dalishstorm: (Zevran)
Kind of... idly at the kmeme.  I'm only doing prompts that really grab me by the balls now, not everything that comes my way.  The love affair has died, and now we're on to the hatesex.  Also idly over at da_tentparty on dreamwidth.

Shit I am working on currently (meaning some ink has been spilled):

Frostbite!kink: 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?

Tender Fury: Long request is long...

OP!Anon just finished re-reading one of her favorite books and is obsessed by the phrase "and he took me with a tender fury." Context-wise, this scene came after a re-union between lovers who thought each other dead and/or gone forever.

I want to know what it means to be taken with a tender fury. Seriously - I love the phrase but can't quite wrap my mind around it.

No pairing preference though I confess to a passion for Zev!slash these days (Oh, Tannu and Grumpy Theron!). To be honest the scene in the book was het with a male partner who reminds me of Alistair - strong, heroric, devoted (pretty much a virgin! shh!).

Maybe multi-fills to satisfy my greedy, greedy needs?

(bats eyelashes playfully)

I'm willing to do an exchange if that would further tempt an author...
((No I'm not filling it with Alistair but I'm combining it with the following prompt))

"After I ravish you in celebration?": M!Warden (Any!)/Zevran, after the coronation. I'm surprised no one has thought of that one yet...I think.

Reverse Play: I've seen alot of Zevran topping and while that's all fine and dandy (and ultimately hot), anon wants to see a normally-submissive m!Warden do the topping for once.

Your choice of Warden and situation, but anon does have a preference for mages and fellow rogues. :)

Happy sex--the new kink.  Warden/Zevran: Antidote me, Anon! The setting is the Brecilian forest, right after sorting out the werewolf problem when the party has all of the treaties needed. They're taking a break for a day to recuperate, and Zevran and the Warden go walking in the now werewolf-free forest. The Warden gives Zevran some gloves that s/he found, remembering Zevran's mother owned similar. Warden is head over heels in love, but too timid to say so outright. Zevran is touched but can't yet communicate his feelings verbally. Sexytimes ensue, somehow romantically free from mosquitoes and ants. Please describe the setting, because half the fun of this prompt is that it's outdoors!

Anon has a slight preference for a male warden, but would be pleased with a female warden as well. No origin preference, dwarves welcome!

Shit in queue (in no particular order):

A Very Kinky Birthday: It is anon's birthday! Anon therefore desires to see sexy birthday celebrations with the Warden and Zevran. Preferred Wardens are M!Surana, M!Mahariel, M!Amell, and F!Tabris, but really, anything would be grand. Will also take another LI, if that suits other anons better, anon just adores Zevran the most.

Whose birthday doesn't matter, or the precise manner of celebration - I just want it to be hot. Embarrassing presents! Birthday spankings! Kinky sex! Go wild!

Okay so this anon would love to see some angry assassin sex! I'm thinking maybe before the final confrontation at the landsmeet Zevran and Taliesen happen to run into eachother, arguments and angry sex ensue. How does this factor into the overall storyline? Short answer: It doesn't! Anon will be your blood brother in exchange!

Zev/Warden meeting:
OP would like to see Zevran and Warden making out right on the spot when the party recruits our favorite former Crow. How and why this happens is up to anon. If anon can throw some sort of plot and reason into this pure PWP request OP would be in awe (eg they know each other for some ungodly reason, or the Warden is a healer tending to Zevs wounds and stuff happens).
Any Warden of anons choice is awesome (this OP prefers f!elf).  (yes I'm writing this as a het fill!)

Broken Warden/Tender Zev:
After suffering some form of abuse or torture – anon thinks Fort Drakon would be perfect for this, but anything will do – male Warden is rendered mute from the trauma. The group has tried magic, potions, everything, but nothing can get the Warden to talk again.

Cue Zevran, who decides to help in the only way he knows how: sexing the pants off the warden to get those vocal chords back into gear. Not necessary, but it makes more sense for Warden and Zevran to have been in a relationship (or at least on the verge of starting one) pre-trauma.

Warden has to definitely be male, and preferably an elf (they suit the fragile thing more, somehow), but anon is also fine with human or even dwarf.

Bonus points if Warden is stubbornly silent right up until release, and triple bonus points if Zevran's name is the first thing he says :D
((will be the introduction of a porntastic m!Tabris, if I ever get around to it))

A Talented Amateur:
Strapped for cash, the Warden recalls an earlier conversation with Zevran and decides to put the assassin's other skills to good use.

