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Grey Solstice	By : myghinmin Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 2404 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I own neither Dragon Age: Origins nor its characters, and I make no money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 2
- 3
- 4
Title: Grey Solstice
Rating: AO (adults only) for explicit sexual situations in chapter 1; mild sexual situations in chapter 2.
Chapter Rating: M (mature) for explicit sexual contact and alcohol use.
Word Count: 5488 words.
Pairing: Established Alistair/Zevran (specifically, established in "Shades of Grey").
Spoilers: Possible end-game spoilers.
Summary: Two years, he's been living in Ferelden, and finally, one Satinalia, it occurs to him how much he's lost, how much he's changed. Zevran must learn to cope with what it means to live with the Grey Wardens.
Notes: So, I couldn't resist. I did dress a few of the characters up as someone specific, and bonus points to anyone who recognizes who is dressed as whom! A clue, the dressed up characters are: Alistair, Luthanuel, Anora, and Zevran. Just leave your guesses in a review, and I'll reveal the answers in the notes of the next chapter! And finally, the scene that everyone has been asking for... it's here. It's in this chapter. Enjoy.
[[ ... Chapter Three ..... ]]
"Ser, you look fine." Luthanuel's voice was firm, his tone clearly tired of having to tell the Warden Commander this again. To be fair, Alistair supposed he was passable, glancing at his reflection with an appraising eye. His room had the only large mirror in it, much to his disgust, and despite numerous attempts to have it relocated, Zevran would only have it brought back, frowning and saying that it was part of the furniture set.
Zevran must have picked out the outfit, never mind the fact that Luthanuel was the one who brought it up; only Zevran would have dressed him up as some Dalish hero. Alistair didn't even know this hero's name, only that he apparently wore knee high leather boots, cream leggings, and a green tunic. There was more to the costume, but Alistair was more than just a little certain that the hat wasn't going to stay on. How did anyone wear a pointed cap that fell down to about mid-back? And furthermore, where did this costume even come from?
He fiddled with the cuffs a little longer, trying to argue down the arm guards that apparently were part of his dress. Luthanuel was merciless though, pressing the point with the simple fact that the costume was incomplete without them. Alistair looked at himself again, trying to decide if he was actually going to be brave enough to go out like this-- he could just imagine Teagan's, Oghren's reaction to seeing him. He swallowed, and then he committed, shoving the hat on his head, pulling it down so cover the tips of his ears. He made a very large elf.
He frowned a little, then looked at Luthanuel; really looked at him. The youth was wearing a white shirt, sleeves rolled up into thick cuffs, with a looser black shirt over it; his black pants were unusual, fitting closely from the knees down, but having a single large flare along the side of his thighs. Alistair raised an eyebrow, and Luthanuel blushed just slightly, a grin on his face.
"Who are you dressed as?" Alistair couldn't help but stare, watching the way Luthanuel's braid moved whenever he shook his head.
"Sorry, ser. We're not supposed to say; everyone is supposed to guess." Luthanuel's grin widened just a little whenever Alistair started to press him, and he held up a hand. "Zevran's orders."
Alistair groaned, reaching up to rub his hand over his face. "Of course it is," he muttered, and then he sighed, waving Luthanuel toward the door. "Let's go then." He took the narrow green mask from Luthanuel, and he put it over his eyes, wondering if everyone had one that matched their costume.
It wasn't exactly as Zevran had originally imagined, or maybe it was just that he couldn't stop hearing Alistair's question, couldn't stop reliving that little catch in the Warden's voice, couldn't stop himself from thinking about it, over and over again. He drained his wine glass and toyed with it, twirling the narrow stem between his fingertips as he looked over the room.
There were swaths of fabric hanging all over the open room, purple and gold, green and red, and while the decorations were no where near what they would have been in Antiva, they served their purpose well, shocking several of the Wardens, and even some of the other guests. Only Leliana had exchanged looks with him, had smiled, had nodded, letting him know that she understood, even if no one else did. He blew out a deep breath and turned around, his dark eyes seeking out a specific countertop, one that was being used as a place to hold all of the wine and ale for the evening.
