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Jun. 23rd, 2010 01:36 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dalishstormOriginal prompt: I'm used to seeing M!Cousland portrayed as a rough and tough kind of guy (particularly when paired with Zevran). For once, I'd like to see a shier M!Cousland. Maybe when he first asks Zevran to sleep with him after the whole Taliesin fiasco. Or when Zevran offers him a massage.
Whatever it is, less mean Cousland and more dorky shy Cousland, please!
-----------------------------
Zevran flirted with everyone, so Aedan thought nothing of it when Zevran launched his first few barbs the Warden's way. In fact, Aedan responded in kind, taking great pleasure in getting to exercise at wordplay and innuendo. Their exchanges clearly surprised much of the group, frequently left Alistair blushing and stuttering, Sten doing his level best to ignore them, Wynne shaking her head in disapproval, and Leliana and Morrigan taking bets on who would win a particular verbal joust. They were used to Aedan being quiet and reserved, bordering on moody, used to him speaking simply.
Zevran reminded him of the joys of life. The assassin clearly had problems of his own, a multitude of past hurts that had shaped him into what he was today, but he seemed determined to live happily in spite of it. To Aedan, it seemed the true purpose of Zevran's existence was to spit in the face of fate, and this exotic stranger now in his company rekindled passions forgotten in the name of duty and regret. Aedan itched for a few moments in a good library, for a deep philosophical discussion, and for the touch of another.
But Zevran had made it rather clear, their flirting was nothing unusual—he made advances on everyone else, after all—and that while he had slept with men before, it seemed more business-like from what Aedan could gather, and he preferred women. So Aedan didn't take any of Zevran's advances seriously, but he still enjoyed the flirtations, found Zevran good company, so he indulged the humor in it. And Aedan felt guilty about satisfying himself to memories of stolen glimpses of Zevran's shamelessly nude form, but the Antivan was truly a work of art. Aedan had honestly never thought of an elf in such terms, and felt guilty for that as well, but he had only lain with one other, who was dead for some months now—pleasing as Dairren had been, it seemed wrong, somehow, to use his memory in such a fashion. So it was Zevran's hands and mouth against him that Aedan fantasized about, Zevran's name whispered with his climax.
Aedan typically took first watch, and it was honestly no surprise the first time he saw Zevran sneaking into Leliana's tent. Strangely enough, he wasn't all that disappointed, either, simply thoughtful on the topic. Their affairs were their own, and none of Aedan's business. His evening watches were spent doing mindless, distracting work, caring for armor or applying kaddis or whatever needed to be done, and he tried to think little about what might be going on in the tent across the fire.
“Ah. For once, I have not missed you. This is good.” Aedan startled, dropping the piece of his own platemail which he'd been oiling the straps on, and Zevran chuckled, sitting down next to him. “You have seemed so very weary of late, my dear Grey Warden. So much more withdrawn than I am used to, and I have begun to wonder where the Warden whose tongue is sharp as his sword has gone. And I have thought about this very carefully—all this fighting and walking is getting to you. Do you know what you need?”
“Soft beds and warm flesh are in short supply in the Brecilian Forest, it seems. So surely you have something else in mind.”
Zevran chuckled again, looking away a moment, mirth reaching his amber eyes, and Aedan felt the laugh running down his spine as much as he heard it. “My thought is this,” Zevran began, looking back to the warrior and smiling suggestively. “We retire to your tent, and I will show you the sort of massage skills one only learns growing up in an Antivan whorehouse.”
“You--what?” Aedan sputtered, and Zevran openly laughed at him.
“Nervous? That hardly fits the mighty Warden. Do not mistake me—I do not mean to belittle you, I am simply surprised!”
“What about Leliana?” Aedan finally managed. “Aren't the two of you involved?”
Laughing again, this time riotously, Zevran tried to speak between peals. “Oh, no, not at all! Leliana is lovely, yes, but neither of us is particularly interested in the other. No, you see, I lied about my skill with with locks, and she has been teaching me privately, so I do not make a fool of myself in front of everyone.”
That made a great deal of sense, and eased some of Aedan's concerns, but inspired entirely new ones. He was one night away from a virgin, and Zevran exceptionally experienced... for all his bluster, Aedan would come off as a fool, and to fail to live up to Zevran's high standards for sex would be an unthinkable embarrassment. “Zevran, I don't know about this....”
