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Shades of Grey	By : myghinmin Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 3772 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age: Origins, and I do not make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Title: Shades of Grey
Story Rating: M (mature). NSFW (not safe for work) due to sexual content in chapters five, seven, and eight, and for torture in chapters eleven and twelve.
Chapter Rating: M (mature).
Chapter Warnings: Slash (male/male) sexual content.
Word Count: 2724 words.
PC: Fem!Amell, deceased.
Pairing: Zevran/Alistair.
Spoilers: End-game spoilers. Set post game.
Summary: She made him swear to keep Alistair on his feet until he could stand alone. Maker help him, Zevran will honor that final promise, even if it kills him.
Notes: Hopefully, I can be forgiven for that cliffhanger on the previous chapter. I did my best to make up for it, so...without further ado, please enjoy! Remember, reviews and constructive criticism are always welcome, and the more feedback I get, the more I update. It helps to know that there are readers for my work.
[[ ... Pre-Chapter ..... ]]
He didn't understand her; never had. Every night, the Antivan crept into her tent, and by the time he finally left, it would be almost morning light. It was killing him. He felt, each time that the sun went down, like his heart was breaking. She would come out each morning, smiling and cheerful, and how could he laugh and joke with her when he knew that it had to be due to the assassin?
He simply swallowed his resentment, and he backed off. He didn't have any claim to her; they were Wardens, not lovers. They were brother and sister in arms, united against the Darkspawn, not united together in any other way. How could he even attempt to level a claim on her when he had lied to her the entire time they had been together? Her face when he'd told her--
It had been the first crack in his armor, and it must have driven her to Zevran for comfort, because it was after Redcliffe that she'd begun to seek out the elf's company. It had not escaped anyone else's notice either, and he had felt the pitying looks shot toward him from Leliana and Wynne both. It was enough to make him scream.
Instead, he found himself exchanging dirty looks with the other man, the only other member of their party who held her attention as easily as he could. He just needed a way to wipe that smug grin off of that elven face; he needed something to give himself the upper hand again. Any moment that she didn't command his attention, he spent thinking about ways to one up the Antivan, to prove his incompetence. Grudgingly, he had to admit: it was far more difficult than he thought it should be.
[[ ... Chapter 5 ..... ]]
"I want you, Zevran." Alistair's voice was just above a whisper, the words literally breathed over his lips. Those words did things to the elf, reaching in and stroking parts of him that he had never thought that Alistair would be able, or willing, to reach.
For a long moment, the words remained in the air between them. Then, slowly, the warrior dipped his head down to touch his lips to Zevran's again, his hands burying themselves in blond hair, twisting his fingers around locks of it. Bare chests pressed together, and Zevran felt everything good that she had instilled into him beginning to drain away. Every honorable notion, every heroic aspect that she had inspired; he could feel them cracking and falling away to shatter on the floor. It had been... too long.
Then, when one of those hands slid down over his shoulder, over his chest, and found a peaked nipple to touch, to press... He couldn't stop the low groan that escaped him, only to be swallowed by the mouth so hungrily devouring him. It was unpracticed, clumsy even, but it sparked him none the less. He pressed his hips up against the thigh that Alistair had so firmly wedged between his legs, and he dropped his head back to breathe when those lips finally released him to begin kissing down his throat.
This was a potent combination, he realized slowly, barely able to form a coherent thought at all. Alistair was never so forward, so demanding, and Zevran was never this... passive. He hadn't been this passive since he had been inexperienced, first learning the art of seduction. And even then, he'd had an enthusiasm that didn't lend itself to laying still and allowing someone else to touch him this way.
In a way, it was a first for each of them.
Heat and wetness touched his nipple, and he gasped at the feel of that hand moving further down, stopping on his hips. Brown eyes opened to look at the former prince, and slowly, Alistair drew back, pulling the tight bud of flesh in his mouth until he couldn't any longer. When it slipped from his lips, he languished his tongue over it, and Zevran drew a deep breath, steadying himself against this sort of an assault. It wasn't the sort of tactics that he was used to.
One didn't seduce the target with long, drugging kisses; kisses that spoke of romance and passion beyond a simple night of pleasure. One didn't cover the target's body with a mouth that seemed to drink in every taste of sweat and salt and arousal that clung, a second skin. One didn't look at the target with the heart in the eyes.
