dalishstorm

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.
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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.

Original Prompt: Post Origins, the Warden and his/her LI are separated for whatever storyline reason is appropriate. Alistair is at Weisshaupt/building Duncan's memorial/being King, Zevran is slaughtering crows in Antiva, Morrigan is off doing her thing, etc. One night, the two happen to meet up in the Fade while asleep, and they both believe they are just dreaming of the other person. Dream sex ensues.

Here's the kicker: they miss each other terribly, and one or both of them take the opportunity to say or do things they they normally wouldn't (Hey, it's just a dream, right?). Maybe Zevran or Morrigan says something unusually sentimental, or Alistair has a hidden kink that he's never revealed before.

The reaction of the other party, the Warden's origin, the LI, and whether either of them eventually figure out that the other person is not part of the dream is up to anon. Will take any pairing, but Anon admits a preference for Zevran/M!Warden (specifically M!Mahariel). I guess that, technically, dwarves won't work just because they can't normally enter the Fade, but if anon really wants to use a dwarf and comes up with some reason for them to be there, I won't complain.
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Waking inside a dream was always strange, like surfacing from cold water into a hot, muggy evening, the dream air still oppressive around a waking mind. And this certainly wasn't any simple Fade construction, still within the structure of the dream, and absolutely fascinating for it. Cadryn had never heard of anything like it, let alone experienced it himself, and the scholar in him wanted to observe and catalog. And the dream was so very vivid! Surely it was from the lyrium, but such dreams were usually marked with haunting visions and strange, deluded imaginings. This was a secluded strip of fine white sand at the base of a high cliff, gentle waves spilling up towards them, a delicious breeze countering the supreme heat of the day. The only thing too strange to be real about the dream was how intensely blue the sky was, a perfect lyrium blue.

Of course, it was hard to take all this in with academic detachment with Zevran intimately familiarizing himself with the tattoo across Cadryn's shoulder with lips and tongue, in particular enamored of the part that seemed to twine around the very edge of his clavicle. “This is new,” Zevran muttered. “And it suits you. I approve.”

Since it was a dream he almost didn't respond, but Cadryn reasoned it couldn't possibly hurt to indulge. “Someone left me with a taste for ink,” drew a smile and a satisfied purr, Zevran's breath across his skin was warm compared to the cool sea breeze. He couldn't remember anything of the dream before this, and in fact seemed to remember a completely different dream, so he had no idea how they'd ended up naked in each other's arms on an Antivan beach—for some reason Cadryn was certain this was Antiva, in the way only dream logic could provide—and didn't much care. He simply relaxed into the soft haze of emotion here, running a hand through Zevran's unbound hair, knowing the assassin enjoyed the tingle of those fingertips running across his scalp (again, dream logic providing him this information) as Zevran worked his way down to the tattoo at Cadryn's hip, exploring that as well.

There was a certainty here, strange, almost an empathy, that Zevran did appreciate these little gestures, didn't find them foolish or embarrassing or weak, when Cadryn ran his fingers through the assassin's hair, or reached down and traced that tattoo across his cheek. “I've missed you,” Cadryn said, throat suddenly tight. “So much.” Zevran looked up at him, caught Cadryn's gaze with hooded eyes, shifted slightly so that he was running his mouth parallel to Cadryn's hardness, breath playing hot across sensitive flesh, and tracing a single finger up the opposite side, those hard hands using such a light touch it was hardly more than the breath or the breeze. At the apex of his motion Zevran paused, a hungry little flick of his tongue across his lips, but before he could lunge down to take Cadryn in mouth Cadryn gasped out, “Together. Please.”

A brief moment of rearrangement and caresses, pausing to exchange a kiss and Cadryn murmuring, “Even absent, you carry me through all this,” as they parted. It was a dream, of course, and dream-Zevran didn't need to understand what Cadryn referred to, but he looked appropriately confused for a moment, briefly concerned, before accepting the statement for what it was.

“I will return to you,” Zevran responded. “You must believe. And whatever 'this' is, I will see it pass.”

And then they were each laying on his side, faced with each other's need, and their height difference seemed less of an obstruction in this dream scenario. But Cadryn was beginning to doubt, because the dreamscape was too detailed to be anything less than a memory, and Zevran's actions and reactions were too perfect. He certainly had a strong impression of Zevran's appearance and personality, but had a hard time believing he'd captured the elf's unpredictability so well. Zevran often knew what Cadryn wanted before he'd realized it himself, and aside from that there were a scattering of new scars across his lover's skin, a long, thin one across his ribs and four punctures, relatively fresh, across the flat plane of his hip.

But Cadryn lost the thought, lost himself in the wet heat around him and the hard flesh in his mouth, and eventually decided that since this was a dream he would try, for once, to make Zevran come first, and since this was a dream he could take his well-gifted lover down to the hilt, unlike in the real world where this was always an affair of hands and pauses for breath and terribly unsexy on Cadryn's part (though Zevran always told him it felt marvelous, no matter what Cadryn thought of his own performance). So for once his hands were free to roam, to trace all the hard lines of his lover's sleek body, to linger in sensitive places. Many of these soft caresses he timed with flicks of the tongue or variations in movement, and Zevran seemed almost to forget what he was supposed to be doing.

And it would've worked, save Zevran was making the most amazing sounds around the fullness in his mouth, making it almost impossible not to simply thrust into the smaller man's mouth and finish himself right then. Cadryn did make a gentler motion, bringing that aching need to his lover's attention, and he felt Zevran's lips stretch in a smile, felt the soft laugh around him jolt down to his very core.

Later Cadryn wouldn't be able to recall which of them came first, because the sensation was too intense, but it happened in quick succession, one after the other. And they lay like that for a moment after, each with his head on the other's thigh, struggling to catch their breath in the heavy air, before before moving again to properly embrace each other, Zevran draping himself over Cadryn's chest and burying his face in the crook of the mage's neck.

“I love you.” Soft, in Antivan, because he never could say it in Fereldan.

Cadryn smiled, hands trailing down from Zevran's shoulders to unconsciously trace the tattoos across the assassin's back, patterns so familiar he sometimes found himself tracing them unconsciously on the nearest convenient surface. “You don't have to say things like that,” Cadryn told him. “I already know. And I know that it hurts.”

“I should be telling you every day we are together, and whispering it to the dawn every day we are apart. I think I will try that, when I wake. It will be a secret between us, the sun and I.” Zevran pushed himself up, looking down at Cadryn with a soft smirk. “This is a dream, certainly, a dream both of us would enjoy. You are a more confident lover, enough to daze even me, and the poetry that comes so naturally to you does not stick in my throat.” Zevran kissed him, just a light touch, their tongues only met for an instant. “I will miss this when I wake.”

Cadryn sat bolt upright in his bed in Vigil's Keep, staring wide-eyed into the dark, and the dry cold was terrible because he could still feel the Antivan heat on his skin, could still smell Zevran's musk and taste his release, though none of it had been real.

But it had, in a way. He didn't know how, and the prospect that they had somehow reached across the Fade to each other (though Cadryn got the distinct impression Zevran had called him, and by some instinct the mage had found his way to his lover's arms, taking his dream-self's place in a dream in progress) seemed at once utterly ludicrous and exciting. And clearly, it had been real enough--the evidence of that was spread across his tangled sheets.

He lay back, smiling, closing his eyes and imagining that heat and his lover's touch. That one moment would surely sustain him for some time—and the hope that it might happen again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Please.”

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

“I want you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never stop.”

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

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

“You wouldn't.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Si, amore?”

“These were some of my best robes.”

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