Another chuckle, and Zevran said, “What is there to fear, my Grey Warden? You deserve a little fun. However, if you're not of a mind, it is no matter.”
“No,” Aedan breathed, afraid to let go of the chance and afraid to take it. “I'm definitely of a mind. But....”
“But?” Zevran moved a little closer, such that they were almost touching, leaned in, face so temptingly close. “I will be blunt if I must, much as it pains me. I have desired you since my first night in camp, and moreso since, not simply for your body but for that sharp mind of yours. I have often wondered what sort of devious things must go on in there when no one is about to disturb you, what you whisper to the dark.” Zevran laid a hand on Aedan's thigh, smiling at the resulting twitch, the quickening of the Warden's breath. “I confess, I have thought of you, about what you must look like under all that padding and armor, if there are any more of those tattoos, about hearing you call out my name at the height of passion.” Still a little closer, and now Aedan could feel Zevran's breath against his neck, hot in the chill night air, and he wanted that lithe body writhing against him, gasping—but his mouth was too dry, his throat too tight to say as much, and he could only nod.
Zevran kissed him, caught his lips and teased them open with his wicked, marvelous tongue, seemed intent on making a physical interpretation of their frequent duels of wit. But here Aedan was inexperienced, far from his equal, and aside from a fumbling attempt to return that passion he had no idea what to do. Drawing away, Zevran shot him a look of longing from half-lidded eyes, but Aedan caught a flash of confusion there, too. “When your watch is over, I will be in your tent,” the elf said. “And we will finish this.”
The next hour passed in anxiety, nerves overriding his lust. Competence Aedan could claim truthfully or fake in most anything, as his education had been rather broad, but this... he couldn't possibly fool Zevran into thinking he'd had any experience to speak of in matters of the flesh. What was it the Antivan had said? ”My only requirement is that it be done well.” Aedan couldn't help but think the elf would be in for a night of disappointment.
When Alistair relieved him for the second watch Aedan only managed a nod in greeting, still uncertain of finding his voice. Zevran was waiting as promised, stripped to his breeks and kneeling aside the bedroll, golden skin luminous in the light of a single lamp sitting to one side of the tent. Fleeting glimpses were all Aedan had seen, too shamed to openly stare, but the Antivan was every bit as glorious as those glances had led him to believe. Zevran had his share of scars, as expected from someone who had lived as he had, but otherwise his skin was smooth, stretched over taut muscle that promised strength in his touch, his posture easy and almost feline speaking of confidence. For all his flirtations and strange affectations, very little about the elf was at all feminine when unmasked like this.
Zevran was rubbing his hands together as if warming something between them, which made his position almost seem to be one of supplication. “Strip for me,” he purred, and Aedan obeyed, trying to keep his motions smooth, but he knew his nerves had to show through in the slight wavering of his hands. With Aedan finally nude before him Zevran glanced over his body with an appraising, hungry look, a little smile turning the corners of his lips, an expression that stirred heat in Aedan's loins in spite of his nerves. “Lie down,” he ordered. “On your stomach.”
Aedan did as he was told, turning his head to one side to rest his cheek against the crook of his arm, and once he heard Zevran move he felt terribly exposed, his nakedness catching up to him. When Zevran sat astraddle the backs of his thighs Aedan tensed, so when Zevran leaned forward and began working his hands against the muscles of Aedan's shoulders, the elf made a tutting noise. “It is very good that we agreed to start with this,” Zevran said, the promise of laughter audible under his voice. “I think, were I to touch you in a more intimate fashion right now, you might simply snap, like a bowstring drawn too tight.”
After some time Aedan found he could relax into Zevran's touch, the ache and relief of Zevran's work lulling him into complacency, Zevran's manner at once sensual and business-like. Under lessening tension he could appreciate the feeling of Zevran, still in his leather breeks, pressed firmly against Aedan's buttocks in leaning over to massage his back. One spot in particular earned an appreciative moan, and Aedan felt him twitch in response, felt him hardening through the leather, and wasn't at all sure how to feel about being so openly desired.