It was more or less abandoned, alone in the corner of the room as it was, and Zevran slipped away to it gratefully, reaching behind it for the bottle he'd stashed there earlier. He had spied an absolute gem of wine in the bottles being selected for the party, and he had decided that no one would miss the one bottle.
Now that he'd had a few glasses already, that one bottle was beginning to look exceptionally good. Perhaps if he had enough, he would be able to convince himself that he was back in Antiva, that this small gathering was just as enjoyable as any of the ones he'd attended back home. It was going to take a lot of wine to manage that, he supposed.
"Elf!"
Zevran's eyes closed for just a moment, his hands stilling from the process of opening the wine bottle. He barely repressed a soft sigh before he turned, leaning against the countertop, the wine bottle hidden behind him. "Oghren!" he called back, purposely matching Oghren's shout with his own, a little grin on his lips.
Oghren swaggered-- or was it stumbled?-- into the room, his hand tight around a heavy flask. He drank from it, and just that brief moment of the flask being open was enough for Zevran to cough, the thick scent of Oghren's favored brew a little strong in his nose. "I never-- I never figured you of all blighters to stay here." The dwarf scrabbled into one of the chairs, and Zevran pretended not to notice that Oghren's feet didn't quite touch the floor.
"Oh?" he asked, politely. He resumed opening the wine bottle; Oghren had his own flask to drink out of. That meant he'd leave the wine alone until the ale was gone. "Why," the cork finally popped free, "do you say that?" He lifted the bottle, his eyes closing for a heartbeat as he let the scent of the drink drown out the stench of Oghren's ale.
"Figured you'd run off to Antiva." Bushy red eyebrows waggled, and Zevran couldn't help but grin. After so long traveling with the dwarf, there was a grudging respect between them. A camaraderie that they slipped back into easily enough, no matter how many months it had been since they'd last spoken. General Oghren wasn't much for writing letters, after all.
"To be fair," Zevran's voice was light as he refilled his wine glass, "I didn't expect to still be here either." He shook the glass just enough to make the burgundy liquid swirl, make it coat the inside of the glass. He lifted it to his lips, tasting it slowly, letting it rest on his tongue for a moment before he swallowed.
A belch from Oghren, and then the dwarf was leaning forward, his cheeks bright red from the ale. "Why did you stay? No, wait, don't tell me." He slapped one hand against his knee, his grin widening. "You're still trying to convince our little pike-twirler that to... what's the phrase?" Another swig, and then Oghren nodded, "Right! Hop the border. That's it." He nodded again, clearly proud of himself for remembering it. Honestly, Zevran was surprised that he did.
"No," he said slowly, looking down in his wine. A moment passed and then Zevran took his bottle and glass, stepped off to the side and added, just as Oghren took a drink, "Managed that easily enough." His own smile was wicked.
The dwarf both coughed and snorted at the same time, sending a repulsive mixture of ale and Maker only knew what else all over the spot that Zevran had just been standing in. The Antivan drew his bottle a little closer, protectively, but didn't let his smug grin slip. Oghren stared at him for a minute more, then a wide grin broke out over his own face, and he howled with laughter. He jabbed a finger toward Zevran, still cackling, and managed, "I knew it! He claimed that he liked women, but I knew. Little pike-twirler."
The music was rather subdued, at least for the moment. Alistair couldn't help noticing that the musicians were being kept well supplied with wine, something almost guaranteed that before long, they would be getting more ... enthusiastic. Wine was flowing freely throughout the room, actually, and almost everyone was laughing. And, despite having been there for a while, Alistair had yet to see his Antivan, to find Zevran in the small crowd of people. Teagan had come by and spoke, as had Ser Cauthrien and Oghren, but still no sign of Zevran yet.
Leliana and someone, one of the Wardens Alistair figured, were on the dance floor, a striking pair. Clearly, they had both embraced the masquerade, Leliana with a painted face and her partner with a white mask that bore no expression. Long purple feathers were woven into Leliana's hair, and Alistair found himself almost entranced, watching her dance with an effortless ease.