Were this a rough or rushed or more punishing seduction, he could have fought it. He would have known what he was up against, would have been able to defend against it properly. But this... this was sitting at a high stakes poker game and not knowing the rules. This was engaging in a duel with a sword, only to discover that the weapon of choice was a bow. This was the sort of insanity he knew he should have grown to expect from wardens.
Wardens had been turning his life upside down ever since he left Antiva. Ever since--
That tongue was tasting his stomach now, and trembling hands were fumbling with the belt buckle. He couldn't stop the slight moan that escaped him as inexperienced fingers brushed against his aching length, applying only enough pressure to tease, and even that was by accident. He was being seduced by an innocent.
"Alistair," he said, softly, and when the warrior looked up at him, he swallowed. There was fear in that naked gaze, fear of rejection? Of acceptance? He wasn't sure, and he forced his fingers from their grip on the blanket under him to touch the sides of the other man's face.
"Z-Zev?" There it was; that innocence. Nerves that came only from knowing that you wanted something, but being unable to pinpoint exactly what it was. Or being scared that you did know what it was you desired so strongly, and knowing that it was something you might not be ready for.
The Antivan eased his fingers into that blond hair, and he gently led his partner back up so that he was within kissing distance. Taking a page from Alistair's book, he leaned up and pressed their lips together, teeth nipping, tongue teasing. His hands slid down over the muscled chest on top of him, and when he reached the other man's belt, he deftly removed it. This was his territory; he knew what he was doing here, even if he didn't know why.
Alistair needed this; this closeness, this intimacy. She had gotten him so used to it, and then... And then she was gone. And Alistair was left, alone and in the cold. Without his guiding star.
Trousers were opened and his slender fingers very carefully eased Alistair's length from the confining leather. Wrapping around him and stroking, Zevran drew away from the kiss to let the other man breathe. The Warden was trembling, stretched out over the elf, weight held off of him by knees and elbows. As Zevran shifted under him, the hand wrapped around his length twisted just right, just so that it rubbed over him the way he liked it. He let out a shuddering cry, and Zevran knew he would be able to feel the Antivan's arousal, pressing against his thigh the way that it was.
He didn't care.
This wasn't about him; it wasn't about mutual returns. It was about Alistair; about her. It was about giving the Warden some sort of relief to the pain that was cutting so deep. He could feel the other man tightening, hear him whimpering, and Zevran closed his eyes, preparing for it. He continued to pull, squeezing just enough to offer some more friction. The feel of Alistair's release on his skin was almost to much to bear, as it spread, hot and sticky, over his stomach.
Sweat and musk was thick in the air, and Alistair was still trembling over him. Carefully, Zevran shifted under him. He wasn't self conscious about laying there, another man's seed over his belly, but he did know that it was going to be exceptionally uncomfortable if he let it dry there; he wasn't planning on doing that. Slowly, he coaxed the other man to lay down-- it was difficult only due to his certainty that Alistair was going to fall if moved-- and he got off of the bed himself, careful not to stain the blanket in the process.
He found a scrap of some cloth to clean up with after only a few minutes of looking, and he purposely took far longer than was strictly necessary to clean himself up. He was waiting for the fallout, for Alistair to realize what just happened. The assassin tossed the cloth to the warrior and started fixing his own belt. It had never even come all the way unhooked, he realized. Whether that was a good thing or not remained to be seen.
He turned then to face the other man, looking at him carefully. Alistair was sitting up, a guarded expression on his face. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking, and so, the assassin moved over carefully to sit on the edge of the bed. He offered a little grin, deciding it would be best to attempt to put his companion at ease with their situation. Nothing was expected; nothing was owed here. It was a simple... favor.
"Well now... You are feeling better, no?" He arched an eyebrow curiously.
"I..." The hesitation was adorable-- so shy after such an intimate moment-- and Alistair was even blushing just slightly. "Well, yeah," he finally muttered, his voice defensive as he looked away. Then, he seemed to find that nerve again, because he glanced back up at Zevran. "You aren't."
It wasn't a question, and Zevran saw no need to attempt to hide it or argue with it. That would only insult them both. "No, but it is none of your concern. Alistair, you owe me nothing for this."
There was a minute or two when the Antivan honestly believed he had gotten through to the other man, but when it was clear he hadn't when Alistair reached for him, that look in his eyes again. This time, Zevran was ready, and he leaned easily out of reach, standing as though he needed to fetch something. The scowl that met him on Alistair's face was worth the physical discomfort that was restrained so tightly in his pants.