Warden proceeds to whore out Zevran to bored Ferelden nobles.

Priority on teh funneh. Reactions of disapproval/approval from party members encouraged, but not recquired.

And let's have dwarf!Warden of either gender/origin, 'cause Brosca and Aeducan so haven't been getting enough love here.
((Yes, I'm doing it with an f!dwarf if I get around to doing it at all))

Zevran or Anders/Warden, hair fetish:
Beheading one's enemies can be messy! Zevran or Anders helps the Warden wash and brush his/her hair after a big fight. It becomes clear the Warden is enjoying this more than one probably should, and bam! Sexytimes ensue. Can be oral with the Warden's fingers tangled in the companion's hair, or whatever else suits your fancy.

Let's give our pretty boys some love.

dalishstorm: (Fenris)

Someone wanted Fenris being fascinated with and perhaps lusting after Hawke's beard.  I was morally obligated to fill this to the best of my abilities.

A Place to Hide )

dalishstorm: (Fenris)

For a crossdressing prompt on the kmeme.

Cherry Lips )

dalishstorm: (Fenris)

Them's the Breaks

It was delicious, one of his favorite things, the way Fenris stretched over him with both of Aodhan's wrists held securely in one hand, pinning them over his head. The elf had caught him by surprise, sneaking in from the balcony while Hawke was undressing after one of those insufferable parties, as this game often went. His fine silk shirt was thrown open, his pants and underthings pushed down around his thighs to serve more as a shackle than anything resembling clothing, and the glare Fenris had him pinned with already had him half-hard. Aodhan hadn't been playing along, wasn't submitting tonight, and that glare was a promise-this wouldn't be gentle tonight.

"Be still," growled in that delectable voice, Aodhan could taste the agitation and the lust in those words on his own tongue, bitter and sweet, and Aodhan's jaw was already aching in anticipation, he wanted to take Fenris in his mouth tonight. So he disobeyed, arched up, acting like he was far overstimulated and seeking friction.

And suddenly he was curled up on his side, blinking away tears, his left shoulder agony incarnate-he'd only been in more pain twice. "Aodhan?" Gentle, frightened, concerned-Fenris laid a hand on Hawke's shoulder and the mage screamed through clenched teeth.

And then he started laughing through the tears, because this was such his luck. "You're too strong," he groaned.


"Dislocated my shoulder. Hang on." A wash of magic numbed it, but didn't fully fix it-he didn't want to use too much in such close proximity to Fenris, but it was enough that the pain no longer made him nauseous. He was still laughing, though. "Oh, that was... hah. I think we're done for the night. I need to find something I can freeze..."

The Only Way to Win...

After a certain amount of alcohol, it had seemed like a marvelous idea—to some of them. Fenris excused himself from the table, murmuring, "The only way to win is not to play." Anders made excuses about an early morning at the clinic. Aveline had yet to arrive, and Donnic didn't want to leave before she showed up.

Which explained very neatly why Merril was wearing nothing but her leggings, her scarf and a happy drunken smile, why Varric was shirtless and bootless, why Donnic was down to an oversized shirt, and why Isabela was wearing her boots and her underclothes and not a stitch else. And Aodhan suspected she'd spiked his drink at some point, because everything seemed much slower, much fuzzier than it should've.

Isabela won the next hand, and everyone had to take something off. Merril removed her scarf, and draped it over Isabela's head, giggling, which Varric protested. "No fair giving her more clothes! That's an advantage!"

Aodhan and Donnic exchanged a look of exacerbation, sighed resignedly when Isabela slammed her winning hand against the table and shouted, "OFF WITH IT!" They stood together, Donnic embarrassedly shucking off the shirt and flushing. "Oh, my." Wielding the hand of cards like a fan, Isabela covered her wide, cat-like grin. "Well no wonder Aveline is so pleased with you, big boy."

Donnic wasn't looking at Isabela's hungry eyes, though, but at Aveline, who was leaning against the back of Isabela's chair with one hand, face red with anger. "Would you care to repeat that, whore?"

Before anything could start between them Aodhan stepped up into his chair, nearly tipping over from intoxication, and shouted at the top of his lungs, gaining the attention of everyone in the tavern (except Fenris, who was in a corner and hiding his face in enough embarrassment for the both of them), "You want a show? Fine!" And shucked his underthings off.

Rolling on the floor in laughter, it turned out, was suitable distraction to keep the two ladies from fighting.