"She is lovely, is she not?" The voice was soft, the coldness warmed slightly by the wine in her hand. Anora was immediately recognizable, even with her long hair down, it curled at the ends so that it bounced with every move she made. The narrow mask over her eyes did nothing to hide her sharp gaze, which was focused on Alistair. He smiled and motioned toward one of the chairs, offering her a seat. She sank down, the pink silk of her gown glinting in the light, drawing his eyes for a moment from the redhead still laughing and twirling on the dance floor.
Anora looked beautiful, her expression softened from the good cheer in the room, from having a few months of relative peace after so long of constant fear. She wore a full-bottomed skirt that seemed to consist of at least three layers of fabric, including darker pink sash that only fell far enough down to cup her--
Alistair quickly lifted his eyes from her hips, not allowing himself to complete the thought. Instead, he focused on how much younger she looked, with the puffy sleeves that just covered her shoulders. He'd never seen her with her hair down, and with the tiny crown sitting slightly askew on top of her head, she looked rather charming, gentle even.
"Leliana always manages to look lovely," he finally said, a smile on his face, and Anora laughed, nodding her agreement. Her fingers were a little tight around the wine goblet, and Alistair arched an eyebrow at that curiously. "Are you well?"
She offered him a smile that didn't reach her eyes-- her queen smile-- and she nodded slowly. "I am well enough; thank you. This is... quite enjoyable, honestly." She looked back out over the dance floor, and then she stood, her hands folding in front of her as she did. Alistair, seeing where her eyes were, stood as well, holding out one hand to her.
"A dance, my Queen?"
Her eyes widened, and then her smile did, finally lighting her whole face. He had never seen her enjoying herself this much, and as she took his hand, he led her away from the tables, onto the open floor. Slowly, he drew her close, one of his arms wrapping around her waist, the other holding her hand out. The weight of her hand against his shoulder was strange, and Alistair couldn't help but chuckle as he realized how long it had been since he had danced this way.
Anora's head tilted just slightly, encouraging him to share his amusement, and he leaned forward, just enough that she would be able to hear him over the music.
Zevran was laughing, his glass still held easily in one of his hands as he looked past the dwarf toward his green-clad Warden, one of the easiest people to spot in the crowd, with that green hat. His grin widened for just a moment, and then he noticed who Alistair was with. Even with her hair down and a narrow mask across her eyes, Anora was unmistakable. She was a cloud of pink silk, laughing and twirling on the dance floor in Alistair's arms as the Warden offered her his goofy grin, leaning forward to whisper in her ear. Very carefully, the Antivan sat his glass down, and he swallowed, his eyes narrowing as he felt something unfamiliar beginning to build inside of him.
"Zev... What-- Maker, Zev-- what does it ... feel like?"
A shiver ran down Zevran's back, and he quickly drank the last in his glass before pouring another. He'd lost count now of how many he'd had, but it wasn't enough yet to get Alistair's words out of the Antivan's ears. They'd been there now for what felt like a lifetime, and Zevran was sure they were going to stay there until something gave between them. He could faintly hear Oghren talking, but he wasn't listening to the dwarf.
He needed this as much as Alistair did; whatever it was. Ferelden had infected him, gotten into his blood through a vessel that was dancing and laughing and holding the queen easily in his arms. Zevran's teeth gritted slightly, and he blew out a deep breath before simply standing and walking, heading toward the dance floor. Oghren called out after him, but Zevran ignored him.
"Whenever I ... When I'm--"
The music drew to an end just as Zevran arrived, and when Alistair turned and saw him, Zevran was taken aback by the look on the Warden's face. Naked hunger, tempered with... something. Something that Zevran was not entirely certain had ever been directed at him. It was enough to make him stop walking, to simply stare back, ignoring the new song being struck up by the musicians. Alistair excused himself from Anora and headed over toward Zevran, making his breath catch.