When Zevran moved away Aedan made a soft noise, high in his throat, reflexive disappointment, because that pressure and desire was arousing like nothing else. Chuckling, with a breathy, “Patience,” Zevran started worked at knots and aches Aedan hadn't been aware of, hands moving deftly and strongly across his legs. By the time Zevran was done Aedan felt weak and boneless, but deliciously so. Fingers worked up the insides of his thighs, finding sensitive flesh Aedan wasn't necessarily aware of possessing, stroking, coming so very near but never quite touching.... Aedan moaned again at the teasing, and Zevran laughed, a deep and sensuous sound.
“There is yet more I could do,” Zevran said, “but it seems you might not abide much more.” Aedan could only nod, surprisingly breathless, and Zevran leaned forward, stretching up across his back to lay a line of kisses down his neck, along his spine, taking advantage of the sensitive flesh there by sucking and licking. Aedan shuddered beneath him, and then Zevran was nudging at one shoulder, encouraging him to roll—Aedan obeyed, as he had in everything else so far.
Watching Zevran shuck himself out of the breeks, leather peeling away like a second skin, like the rind of an especially tempting fruit, fully revealing himself, had two effects. Firstly, Aedan wanted him, missed that hard and sleek body pressed against him, those deft hands over his flesh. Secondly, Aedan thought, this is really happening, and even as he propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look he tensed, trying not to tremble. It felt like fantasy bleeding into reality, like a very vivid dream, and for a moment Aedan hoped it might be, if only so he wouldn't make an idiot of himself.
Zevran returned, kneeling, insinuating a knee between Aedan's thighs and leaning down to kiss him as he straddled Aedan's right thigh, and Aedan felt that slender, long hardness brush against him, his own growing heat and hardness becoming almost unbearable. He wanted Zevran, but had no idea how to go about it. When Zevran drew back, running the tips of his fingers through Aedan's short, coarse hair in a reassuring gesture, smiling softly, he asked, “My dear Warden, are you--”
“No,” Aedan said, before the word could escape his lips. “But I may as well be.”
With a little nod, still smiling, Zevran said, “Then we will stick to the familiar. Kneel with me.” So Aedan sat up, moving to sit on his heels as Zevran did the same. The resulting position had each straddling the other's right thigh, tender flesh pressed against tight, corded muscle. Overreaching himself to the left, Zevran rummaged around for the oil he'd used in his massage, and gave a little, “Ah-hah!” at his own success. When each of them had just enough on his right hand, Zevran tossed the vial aside, then instructed, “Do as I do.”
Those words took a good deal of the fear out of him, knowing that Zevran was comfortable with leading, with teaching—and if Aedan was good at anything, it was learning. Any further hesitance fled when Zevran's hand flexed around him, and Aedan groaned out his relief, earning a smile and a little nip at his neck from Zevran, reminding him to return the favor.
Feeling Zevran's hardness under his own hand was just as stimulating as Zevran's work, and while the elf wasn't particularly vocal he gave other cues, little twitches of his hips and a fluttering of his eyelids, involuntary changes in grip or pace, because Aedan was mirroring his ministrations perfectly. This must be how he satisfies himself, was possibly the most erotic thought of all, that this was a strange sort of shared voyeurism.
Aedan couldn't resist reaching around with his other hand to trace the hard muscles of Zevran's back, pulling him subtly closer, and Zevran returned the gesture, running his off hand down the warrior's spine in a feathery touch, then kneading insistently at the muscles of his flank. With a little gasp Aedan thrust forward, this touch spurring him on, until eventually they were standing on their knees and locked in an embrace, sexes pinned against one another but continuing to work at each other with their hands, and Aedan finally had that perfect, sleek body writhing against him, little breathless gasps in his ear, everything he had wanted and somehow more--he stifled the sounds of his release by leaning forward to nip at Zevran's ear, which drew a sharp, surprised sound from the elf, who buried his face in Aedan's shoulder and followed him into climax.
Aedan reveled in the feeling of Zevran's body pressed close, in the slickness of their shared release trapped between them, and groaned in pleasure, little residual shudders passing over him, at the thought of what that must look like, each of them covered in the other's seed. Of course, Zevran recovered himself first and drew away, so Aedan got a glimpse of it--Maker, that would drive him mad if he weren't already spent.
“We will try something different next time, yes?”
“Next time?” Still caught in the afterglow, Aedan couldn't school his surprise.