Close Enough to Perfect

The broken down little bed shoved into a far corner of the only room of the mansion Fenris really used was lumpy, soft in all the wrong places and hard in worse ones, the sheets threadbare and the room suffused with a damp chill as the fire burned down to embers. How Fenris remained so hale while living in such conditions was beyond Aodhan, and he made a mental note to bring over some better bedding, have something done about the leaky roof and the broken windows upstairs-maybe try to buy the place, even, to make Fenris' inhabitation legitimate and have workers come over to properly fix things?

Regardless of the conditions, Aodhan was more comfortable and happier than he'd been... well, he couldn't properly remember the last time things had felt so right. As if sensing the chill Fenris snuggled into him, leaning the back of his head into Aodhan's shoulder, the tattooed flesh of his lean body bare against Aodhan's own, the curve of his buttock shifted just so... Aodhan leaned forward, re-affirming his hold on the elf, nipped at the tip of one ear and ran his thumb along the tattoos across Fenris' chest. The elf didn't wake, didn't flinch away, simply nuzzled against him with an appreciative sound and drifted back into a deeper sleep.

These vulnerable moments meant even more than the words that had passed between them last night. It wasn't just idealistic sentiment on Fenris' part, it wasn't anything even the slightest bit untrue if Fenris was unconsciously behaving so against his programming. Laying here, able to hold Fenris, skin on skin, having spent at least some portion of the night sleeping peacefully together... Aodhan brushed a few stray strands of white hair away from Fenris' eyes. It wasn't everything he had ever hoped for, as so much of that was now beyond his reach, but it was certainly enough.


Mar. 28th, 2011 04:16 am
dalishstorm: (Default)
I had to fill this one:

M!Hawke/Fenris - Blood magic mind control, H/C
I recall reading that one DA:O prompt of Zev being controlled by a blood mage and having to hurt the warden.

How about one with it happening to Fenris and he badly injures M!Hawke?

I don't mind if smut follows or if it doesn't happen at all. No class preference but I think a mage!Hawke would make it pretty ironic.

Comfort )
dalishstorm: (Default)
Response to the various reading lesson/voice!kink prompts on the kmeme. Fenris/M(age)Hawke, set sometime during Act III after things have been mended.

Reading Between the Lines )
dalishstorm: (Default)
More Fenris/M!MageHawke, spoilers for Act 2 up through the end.

Drowning Sorrows )
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.
dalishstorm: (grumpy theron)
It appeared like an innocent enough exchange from a distance, Zevran in his usual sly manner asking Morrigan some question dripping with innuendo--but it was his way, even in simple exchanges. When she tried to slap him, red-faced, and he nimbly dodged, it still wasn't too out of the ordinary, though the others took note and turned to watch at the animalistic sound of rage and indignation Morrigan made.

No, Vanastin decided, it wasn't really obvious anything was wrong until she transformed into a wolf and started chasing Zevran through the camp. He was just nimble enough to keep putting obstacles between them, going so far as to vault over Wynne's tent, which Morrigan simply tore through.

"Er, Van,..." Alistair shifted nervously beside him, "Aren't you going to stop them?"

"Give me that," and the Dalish pulled the little container Alistair was holding out of the not-quite-templar's hands, started snacking on the weird shem food Alistair had been explaining before this outburst. "Five sovereigns says she catches him."

"She's a wolf! Of course she'll catch him! And I thought you two were--"

"Five sovereigns," Vanastin repeated, refusing to take his eyes off the spectacle--they'd knocked over one of the poles on Morrigan's little lean-to now, and the roof came crashing down on her potion bottles. "I'll stop them after she catches him."

"Shem wouldn't take the bet," Vanastin said, but Zevran couldn't look up at him, too surprised by the almost tender manner Vanastin took in wrapping his arm.  "He's getting smarter."

"Perhaps I should take a lesson from our Templar friend, since I clearly have not learned my lesson about listening to--ah!"  Zevran flinched, tried to pull his arm away at a careless, certainly deliberate prod to one of the tooth marks.

"Don't piss off both of the mages next time."  The smile curling the corners of Vanastin's mouth wasn't quite his usual predatory grin.

"Sometimes, I think you must do these sorts of things deliberately.  As if you--ah, how do they say it here?--get off on tending my wounds."

"Nonsense.  But I do like having you at my mercy."
dalishstorm: (grumpy theron)

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.


Nov. 11th, 2010 08:49 pm
dalishstorm: (grumpy theron)
RL has really been kicking me in the teeth lately, so I'd like to make a request in the hopes of cheering up...