He moved over to stand in front of his window, pointedly not looking at Alistair. He didn't want to encourage this. It wasn't in either of their best interest, since the former prince would be unable to keep himself from becoming emotionally entangled. He would never be able to see it as simple pleasure. And Zevran was no babysitter. He was filling a promise, erasing a debt that had existed between himself and her.
He was so preoccupied with his thoughts and the ache between his legs that he didn't notice Alistair closing the distance between them until he felt that bare body behind his. His eyes closed at the sensation of someone tugging him back, of someone pressing up against him that way, so close that all he could smell, all he could sense was their body. At some point, the trousers had been removed.
He hesitated.
Alistair turned him around slowly, heat burning in those eyes. A dark gaze raked openly down over him; well, as much over him as it could with them pressed together so. He could feel the Fereldan's arousal building again, swelling against him.
The Antivan swallowed.
Lips pressed against his, and he surrendered, unable to fight it any longer. He was no saint; if Alistair was going to pursue this, he wasn't going to argue. He had simply wanted to make sure that this was what the other man wanted. He wanted there to be no regrets, no accusations afterward. No one was forcing this.
Those kisses were his undoing. He wasn't accustomed to such gentle teasing, to such tender ministrations. He wasn't used to being robbed of all sense, kissed until the only thing in his head was the taste of his partner's mouth. He felt the bed behind him again, and he eased back onto it, not wanting to draw too far away, lest Alistair change his mind.
Fingers that no longer shook with need swiftly unbuckled his belt; hands that had never touched another man this way slid the trousers down. The Warden finally pulled back from the kiss, leaning back enough that he could really look at the elf laying under him, whose hands tangled in the blankets as he returned the gaze.
Zevran knew that he was attractive; it was a large reason why he had been a Crow. However, it was rare to see such sincere appreciation of his body, particularly since this gaze held no darker tone, no hidden desires. He stretched just a little, and when Alistair's breath hitched, he smiled.
"Zev," the Warden whispered, and for a moment the Anitvan simply savored the curls of heat that the voice brought with it. "I... I don't want to hurt you."
The assassin nodded faintly. It was now or never. He reached out and felt for the nightstand nearest the bed. Getting the drawer open, he managed to wrap his hand around a vial, which he pressed into the other man's hand. "You won't," he murmured as Alistair uncorked the vial. He drew a deep breath, and then he repositioned under his companion, his knees hooking over broad shoulders. How could he be nervous?
Alistair took his time oiling one finger, and Zevran realized a little late that he had expected the other man to know... something. Anything. But then that finger was pushing inside, and all thought fled. It had been a long time since Zevran had lain under anyone like this: at their mercy. He didn't like that part, but the sensations that the Warden was sparking inside of him--
He moaned as another finger joined the first, and he lost track as Alistair clearly began to get more comfortable with what he was doing. His fingers tangled in the blanket under him, and he gasped sharply as he felt something larger than fingers beginning to push. There was a hiss from his companion, his lover, as Alistair managed to push all the way in, and for several minutes they just stayed there like that. Sweat rolled down their bodies as they stayed still, and it was only after Zevran's fingers loosened their hold on the blanket that Alistair began to move.
Moans punctuated thrusts, and when the former prince managed to get his hand wrapped around the assassin's length... well, that was the beginning of the end. The sensations of being so uncomfortably full were too much to bear, and Zevran was soon crying out, moaning and begging Alistair not to stop. Nothing else mattered; nothing beyond the friction and the heat consuming him, the pressure of something stretching him.
The thrusts sped up, and soon Zevran's fingers were tight in the blanket again. He was pulling down with his calves, trying to angle to make Alistair slide in deeper, trying to twist his hips to make him move faster. The hand around him squeezed, and Zevran felt himself shatter, hot relief surging out of him and over his own chest. He couldn't stop himself from tightening around his lover, and the motion was enough to send Alistair over as well, this time emptying into the Antivan.
For a moment, they didn't move, and then the warrior very carefully eased back, letting Zevran down onto the blanket slowly. He fetched the cloth and handed it to the other man, almost shy now, in spite of what had just happened. There was silence as the assassin attempted to clean up. So much for trying not to stain the blanket, he realized wearily, and he sneaked a glance at the blond with him.
Alistair was watching him, his expression shuttered again. He couldn't tell what the other man was thinking, and he didn't like it. He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, they could both hear it: sounded trumpets. A noble was coming.
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Shades of Grey