“Of course,” Zevran chuckled. “If you wish it. Why would I turn away such an eager and quick student?”
Oh, Maker. But Aedan could only grin dumbly, and nod. Next time.
Whatever it is, less mean Cousland and more dorky shy Cousland, please!
-----------------------------
Zevran flirted with everyone, so Aedan thought nothing of it when Zevran launched his first few barbs the Warden's way. In fact, Aedan responded in kind, taking great pleasure in getting to exercise at wordplay and innuendo. Their exchanges clearly surprised much of the group, frequently left Alistair blushing and stuttering, Sten doing his level best to ignore them, Wynne shaking her head in disapproval, and Leliana and Morrigan taking bets on who would win a particular verbal joust. They were used to Aedan being quiet and reserved, bordering on moody, used to him speaking simply.
Zevran reminded him of the joys of life. The assassin clearly had problems of his own, a multitude of past hurts that had shaped him into what he was today, but he seemed determined to live happily in spite of it. To Aedan, it seemed the true purpose of Zevran's existence was to spit in the face of fate, and this exotic stranger now in his company rekindled passions forgotten in the name of duty and regret. Aedan itched for a few moments in a good library, for a deep philosophical discussion, and for the touch of another.
But Zevran had made it rather clear, their flirting was nothing unusual—he made advances on everyone else, after all—and that while he had slept with men before, it seemed more business-like from what Aedan could gather, and he preferred women. So Aedan didn't take any of Zevran's advances seriously, but he still enjoyed the flirtations, found Zevran good company, so he indulged the humor in it. And Aedan felt guilty about satisfying himself to memories of stolen glimpses of Zevran's shamelessly nude form, but the Antivan was truly a work of art. Aedan had honestly never thought of an elf in such terms, and felt guilty for that as well, but he had only lain with one other, who was dead for some months now—pleasing as Dairren had been, it seemed wrong, somehow, to use his memory in such a fashion. So it was Zevran's hands and mouth against him that Aedan fantasized about, Zevran's name whispered with his climax.
Aedan typically took first watch, and it was honestly no surprise the first time he saw Zevran sneaking into Leliana's tent. Strangely enough, he wasn't all that disappointed, either, simply thoughtful on the topic. Their affairs were their own, and none of Aedan's business. His evening watches were spent doing mindless, distracting work, caring for armor or applying kaddis or whatever needed to be done, and he tried to think little about what might be going on in the tent across the fire.
“Ah. For once, I have not missed you. This is good.” Aedan startled, dropping the piece of his own platemail which he'd been oiling the straps on, and Zevran chuckled, sitting down next to him. “You have seemed so very weary of late, my dear Grey Warden. So much more withdrawn than I am used to, and I have begun to wonder where the Warden whose tongue is sharp as his sword has gone. And I have thought about this very carefully—all this fighting and walking is getting to you. Do you know what you need?”
“Soft beds and warm flesh are in short supply in the Brecilian Forest, it seems. So surely you have something else in mind.”
Zevran chuckled again, looking away a moment, mirth reaching his amber eyes, and Aedan felt the laugh running down his spine as much as he heard it. “My thought is this,” Zevran began, looking back to the warrior and smiling suggestively. “We retire to your tent, and I will show you the sort of massage skills one only learns growing up in an Antivan whorehouse.”
“You--what?” Aedan sputtered, and Zevran openly laughed at him.
“Nervous? That hardly fits the mighty Warden. Do not mistake me—I do not mean to belittle you, I am simply surprised!”
“What about Leliana?” Aedan finally managed. “Aren't the two of you involved?”
Laughing again, this time riotously, Zevran tried to speak between peals. “Oh, no, not at all! Leliana is lovely, yes, but neither of us is particularly interested in the other. No, you see, I lied about my skill with with locks, and she has been teaching me privately, so I do not make a fool of myself in front of everyone.”
That made a great deal of sense, and eased some of Aedan's concerns, but inspired entirely new ones. He was one night away from a virgin, and Zevran exceptionally experienced... for all his bluster, Aedan would come off as a fool, and to fail to live up to Zevran's high standards for sex would be an unthinkable embarrassment. “Zevran, I don't know about this....”
Another chuckle, and Zevran said, “What is there to fear, my Grey Warden? You deserve a little fun. However, if you're not of a mind, it is no matter.”