Zevran is blood-controlled by an enemy mage and ends up seriously wounding the Warden (who he is in a relationship with) while under the spell. This anon would like to see the hurt/comfort/forgiveness/guilt sex that occurs afterwards! (no preference as to which flavor of m!Warden, so long as it's a dude)
The world disappeared under a red haze and Zevran knew only one thing: a sweet voice whispering, “Kill him,” gently into his ear. And it was all that mattered, that he please this speaker. It was a delicious sort of helplessness, freedom from choice, and falling on the other elf in a rain of blows, watching more red blossom under his knives, was one of the most satisfying sensations he'd ever known.

A hard impact threw him off, landing in a heap some distance away, and back to reality. It wasn't much different, really, his vision going dim for a moment as his skull cracked against the floor, ears ringing. It took longer than he would've liked to gather his senses. Zevran got to his knees, moving slowly because the world was still spinning. He saw Alistair standing over the Tevinter mage, flicking blood from his sword before sheathing it, and Morrigan somewhat nearer, kneeling on the floor, hunched over Vanastin's prone body. Zevran pushed himself up to his feet and stumbled over, almost forgetting his own sword and dagger.

The Warden had let go of the bow, but still held onto one arrow in a white-knuckled grip, his skin gone pale under so much blood. Zevran's strikes had all been true, mostly killing blows, and only Morrigan's meager healing magic kept Vanastin breathing. Dark eyes under half-lidded eyes rolled to him, acknowledged Zevran's presence. “Zevran.”

“Shut up,” Morrigan spat. “You can waste your breath on your fool lover later. Alistair! I need you to carry him.”

Si, amore? He almost said, but just reached down to wrap a hand around Vanastin's upper arm, heedless of the blood—his hands were already dark with it, anyway.

Quick as a flash of lightning, so fast even Zevran could hardly follow the motion, Vanastin wrenched himself up and lunged with the arrow in his hand, driving it into Zevran's arm. The Antivan cried out more in surprise than pain, and jerked away as Vanastin collapsed and tried to curl up around the wounds, gasping weakly but smiling. “We're even.”

Alistair carried the Warden back, but Morrigan kept a hand on the elf, kept pushing as much healing power as she could into him, which was just enough to keep him alive, never quite enough to stop the bleeding. So by the time they reached Eamon's estate everyone was covered in the Warden's blood, and when they entered Wynne happened to be in the front room, talking to Leliana. The elder mage immediately began ordering people around, telling a servant run for this, run for that, led Alistair back to the Warden's rooms all in a hurry—and they shut the door in Zevran's face.

He finally came out of his daze. I did this. He looked down at his hands, the arrow shaft broken off in his forearm and blood up to his elbows. And after we have just come to terms with our desires. This may as well be Rinna's blood.

Leliana's hand on his shoulder surprised him, and Zevran turned to her. “I'll do what I can for your arm,” she said, so he followed her to another room nearby. Alistair's, Zevran thought, but he didn't care at the moment. Leliana sat him down in a chair and carefully removed the arrow, her touch delicate and her hands steady, removed his bracers, then washed the blood from his arms in a basin. “You hurt him, didn't you?”

“There was a blood mage,” Zevran managed. “I could not fight him.”

“And that arrow is his,” she said, frowning a little.

“He said, 'We're even' after he put it there.”

“He'll forgive you,” Leliana said, frown dissolving into a little smile. “Vanastin is cruel, surely, but he is not so cruel. He will understand.”

If he lives. But Zevran said nothing, and let her finish by packing a poultice into the wound before bandaging it. Without magic it would scar, but this was one mark Zevran felt he'd earned. If Vanastin died.... Zevran knew now he would die with the Warden, whether physically or otherwise. They'd saved each other, after all.

He sat up all night, waiting for some word on Vanastin's condition. It was well past midnight when Wynne exited the room, drying her arms with a clean towel, and announced, “He'll live.” She didn't seem particularly pleased, and wearily trudged off to her room. Zevran slipped in as servants finished carrying out the supplies Wynne had used, and there was still so much blood--

None on Vanastin, now. He was pale as the bandages covering him, the tattoos across his face standing out starkly, and moonlight streaming in through the windows made him radiant and ghostly. He looked fragile, too, small against the large bed, but Zevran knew it was a trick on the eyes. Vanastin was anything but--

No, he was fragile. But Zevran had to see that weakness in himself before he could see it in Vanastin. They had so neatly shown each other the night Vanastin killed Taliesen that they were both vulnerable, and doubly strong for seeing it in each other. Standing here, watching his lover (they were now, after all, strange as it seemed) struggle to breathe and shiver in the chill night air, Zevran knew Vanastin would be angry, would probably unleash some of that cruelty their companions feared, but it wasn't the hunter, merely the beast he had become.