Alistair nodded toward the hall, his eyes glittering almost dangerously. It sent a shiver down Zevran's spine, made him ache, to see that sort of look directed at him from someone like Alistair. He had to admit, seducing innocents was not normally his thing; apparently, Grey Wardens were his exception to that.
"When I'm inside of you."
Watching Alistair go, Zevran hesitated for only a moment, just long enough to cast a glance back toward the room. By now, the wine had soaked into most of the party-goers, and no one seemed to so much as notice either the Warden Commander or his lover. He spun on his heel and followed, ducking out of the room and into the hall. Alistair was leaning against the wall in the stairwell, and Zevran felt his mouth go dry.
The Warden had no idea what he did to the Antivan, looking at him with such an innocent expression, and when Zevran stepped so close to him, he could feel how it affected Alistair. His own eyes closed for just a moment, and Alistair took advantage of it, dipping down to press a kiss against Zevran's lips. The instant he drew back, Zevran whispered against his ear, "Do you still want to?" The Antivan didn't have to clarify what he was talking about; it must have been on both of their minds the whole evening.
Alistair's answer was breathless, but from arousal or nerves, Zevran wasn't sure. "Can you?"
Zevran was over the top, as always, his long blond hair tucked back into a thick ponytail, earrings glittering in the flickering light of the torches. He was wearing a white top with a golden embroidered vest over it, the designs so intricate that they seemed to blend together, a spiderweb of dark goldenrod with the faintest hint of black peeking between them. The black pants didn't help Alistair's situation, given how they clung to the Antivan, wrapping his thighs and calves like a second skin.
He gasped as Zevran pinned him against the wall, his eyes rolling up to look at the ceiling as he felt the Antivan pulling on his belt, as he felt the weight of one of Zevran's thighs pressing between his legs. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think, and when Zevran's lips captured his own, Alistair tasted the sharp tang of the wine. He made a low noise, breaking away from the kiss long enough to ask softly, "Z-Zev?"
His voice seemed to steady the Antivan, causing those dark eyes to lift and lock on his face. His chest tightened, and heat flooded through him at the sight of Zevran, cool and in-control Zevran, cheeks flushed, lips parted, the slightest hint of sweat shining on his skin. It was incredible, a look Alistair had been aching to see on his lover for far longer than he cared to admit. He drew another deep breath, trying to calm himself, trying to convince himself that he was strong enough to push off of the wall, to gather Zevran into his arms and bolt for his rooms, leaving the risky spot in the stairwell for a more adventurous couple.
Zevran's lips touched his neck, and then Alistair had grabbed him, fingers wrapped around the Antivan's wrist, dragging him the rest of the way up the stairs and then down the hall, stopping only long enough to unlock his door. He had scarcely got them both inside and the door locked when he heard the soft sound of clothing hitting the floor, and he turned slowly, his mouth going dry at the sight of Zevran so casually shedding his costume. The pile of black and gold and white shimmered in the light, pooled around the Antivan's feet, and Alistair swallowed thickly before he followed suit, stripping off his already unbuckled belt, the green tunic hitting the ground immediately after.
His fingers were on his pants when Zevran batted his hands away and took over the job, kneeling in front of him, something odd in his expression as he slowly pulled the trousers down. Slender fingers trailed down Alistair's thighs-- an act that had taken quite a bit of getting used to-- and then he was tugging Alistair's feet up, one at a time to peel the pants all the way off. When Alistair was completely stripped, Zevran stood and pushed him back on the bed, crawling on top of him in almost the same motion. Alistair gasped at the feeling of the Antivan sitting on him, at the feel of the weight and pressure, and that slight rocking motion that Zevran did--
"M-Maker, Zev," Alistair whispered, his eyes falling closed as he instinctively pressed his hips up into the movement. Zevran made a low noise, and then he was leaning down over Alistair, lips and teeth nipping-- biting a trail of blistering heat down his throat, over his collar. The weight on him slid further back, and he could feel himself rubbing over Zevran's stomach, the slight ridges of the muscles creating a most pleasant sensation as Zevran licked and bit and sucked a sharp trail down Alistair's chest. The Antivan was being so rough that Alistair could feel bruises forming, and he didn't care. Another bite, another sharp suck and Alistair was arching a little off of the bed, his hands lifting to catch Zevran by the shoulders, wanting to move them, needing to do something.