“No,” Aedan breathed, afraid to let go of the chance and afraid to take it. “I'm definitely of a mind. But....”
“But?” Zevran moved a little closer, such that they were almost touching, leaned in, face so temptingly close. “I will be blunt if I must, much as it pains me. I have desired you since my first night in camp, and moreso since, not simply for your body but for that sharp mind of yours. I have often wondered what sort of devious things must go on in there when no one is about to disturb you, what you whisper to the dark.” Zevran laid a hand on Aedan's thigh, smiling at the resulting twitch, the quickening of the Warden's breath. “I confess, I have thought of you, about what you must look like under all that padding and armor, if there are any more of those tattoos, about hearing you call out my name at the height of passion.” Still a little closer, and now Aedan could feel Zevran's breath against his neck, hot in the chill night air, and he wanted that lithe body writhing against him, gasping—but his mouth was too dry, his throat too tight to say as much, and he could only nod.
Zevran kissed him, caught his lips and teased them open with his wicked, marvelous tongue, seemed intent on making a physical interpretation of their frequent duels of wit. But here Aedan was inexperienced, far from his equal, and aside from a fumbling attempt to return that passion he had no idea what to do. Drawing away, Zevran shot him a look of longing from half-lidded eyes, but Aedan caught a flash of confusion there, too. “When your watch is over, I will be in your tent,” the elf said. “And we will finish this.”
The next hour passed in anxiety, nerves overriding his lust. Competence Aedan could claim truthfully or fake in most anything, as his education had been rather broad, but this... he couldn't possibly fool Zevran into thinking he'd had any experience to speak of in matters of the flesh. What was it the Antivan had said? ”My only requirement is that it be done well.” Aedan couldn't help but think the elf would be in for a night of disappointment.
When Alistair relieved him for the second watch Aedan only managed a nod in greeting, still uncertain of finding his voice. Zevran was waiting as promised, stripped to his breeks and kneeling aside the bedroll, golden skin luminous in the light of a single lamp sitting to one side of the tent. Fleeting glimpses were all Aedan had seen, too shamed to openly stare, but the Antivan was every bit as glorious as those glances had led him to believe. Zevran had his share of scars, as expected from someone who had lived as he had, but otherwise his skin was smooth, stretched over taut muscle that promised strength in his touch, his posture easy and almost feline speaking of confidence. For all his flirtations and strange affectations, very little about the elf was at all feminine when unmasked like this.
Zevran was rubbing his hands together as if warming something between them, which made his position almost seem to be one of supplication. “Strip for me,” he purred, and Aedan obeyed, trying to keep his motions smooth, but he knew his nerves had to show through in the slight wavering of his hands. With Aedan finally nude before him Zevran glanced over his body with an appraising, hungry look, a little smile turning the corners of his lips, an expression that stirred heat in Aedan's loins in spite of his nerves. “Lie down,” he ordered. “On your stomach.”
Aedan did as he was told, turning his head to one side to rest his cheek against the crook of his arm, and once he heard Zevran move he felt terribly exposed, his nakedness catching up to him. When Zevran sat astraddle the backs of his thighs Aedan tensed, so when Zevran leaned forward and began working his hands against the muscles of Aedan's shoulders, the elf made a tutting noise. “It is very good that we agreed to start with this,” Zevran said, the promise of laughter audible under his voice. “I think, were I to touch you in a more intimate fashion right now, you might simply snap, like a bowstring drawn too tight.”
After some time Aedan found he could relax into Zevran's touch, the ache and relief of Zevran's work lulling him into complacency, Zevran's manner at once sensual and business-like. Under lessening tension he could appreciate the feeling of Zevran, still in his leather breeks, pressed firmly against Aedan's buttocks in leaning over to massage his back. One spot in particular earned an appreciative moan, and Aedan felt him twitch in response, felt him hardening through the leather, and wasn't at all sure how to feel about being so openly desired.
When Zevran moved away Aedan made a soft noise, high in his throat, reflexive disappointment, because that pressure and desire was arousing like nothing else. Chuckling, with a breathy, “Patience,” Zevran started worked at knots and aches Aedan hadn't been aware of, hands moving deftly and strongly across his legs. By the time Zevran was done Aedan felt weak and boneless, but deliciously so. Fingers worked up the insides of his thighs, finding sensitive flesh Aedan wasn't necessarily aware of possessing, stroking, coming so very near but never quite touching.... Aedan moaned again at the teasing, and Zevran laughed, a deep and sensuous sound.