Zevran tugged the blankets up to Vanastin's chin, and the unconscious Dalish leaned into the warmth of an accidental touch.

Vanastin woke a few times during the next day, but never for more than a handful of minutes at a time. He was weak, disoriented, and Zevran did his best to keep the others out. Wynne's presence couldn't be helped, and she looked on both the elves, the one in her care and the one underfoot, disapprovingly. Vanastin had an image to keep, and letting the others see him like this would give them the impression he had vulnerabilities—he did, of course, but it would create some sort of sympathy, make him more approachable in their companions' eyes.

The others had just gone to bed, and Zevran decided to check on Vanastin one last time before retiring himself. He found the Warden leaning heavily against the windowsill nearest the bed, breathing hard, dressed only in his bandages and a pair of too-large linen trews. Zevran paused in the doorway, uncertain if he should go get Wynne or talk the Warden into getting back in bed.

Before he could decide Vanastin spoke. “Zevran,” his dark voice breaking on the gravel in it, wavering, but he clearly wasn't so bad off if he had heard Zevran's entrance. “Come here.”

Zevran obeyed, as surely as he had obeyed the blood mage's sweet voice in his ear, closing the door behind himself and stepping up to Vanastin's side. From his posture the Warden was putting most of his weight against the wall, and despite his pallor Vanastin was smiling, eyes bright. Seeing the Warden like this was unsettling, and Zevran was almost afraid to touch him. But he wasn't afraid of Vanastin's wrath any more, didn't care if this was some calculated move to lull him into a sense of complacency before Vanastin struck out.

Reaching out, Vanastin wrapped a hand around Zevran's upper arm, and pulled himself close, shaking with the effort. Zevran had to wrap his arms around Vanastin, afraid the smaller elf might collapse, and Vanastin buried his head in the crook of Zevran's neck, still smiling.

“You must be delirious,” Zevran said, “or playing with me most cruelly.”

“The former,” Vanastin muttered against his skin. “I don't have the energy to be cruel right now. You almost killed me, Zevran. Do you realize what that means?”

“That you will return the favor once you are well enough?” Vanastin just laughed, started pulling Zevran's collar aside, looking for the flesh beneath with his lips.

“I don't have to pretend,” Vanastin said. “You've demonstrated that you're my equal.”

“No more of this wolfish dominance, then?” Zevran asked, twining a hand in Vanastin's loose hair but keeping an arm around his waist to keep him upright. “What if I have grown fond of it?”

“Shut up,” Vanastin snapped, and Zevran grinned—that was more what he expected. “I want you. And I'm in no shape to fight about it, so--” Zevran's mouth closing over the tip of one pointed ear drew a sharp gasp out of the smaller elf, cutting off whatever else he meant to say.

It was too easy to work Vanastin into heavy gasping breaths, his attempts at a returned carress half forgotten, by drawing his lips down the smaller elf's ear, nipping and nibbling along the way, taking the lobe of Vanastin's ear into his mouth and sucking briefly. Kissing his way across the bottom of Vanastin's vallaslin, Zevran found the other ear and repeated his attentions in reverse, the hand in Vanastin's hair slipping down to tease the first ear with gentle strokes.

When he had wrung every soft sound he could out of these attentions, Zevran slid down along the artery in Vanastin's neck, following his thready pulse down to the hollow of his throat, the dip of his collar bone, tasted all this skin as if it were new. For how often they'd enjoyed one another leisurely, it more or less was new. His hands slid down to Vanastin's hips, passing over bandages with a feather touch, and the trews needed no more than a nudge to come sliding off. With his lips Zevran followed the line of a bandage from Vanastin's shoulder down over his collarbone, caught another one high on his breast, ended up teasing a nipple with his tongue.

That was when Vanastin swayed in his grasp, hands suddenly going to Zevran's shoulders in a shaky grip. Zevran's grip around Vanastin's hips tightened, bruising hard to keep him up, and the smaller elf gasped, “Zev....” Not the nickname, but too breathless to manage his full name.