But Zevran's eyes flashed and Alistair was suddenly struggling as the Antivan pressed both of his wrists into the bed, a predatory look on his face. Alistair could hardly breathe, looking up at Zevran with this expression so prominent. Slowly, Zevran resettled on top of Alistair, his weight once more heavy against the Warden's length, and Alistair was moaning, lifting into the pressure again, unable to stop himself. Zevran leaned down over him, until their lips were not even a full inch apart; when Zevran licked his lips, his tongue touched Alistair's mouth as well, making the Warden try to lift his head, try to close the last distance between them.
Zevran leaned back, out of reach, returning to hover tantalizingly close only after Alistair made a soft whining sound and let his head fall back against the bed. The pressure on his wrists was getting to be unbearable, bordering on the thin line between simple pressure and pain. He squirmed, but immediately stilled as he realized that every move he made seemed to make Zevran hold him more tightly, prevent him from moving further. He dragged in another deep breath, and when he looked up at Zevran, he lifted his hips into the pressure there.
"Zev," he whispered, and Zevran seemed to take pity on him, leaning down enough to press a soft kiss against Alistair's lips. The slightest hint of tongue touched his mouth and then the Antivan was leaning back again, clearly trying to calm himself.
"Did you mean it?" The question was asked so low that Alistair wasn't sure that Zevran had spoken at all. But the intensity of that gaze assured him that the Antivan had, and Alistair swallowed before he nodded slowly. "You really want this? You want me inside of you?" Wrists were stretched out over Alistair's head so that one of Zevran's hands was free to touch the side of the Warden's face. Alistair nodded again, biting his lower lip as he did.
"Zevran... I... I want you. I--"
The Antivan's lips were hard against his own, his tongue demanding, his hand sliding around to cup the nape of Alistair's neck in his palm. Zevran rubbed against Alistair again, teasing him, making the Warden moan into the kiss. Slowly, Zev drew back then, his teeth pulling Alistair's bottom lip for just a moment before letting it go with a slight 'pop.' His dark eyes cut across the room toward the mirror, and then he let the Warden go.
"Get comfortable," Zevran murmured, and he retrieved the oil from the nightstand. He set it on the edge of the bed, giving Alistair one more smouldering look before he walked over to the mirror and moved it. Alistair rolled onto his side and propped himself up on one arm, watching the Antivan curiously as he re-angled how the mirror was against the wall. Alistair stared at himself in it for a moment, and when Zevran came back, Alistair reached for him.
Zevran batted his hand away though, instead moving immediately stretch out behind the Warden, so that their bodies were flush against one another. Alistair turned his head, trying to look at the Antivan, but two of Zevran's fingers redirected his gaze to the mirror. A dark blush lit Alistair's face as he realized that Zevran was planning on Alistair watching them both; he could see Zevran behind him, watch as Zevran's mouth found somewhere on Alistair's shoulder to lick, somewhere to bite. One of the Antivan's hands moved down to catch Alistair's thigh, moving his leg so that his foot was flat on the bed, forcing his knee up toward the ceiling.
Another kiss on Alistair's back, and then Zevran slid one of his arms along the Warden's, covering one of Alistair's hands with his own, guiding it down between Alistair's legs. He flushed darkly, tried to avert his face from looking in the mirror at himself, but Zevran was unyielding, not letting him move an inch.
"Do it," the Antivan purred in his ear, his breathy voice low. "I want to see you. I want to see this."
Slowly, Alistair's eyes returned to the mirror, and he bit his lower lip as he moved his hand over himself, feeling Zevran's gaze on him. Then Zevran's hands both disappeared from his view in the mirror, and there was just a moment before Alistair's breathing hitched-- he could feel a slick fingertip pressing into him. Zevran's teeth were in his shoulder, and Alistair was gasping, trying to catch his breath, trying to keep his world from spinning.
