts, was a gentle lover. And this was novel, unique, and honestly Zevran liked it. He'd experienced all manner of fetishes and kinks in his life as a Crow, but never this sweetness, this emotional depth in lovemaking. It frightened him, this near transcendental connection to the Warden during their intimate entanglements, but drew him back, craving more as if some irresistible drug. That didn't mean that he wanted to abandon any of his old preferences, no, and this contest of theirs drew a harshness from the Warden that he missed and sometimes craved. And he had plans, after all.

Plans he decided to enact at Eamon's estate in Denerim just before the Landsmeet. When not plagued by taint-induced nightmares Cadryn was a deep sleeper, and Zevran very quiet and gentle in his preparations. He only worried about the plan for a moment, and braced himself to face a moment of genuine panic from the Warden. That would pass, of course, and would be worth it in the end.

So Cadryn woke in the night to soft kisses trailing up his jaw, a nip at one earlobe, trailing back down to the hollow of his collarbone. With a moan he stretched, hands moving down to trail across Zevran's back--

Cadryn's green eyes opened wide and starkly awake as his wrists met resistance, and he tried to move them again to be certain. Arms outstretched above him, hands very nearly tied together, just enough slack that he could tug in resistance before the ropes started to creak against the wooden backboard. He craned his head to get a look at the knots, but slender fingers gripped him on either cheek and forced his gaze in a certain direction, familiar lips claiming his. Cadryn very nearly responded in kind, but the pressure on his wrists and a spike of fear stilled him. Neither resisting the kiss nor participating, Cadryn just let that tongue slide past his lips, exploring. Past that initial forcefulness it faded into passion, and Cadryn felt himself responding in spite of the circumstances, in spite of the fear.

When Zevran drew away Cadryn tugged at the ropes again, panicking. “Zevran--”

Zevran hushed him with a less involved kiss. “My dear Warden, you are always in control of everything around you. You deprive yourself of so much in this. Submitting to another's whims, relinquishing that control, can be a release in itself.”

“Fine,” Cadryn said, tone clipped. Tugging at the ropes for emphasis, he continued, “Then untie me. I'll submit. Whatever you want.”

Zevran tutted at Cadryn, shaking his head. “You misunderstand. I have removed that choice for you. What do you expect?” Green eyes still regarded him with fear, wide and following his every move in a twitchy fashion. Leaning over Cadryn, stretching his own nude body to give Cadryn a better view—green eyes flicked down and back up briefly—Zevran tested the ropes. “So many associate these bindings with pain,” Zevran mused. “I expect you to find no pleasure in pain, and so I will not offer you that. What I want is to still your roaming hands, to force you to experience. You will have no distraction from any sensation as I am free to do what I please to you.” In spite of himself, Cadryn shuddered, Zevran's tone felt in the base of his spine, and Zevran's smirk broke into a genuine smile. “Ah, yes, that is a nice start.”

Zevran started in with the kisses again, moving down his neck, almost unconsciously brushing his length against Cadryn's with each motion, light touches, never quite satisfying. By the time Zevran gripped Cadryn's erection in one hand, running his tongue down the side and looking up with half-lidded eyes for Cadryn's reaction, Cadryn was already quivering, partly still in fear from having so little control, partly....

“Trust me,” Zevran murmured, and Cadryn did his best to relax. He felt so utterly helpless, and it felt wrong. He was a leader now, a hero, and being at anyone's mercy tore violently at his self-expectations. Closing his eyes, Cadryn took a deep breath, then another, trying to remind himself that this was his lover. And when a familiar warmth enveloped him Cadryn jerked against the restraints, sucked in a surprised breath as that wicked tongue began teasing. Unable to tangle his hands in Zevran's hair, Cadryn grit his teeth against the urge to thrust up, but eventually couldn't help himself. Anticipating this, Zevran used the motion to swallow his length.

Cadryn came embarrassingly fast, finally opening his eyes in time to meet Zevran's, briefly, before their lips met once more. With a flash of hope he realized that he could taste himself on Zevran's tongue, and so returned the kiss with ardent fervor, eliciting a little moan from his lover. Some modicum of control returned with the ability to invoke such a reaction in spite of his helplessness. Zevran broke the kiss off before Cadryn could do much with this new-found control, but the damage was already done. It wasn't about domination, but about Cadryn relinquishing control, if only for a moment. With Zevran's weight off him briefly Cadryn inched up on the bed, trying to get a little slack in the ropes.

“You look amazing like this.” Leaning back, Zevran's tongue flitted out to lick his lips before one hand trailed down across taut muscles and golden skin to fondle himself. And that was the greatest turn-on of all, the thought that in such a state he was a spectacle. It was one thing to make love to someone and know that they found you attractive, but another entirely to see this sort of response. It drove Cadryn to try and imagine himself from Zevran's perspective, how he must look here, flushed and panting from his orgasm, still half-erect, clutching at the ropes—he knew what response seeing Zevran in such a state would pull from him.

Leaning forward, Zevran rubbed their sexes together, and Cadryn couldn't help himself, wanting to be a spectacle, grinding up against him when the opportunity came. And he just let go, carried away on a tide of sensation as Zevran had his way with him, all manner of incoherent cries issuing from him. He surfaced to a shattering climax, jerking at the ropes, Zevran buried inside of him, ”Zev!” tearing itself from his throat, fully voiced with all the volume he could muster. Zevran followed an instant later, leaning forward, grinding his teeth and then biting Cadryn's shoulder to stifle a similar cry.

He surfaced again to Zevran untying the ropes, laying soft kisses on the heels of his hands as if in apology. “That doesn't count,” Cadryn croaked, voice broken from yelling.

Looking down at him, Zevran made a curious noise, so Cadryn repeated, “That doesn't count. We're not in camp.”

Zevran laughed heartily, throwing back his head, laid another kiss against Cadryn's temple. “A technicality, my dear Warden.”

Grinning, Cadryn just said, “I can't win otherwise.”

Still chuckling, Zevran slid down to lie next to him, propping himself up on one elbow. “I propose this: we put it to a vote. I am confident our companions will declare me the winner after that lovely serenade of yours, if only to avoid a repeat performance.”

For the first time in recent memory Cadryn honestly blushed. “You win, then.”

“And I'll be sure to collect my prize in due time.”


dalishstorm: (Default)

January 2013

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