Straightening, Zevran wrapped his arms around Vanastin and hoisted him up, leaving the trews behind, and he carried the smaller elf, who wrapped his legs around Zevran's waist with a wicked, if dazed, smile, eager hardness rubbing against the leather of Zevran's clothing. It wasn't easy, of course, but the distance was short, and he managed to make the transition smoothly, laying Vanastin down on the bed and then drawing back, sitting between the smaller elf's spread knees. Vanastin gave a little laugh, a strange sound, at the sight of Zevran sitting there, such a delightfully predatory look on his face.

Delirious, indeed, Zevran thought, but running his hands down the inside of Vanastin's thighs found the skin cool, not fevered, and he followed the carress with a line of kisses, trying not to think about how very, very red the blood had been, how good it had felt, and how this submission was likely just some strange side effect of blood loss, that Vanastin would be back to himself soon enough. Zevran wanted to take advantage of the situation, wanted to tie the Warden down while he was willing to let Zevran have his way, and to tease him mercilessly, have him begging for an end in the same breath as he was begging Zevran to keep going. The Warden wasn't well enough for any such antics, though, if his breath was hitching so easily.

When Zevran's mouth finished trailing down his thigh and went lower still, a little nudge spreading Vanastin's legs further and exposing his entrance, Zevran's tongue flicked out against the circle of soft skin and the ring of muscle there, testing, tasting, and Vanastin made a little sound of satisfaction low in his throat. He teased like that for a bit, soft flicks of the tongue making Vanastin squirm with an uncharacteristic lack of restraint, but when he began to lap and press for entrance, tongue just barely wriggling in, Vanastin fully voiced a moan, as lascivious as the ones he'd given under Zevran's hands in Orzammar.

It so surprised Zevran that he stopped for a moment, listening to Vanastin gasp for breath. He repeated the motion again, pressing further this time, and though it wasn't quite as loud Vanastin voiced his pleasure again, making no effort to bite back those sounds at all. Once more, and Zevran drew back, earning a whimper. He sat up, looking down at Vanastin, who had fisted his hands into the sheets, ashen skin flushing with new heat, chest heaving with the effort to draw in enough air. When the pause had lasted long enough Vanastin's dark eyes slitted open to return Zevran's gaze, and he croaked, “What--” He didn't have the breath to finish the question, voice breaking on the gravel in it.

Zevran descended on Vanastin's cock this time, offering that same sort of attention with the smooth seal of his lips, working his tongue against the bottom of Vanastin's hardness. In no time at all Vanastin was coming hard, a harsh gasp half-voiced escaping him at the height of pleasure, and Zevran fancied he heard his name in it.

For a while Zevran nuzzled at Vanastin's hip, waiting for the smaller elf's breathing to calm, watching him carefully from his vantage. This whole occurrence had almost been too strange to believe, and it had him wanting to get away from Vanastin. It was one thing to find the same weakness in each other and to become proper equals,but Vanastin's behavior tonight had been wholly disconcerting. As soon as he thought it safe to leave Vanastin alone, Zevran stood to go.

No,” Vanastin whined, and with some of his usual speed and grace he lashed out, grabbing Zevran's wrist. “Emma lath, stay, please.” He turned to find Vanastin looking at him strangely, dark eyes seeming almost wet, some intense emotion in them.

“Wynne will have my head.” But Zevran was already sitting down on the bed. Vanastin shifted his hand to twine his fingers with Zevran's, and his grip was tight, possessive.

“Don't care. Tell her I threatened you.”

“Have you? Was that a threat?”

“No.” Vanastin all but pouted, or what passed for the stoic Dalish elf, looking away and staunchly refusing to make eye contact again. “But she'll believe it.”

So Zevran stayed until Vanastin was soundly asleep, then slipped away to take care of his own aching need. But it wasn't to thoughts of how Vanastin had seemingly let go, or fantasies of tying the Warden up and making him plead for release. No, Zevran found that he came to the intense look in Vanastin's eyes and the need in his voice when he'd begged the Antivan to stay, and afterwards he somehow felt just as guilty as when he realized he'd nearly killed Vanastin. With a sigh, Zevran threw himself down against his own bed, staring up into the dark.

Vanastin's cruelty had been so much simpler, and Zevran almost longed for it.


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: (grumpy theron)
Sockpuppet haters won't see it here, and I've said it elsewhere, but I'll spam it everywhere:

If I wanted to be famous, I'd kill myself in a really spectacular fashion, not write porn for a moderately obscure fandom.  I'm sorry your derpy Princess CousCous/Alistair softcore or your Leliana Lesploitation (admittedly there wasn't much of this) isn't as popular as a jacked-up crazy apostate elf getting kinky with Zevran or a HNF fucking her way through the Blight.