It didn't hurt as bad as Alistair knew it could; not yet anyway. He'd done this much before on his own, after seeing how Zevran did it. It had started a few days ago, when he'd been in the room alone, and curiosity had gotten the better of him. Strange as it had felt, he'd done it again, and then again, and now, with Zevran so hard against him, his finger pressing into Alistair, the Warden was glad that he'd tried it on his own first. It gave him a moment, let him focus on the feel of his own hand over his length; no matter how familiar that sensation was, it was suddenly very different with Zevran's eyes on him, the feel of the Antivan flush against him.
"Zev..." Alistair moaned as the finger was pulled out, and then two pressed in. His hand tightened, jerked more sharply, and he could feel Zevran's breathing speeding up. The teeth in his shoulder let go, and instead, Zevran's tongue touched Alistair's earlobe. Unable to look away, Alistair kept his eyes focused on the mirror, on Zevran's face as he continued stretching the Warden. Alistair's hand tightened again, and he whimpered. He wasn't really certain how long he was going to last like this, on such display, with Zevran pressing--
The fingers slid out, and Zevran's teeth pulled a little on Alistair's earlobe just as the touch returned, this time bigger-- three fingers? Alistair moaned lowly, his voice ragged, sweat beading up on him more heavily as he struggled to keep moving, to keep his leg where Zevran had positioned it, to keep his hips tilted exactly as they were, giving Zevran access to all of him. The stretching feeling was more obvious now, as this wasn't something that Alistair had tried himself; the most he'd managed was two.
He moaned, and then Zevran was whispering softly, "Faster, Alistair. I want to see you do this for me," and Alistair's breath was catching in his throat. He couldn't think, couldn't breathe, not with Zevran so demanding behind him, with Zevran ordering him to keep his hand moving, to make himself--
Then one of those fingers found something inside of him, some spot that they stroked over, and Alistair jerked, the cry torn from his lips as his hand squeezed almost painfully tight over him. Zevran was relentless, his fingers pushing over that spot, making Alistair moan desperately, his voice the barest thread of sound as his world shattered around him. When it was all over, he was shivering, gasping for air, and Zevran was pulling his fingers out, running his tongue down Alistair's back.
Then Alistair felt Zevran tugging him over, away from the wet spot he'd just made. He made a low noise as he was guided to his knees, as Zevran nudged his legs enough apart to kneel behind him. His flush darkened as he looked up and realized that they were alongside the mirror, where they could see as Zevran spread the oil over his length, as he gently positioned himself. Alistair tilted his hips into the motion; he couldn't back out, not now, not having seen how aroused Zevran was, how much he wanted this.
But then Zevran was pushing into him, and Alistair was crying out, his eyes squeezing closed at the feel of something much bigger than fingers pushing into him. Zevran's hands were on him, one on his shoulder, the other on his back, and the Antivan was leaning over him, whispering soothingly in his ear, telling him that it wouldn't be so bad, that it would get better. Breathe.
Alistair felt the pinpricks of something in the backs of his eyes, and he drew another shuddering breath as he tried to brace himself, tried to convince himself to relax around the Antivan, to let him in. By the time Zevran was completely inside of him, Alistair's arms had given out, and he was pressed into the bed, desperately trying not to grit his teeth. Another moment, then two, and Zevran stayed perfectly still, pressing soft kisses onto Alistair's back, his hand rubbing there gently, trying to coax Alistair into relaxing.
And then his hand slid along the Warden's hip, down and around until he found Alistair's length, wrapped around it, pulling slowly, teasingly. Alistair whimpered against the feeling, and then, as he felt himself hardening under Zevran's touch, he moaned lowly, muffled in the blankets. His head lifted and his eyes opened, letting him look up at Zevran in the mirror, who was slowly squeezing his shoulder, his attention focused solely on the Warden. It was his expression that did the most for Alistair; a tender combination of affection and concern, the look of a man who would do anything for someone.