“There is yet more I could do,” Zevran said, “but it seems you might not abide much more.” Aedan could only nod, surprisingly breathless, and Zevran leaned forward, stretching up across his back to lay a line of kisses down his neck, along his spine, taking advantage of the sensitive flesh there by sucking and licking. Aedan shuddered beneath him, and then Zevran was nudging at one shoulder, encouraging him to roll—Aedan obeyed, as he had in everything else so far.
Watching Zevran shuck himself out of the breeks, leather peeling away like a second skin, like the rind of an especially tempting fruit, fully revealing himself, had two effects. Firstly, Aedan wanted him, missed that hard and sleek body pressed against him, those deft hands over his flesh. Secondly, Aedan thought, this is really happening, and even as he propped himself up on his elbows to get a better look he tensed, trying not to tremble. It felt like fantasy bleeding into reality, like a very vivid dream, and for a moment Aedan hoped it might be, if only so he wouldn't make an idiot of himself.
Zevran returned, kneeling, insinuating a knee between Aedan's thighs and leaning down to kiss him as he straddled Aedan's right thigh, and Aedan felt that slender, long hardness brush against him, his own growing heat and hardness becoming almost unbearable. He wanted Zevran, but had no idea how to go about it. When Zevran drew back, running the tips of his fingers through Aedan's short, coarse hair in a reassuring gesture, smiling softly, he asked, “My dear Warden, are you--”
“No,” Aedan said, before the word could escape his lips. “But I may as well be.”
With a little nod, still smiling, Zevran said, “Then we will stick to the familiar. Kneel with me.” So Aedan sat up, moving to sit on his heels as Zevran did the same. The resulting position had each straddling the other's right thigh, tender flesh pressed against tight, corded muscle. Overreaching himself to the left, Zevran rummaged around for the oil he'd used in his massage, and gave a little, “Ah-hah!” at his own success. When each of them had just enough on his right hand, Zevran tossed the vial aside, then instructed, “Do as I do.”
Those words took a good deal of the fear out of him, knowing that Zevran was comfortable with leading, with teaching—and if Aedan was good at anything, it was learning. Any further hesitance fled when Zevran's hand flexed around him, and Aedan groaned out his relief, earning a smile and a little nip at his neck from Zevran, reminding him to return the favor.
Feeling Zevran's hardness under his own hand was just as stimulating as Zevran's work, and while the elf wasn't particularly vocal he gave other cues, little twitches of his hips and a fluttering of his eyelids, involuntary changes in grip or pace, because Aedan was mirroring his ministrations perfectly. This must be how he satisfies himself, was possibly the most erotic thought of all, that this was a strange sort of shared voyeurism.
Aedan couldn't resist reaching around with his other hand to trace the hard muscles of Zevran's back, pulling him subtly closer, and Zevran returned the gesture, running his off hand down the warrior's spine in a feathery touch, then kneading insistently at the muscles of his flank. With a little gasp Aedan thrust forward, this touch spurring him on, until eventually they were standing on their knees and locked in an embrace, sexes pinned against one another but continuing to work at each other with their hands, and Aedan finally had that perfect, sleek body writhing against him, little breathless gasps in his ear, everything he had wanted and somehow more--he stifled the sounds of his release by leaning forward to nip at Zevran's ear, which drew a sharp, surprised sound from the elf, who buried his face in Aedan's shoulder and followed him into climax.
Aedan reveled in the feeling of Zevran's body pressed close, in the slickness of their shared release trapped between them, and groaned in pleasure, little residual shudders passing over him, at the thought of what that must look like, each of them covered in the other's seed. Of course, Zevran recovered himself first and drew away, so Aedan got a glimpse of it--Maker, that would drive him mad if he weren't already spent.
“We will try something different next time, yes?”
“Next time?” Still caught in the afterglow, Aedan couldn't school his surprise.
“Of course,” Zevran chuckled. “If you wish it. Why would I turn away such an eager and quick student?”
Oh, Maker. But Aedan could only grin dumbly, and nod. Next time.