That said, I am going to wipe some of the stuff I was "eh" about off my to-do list, and you may now post requests there, anonymously or otherwise.  I may not get to everything, but I'll do what I can.
dalishstorm: (Cadryn Amell)
"You know, I think this one is my favorite."

"Mmm, yes, they should make a book of it--"

The Warden had tromped up behind Zevran and Leliana as they were examining a bill posted to a signboard just inside the Gnawed Noble, and was looming over them, reading over their shoulders, and had just gotten to the part of, he slipped the loose robe from her shoulder in a smooth, caressing motion, lips trailing a line of heat after, and the Witch sighed, "Oh, Warden!"

"Andraste's bloodied rags, what's this drivel?" Lunging forward, face red (in embarrassment or anger no one could say), he tore the bill violently from the nail holding it in, and as he read the thing grew increasingly flushed. Zevran and Leliana watched in mild amusement and mild worry--they feared not for their safety, but the Warden could certainly make life unpleasant if he was displeased with either of them.

When he finished he balled the paper up and tossed it to one side, with a sharp, "Fetch." The mabari leaped up to catch the paper in his jaws, and happily chomped down the offending story. "If you see any more," he jabbed a finger at them accusingly, "tell me."

They remained motionless as he stomped away, the mabari scampering at his side, and once he was well out of earshot exchange another sly look.

"Should we tell him--"

"--that it's Oghren? I think not."
dalishstorm: (Zevran)
Morrigan woke, stretching languorously, from a most delightful dream of her virile lover--she stopped mid-motion, muscles twitching at the interrupted stretch, and looked down--well, doing what he was doing now.

He hovered over her naked breast, grinning wolfishly, the blankets and furs of their shared nest pushed down far enough to expose the soft muscles of her lean stomach, a tantalizing curve, and she could imagine the motion he'd made, a soft and slow caress, because she'd known it in her dream. But he ignored it now, and after catching her eye descended, rolling one nipple between his lips, sucking lightly and then teasing with his tongue with that vaccuum still applied, and she couldn't hold back a satisfied sound, a little growl deep in her throat. Oh, but he was marvelous with that wicked, witty tongue.

"Do not mistake me," she said. "I am not complaining, but must you wake me in such a fashion daily? I imagine it may be," she paused for effect, quirked an eyebrow when he looked up, lips still fastened to her breast, "inconvenient, one day."

He detached, but remained close, breath wicking up the moisture left by his tongue and leaving her with a delicious chill in spite of the heat. "I'm an addict, what can I say?"
dalishstorm: (Cadryn Amell)
"I do not understand. Is this some sort of Fereldan custom?"

Leliana looked up at the Qunari warrior in a sidelong fashion, uncertain of how to explain it. "Well, when a person is overcome with emotion, sometimes they act it out in strange ways. Don't Qunari ever feel so strongly?"

"No. Ours is a way of discipline." He neither scowled nor smiled, betrayed no emotion at all, as usual, but gestured to where the petite elven Warden was dancing her way merrily in a circle around the fire, her mabari following her with leaps and spins and happy yips. "I confess curiosity. What has excited her so?"

"Ah, well," Leliana, blushed, looking down, clasping her hands just beneath her bosom and worrying them slightly. "It is embarrassing. I will only tell you quietly."

Sten leaned down, and Leliana went up on her tiptoes to whisper into the giant's ear. "Last night," she said, voice going every quieter, "we--" Whatever else she said was lost over the hound's happy noises, but Sten blushed furiously, and Leliana would later swear she saw the corner of his mouth twitch up.

Black Silk

Jul. 26th, 2010 02:54 am
dalishstorm: (Default)
Not a prompt response, but relevant to future ones.

Pirate Neirin, yarr! I can see it now.

Zevran found himself standing at Neirin's open door, grip so tight around the earring that the hard edges and the stud were driving painfully into his palm, but he had no words and no strength to move forward, to make himself known, lost himself in thought.

There'd been no time for anything, really, between Neirin's “recovery” and the Landsmeet. Of course, it wasn't so much a recovery as Neirin being functional again, able to finish all they needed before the Landsmeet in a flurry of action. He still tired quickly, had trouble breathing under stress physical or otherwise, and his eye.... Well, they had used the injury to their advantage, because the Warden had looked broken, that dark silk patch covering his eye, stark against his pale and still bruised skin, and it had made the nobles whisper behind their hands. Neirin, for his part, had borne their stares stoically. It was not a badge of honor, standing there in the Landsmeet chamber, but it was a mark of Loghain's cruelty and madness, and Neirin's triumph.