He felt a tightness in his chest, and he felt himself pressing into Zevran's hand, his body responding no matter how much Alistair had been sure that he never would. He was on his knees, Zevran all the way inside of him, the Antivan's hand on Alistair's length, squeezing and pulling, stroking exactly the way Alistair did. He shivered again, and then Alistair found himself pressing back up again, this time into Zevran's hips, encouraging him. He wanted to feel it, to have Zevran take him this way.
The Antivan pulled a little ways out before pushing back in, and Alistair groaned darkly, pleasure evident in his voice. There was still pain in the motion; no doubt about it. But it was manageable. It could be pushed back under the pleasure, the feeling of Zevran rubbing right over that spot--
"Please, Zevran... Maker's breath, Zev, please," Alistair couldn't help it, couldn't stop himself from begging. He wanted to feel Zevran take him. His back arched, and when Zevran began moving a little more, a little faster, Alistair moaned, his hands finding fistfuls of the blankets under him to squeeze. "Zevran!"
Zevran's didn't speed up further, just kept his rhythm, leaning back as far as he could and still keep a hand wrapped around Alistair, still keep stroking him. Alistair's gaze met with Zevran's in the mirror, and Alistair was whimpering, begging for Zevran to move. The pain was completely gone, and Alistair was trembling, barely able to push himself up more on his arms so that he wasn't face first in the bed. He hesitated for just a moment, and then he was pressing back, trying to convince Zevran that he needed it, needed for Zevran to keep moving, to move faster, if anything.
The hand around him squeezed, and Alistair cried out, his eyes closing at the feel of Zevran's fingers digging into his shoulder, the feel of the Antivan's hand tight around him. He gasped for another moment, and then Alistair felt himself tightening, felt his body tensing and he was rapidly being pushed from the point of so-close to the point of can't-stop, with no time in between to say anything. Instead, he simply moaned again as he spilled, the sound a strangled mixture of the moan and a sob, a plea for Zevran to--
Those hips slammed into him one more time, and then he could feel it; his eyes flew open at the sensation of Zevran's release inside him, so sudden, so hard. He dragged in shuddering breaths, and the two of them stayed like that for several minutes, not moving, hardly breathing. Then, very slowly, Zevran pulled out, his hands light on Alistair's hips as he held the Warden still. Alistair collapsed, face-first into the blankets, not even caring that he was in his own wet spot.
Then Zevran's hands touched him, coaxed him to roll over, to let the Antivan gently clean him up with a wet washcloth that Alistair had no idea was even in his room. Zevran cleaned himself up as well, and then the rag was seemingly gone, and Zevran was drawing Alistair to him, his arms wrapping around the Warden's shoulders. There were four deep bruises on Alistair's shoulder-- from Zevran's fingers-- and Zevran lightly touched them, studying them. On top of that, there were all manner of bite marks and bright red blossoms of color splattered over Alistair's torso, and yet, Alistair had never felt as good as he did right then.
He pressed his face against Zevran's chest, his eyes falling closed for a moment. Zevran held him, and then finally, he asked, "Alistair?" Alistair made a soft noise, which the Antivan clearly took as a response, because he continued then with, "I ... I did not hurt you, did I?" His voice was very quiet, almost shy, and Alistair opened his eyes to look up at him, a little grin on his face.
"Nah," he said, rubbing his face against Zevran's torso, breathing in deeply. Somehow, even as sweaty as he had gotten, Zevran still smelled very faintly of vanilla. Of fresh-cut hay. It was odd, but Alistair was rapidly finding himself quite attached to it. "Might be sore tomorrow though."
Zevran chuckled softly, and Alistair wrapped his arms around the Antivan's waist, holding him close. "Probably," Zevran agreed, one of his hands moving to tangle in the blond hair. Alistair sighed happily, and as he settled down, Zevran shifted just enough to pull the blankets over them both. A moment of quiet, and then a very soft kiss was placed against the top of Alistair's head.
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Grey Solstice