They were about to leave for Redcliffe, and Zevran had thought to give Neirin the earring now, as they'd discussed. Instead he stood in the door, lips thin and jaw tight, watching Neirin shrug into his robes with short, jerky movements that indicated pain, quick, harsh breaths, the blue fabric sliding over pale skin it complimented so well and deep bruises only half faded. You have been through worse, as has he, was no comfort at all. Comparing it to his own experience made it no easier for Neirin to bear, nor any easier for Zevran to watch.

It was when he came to the patch that Zevran burst into action, moving swiftly, fluidly to the mage's side, covering the hand that held the patch to untangle its straps in his own, closing a fist over Neirin's, the earring trapped there as well now. Neirin startled, looked up at him in surprise, then smiled. “Zevran.”

Zevran said nothing, running his free hand down Neirin's jaw to his chin to tip his head up slightly, then brushed unbound pale hair away from Neirin's face.

The area beneath Neirin's injured eye was still dark with the remainder of a mostly-healed bruise, but the swelling was gone now. They had not spoken of it, and had very little privacy, so Zevran had purposefully avoided looking at it. Now they were no more than a breath apart, Neirin's face tilted up to look at him questioningly, and Zevran could examine it and satisfy all his fears.

“Zevran?” Less certain, this time, but Zevran was afraid to say anything yet, too lost in what had once been a perfect, soulful blue eye, now cloudy and glazed. It seemed to track his motions, but Zevran assumed that was habit, associated with the fact that Neirin's other eye was fine.

“Can you see at all with it?” Zevran asked, voice quiet, almost as if afraid of his question and afraid of the answer—for speaking a thing made it more real.

“A little,” Neirin breathed, equally quiet. “Vague shapes and colors. You're distinctive, so I can tell who you are when you're this close, but I can't make you out at all. Just colors and shapes.”

Zevran ran his hand up the side of Neirin's face, so close to the eye that the smaller elf blinked reflexively, and Zevran darted in to lay a kiss on his closed eyelid, soft, and he let it linger when Neirin didn't protest. When he drew back Zevran whispered, “I would have you whole if I could, but I do not find you wanting, like this.”

Smiling playfully, Neirin finally drew his hand out of Zevran's, started untangling the straps of the patch. “Leliana says it makes me look distinguished.” Zevran took the patch from him and Neirin held it in place with one hand while Zevran all but embraced him to tie it on, careful of Neirin's loose hair. “I think it makes me look like a pirate. What do you say to us joining Isabella's crew when this is all said and done?”

“If that is your desire,” Zevran said, forcing a neutral expression and a considerate tone. “I have no need of plunder, though.”

“Says the man who salivates at the sight of unworked precious metals.”

Leaning back to observe his work, Zevran found the dark eye patch even more startling than the injured eye, as usual, because it stood out so very stark against Neirin's pale complexion. But he was smiling brightly, more life in him than Zevran could recall having seen in their entire journey. “I have all the treasure I could ever desire right here: spun gold,” he rain a hand through Neirin's hair, “sapphire,” his thumb under Neirin's good eye, “ivory...” trailed that same hand down Neirin's face and neck to rest on his shoulder.

“You're shameless,” but Neirin's voice was colored as the soft blush that spread over his cheeks. “Now, where's that earring?”

On Dwarves

Jul. 22nd, 2010 08:24 am
dalishstorm: (Zevran)
Okay. This thing with "no dwarves". You know what, I don't want to see them in my porn, either, but I've made peace with it, and the chances of someone filling your prompt with a dwarf are almost zero because so few people write them. Stop it. It's like dwarves are guro or something. Just stop it, guys. No need to specify and alienate others by doing so. It's becoming a form of wank, and I'm not going to fill a prompt that says "no dwarves" because of it (or I will start intentionally microfilling with dwarves even though I don't like them either).

That said, I think if people state a preference, that's fine. Just don't say "I exclude this", you should be saying, "I would prefer this." As I stated, the chances of someone filling your prompt with a dwarf are pretty much zilch.

If they bother you that much, then copy/paste, find/replace. Seriously, guys, we're pushing away a talented section of the fanbase, and it's mostly the Zevran and M/M crowds doing it.


dalishstorm: (Default)

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