Well-Woven Net, Stray Strand: Glimpse
Urgh. This felt incredibly awkward coming out. Not in-character awkward (that part's intentional XD) but, like, my English is failing me awkward. Don't know if that's from being tired, or what, because I really wanted to write this, wasn't like I had to struggle for an idea this week (prompt: voyeurism) or something. :/ Ah well.
In terms of the WWN storyline, this is quite early -- somewhere between Knots 3 and 5.
Glimpse
Author: jenovan
Word Count: 1527
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: ...nudity? XD
Time: ~2 hours
With directions from a helpful farmer they passed on the road earlier in the day (Alessar thanked him by buying a wheel of sharp white cheese, which was a welcome addition to their rations), the company camped near a broad, burbling creek for the night. Of course that meant they'd have fresh water to drink and cook with, but it would also be pleasant to have a bath in a body of water where one could see what lay on the bottom, for once.
Alessar, finished with his share of the camp chores for the evening, intended to take advantage of the opportunity. It was nearing dusk as he made his way through the sparse underbrush towards the creek, and he hoped to be washed and done before full dark; if not, he'd have to make his way back by the light of the campfire. He found his plan foiled, however, when he heard a very familiar voice humming a tune as he approached the creek.
The Warden halted in his tracks, having no desire to be alone with Zevran in a situation requiring the removal of clothing. Not that he expected the other elf to actually do anything, but Alessar was still trying to wrap his head around the idea of being attracted to another man, and he imagined that whatever might happen in such an encounter would be both confusing and thoroughly embarrassing.
He should have simply turned and left, he knew. He could come back later, when he was positive that everyone else was accounted for and that he'd have privacy, and in the meantime, he could let Zevran have some privacy of his own. Except...
He'd let his eyes be drawn towards the sound of the assassin's voice, and he found himself staring at a tattooed, finely sculpted back, glistening wet in the rapidly fading light. As he stood there, rooted to the ground by equal parts fascination, terror and shame, he fervently thanked Andraste and the Maker that the creek - at least where Zevran stood - rose to above waist-level. The water was clear, but what lay below the surface was impossible to see from this distance and angle, and what was visible was more than enough.
Perhaps just as pleased as Alessar (if not more so) about the chance for a really good bath, the Antivan elf was taking his time, humming absentmindedly as he washed. The swirling linework of his tattoos seemed to move of their own accord, writhing slowly on his upper arms, across his shoulders and down his torso, and it was impossible for Alessar not to wonder how and where those lines ended.
Maker's Mercy, what is wrong with me? the Warden thought, flustered, but he couldn't bring himself to look away. This isn't- I've never wanted-
Not until these past few weeks, anyway. It was bad enough that he found his imagination getting overly creative whenever Zevran dropped one of his cheerfully suggestive remarks, but now he'd have much more specific imagery for his thoughts to run away with.
He felt his ears growing hot in a blush that was only going to get worse if he persisted in this... this voyeurism. It was difficult to imagine that the Antivan elf really minded being seen nude, or being watched at all, but being secretive about it like this felt wrong and a little unpleasant. If he came forward now, though, pretending to have just stumbled in, Zevran might wonder if he'd been there the whole time - especially since his face was probably red as a beet by this point. And if the assassin realized Alessar was so very interested...
Not that he doesn't flirt constantly anyway, but it'd only get worse, the dark-haired elf fretted. And even if I wanted... that... It's too dangerous.
It was a flimsy excuse at best; the longer Zevran was with them, the more Alessar was convinced of his earnest desire to leave his past behind. No, his reasons to avoid the other man were more instinctive, more visceral: the remembered sensation of a sword nicking his throat, the triumph of an impending kill flashing in amber eyes. But those reasons were losing a little more traction every day, and moments like this were not helping.
He swallowed hard as Zevran briefly ducked beneath the surface and came back up. Fresh rivulets of water trickled down his body, visible to Alessar as shifting prisms of light, as he raked his fingers through his wet hair and pulled it back behind his ears. Those tracks of water were leading the Warden's eyes downward again, and he shook his head, finally breaking free of the spell the other elf had unknowingly cast on him. I've got to leave, he thought desperately.
But it was too late; apparently finished with his bath, Zevran began to wade towards the bank. Feeling like a child, the Warden shut his eyes and counted heartbeats, trying to give the other elf enough time to get to the bank and pick up a towel, or his clothes, or... something. Anything. All right, once he's more, er, covered, I can come down and act as if I've just arrived. Just the fact that he's half-dressed should excuse my blushing, I think. I hope.
That hope shattered as he opened his eyes to the sight of a completely, gloriously nude Antivan assassin, standing on the bank and rubbing the ends of his blonde hair with a towel.
Alessar wasn't entirely sure what happened next; he must made some sort of sound - not loud, but certainly noticeable as something out of place in the darkening evening - and Zevran immediately tensed. Suddenly looking like the deadly assassin he was despite his lack of clothing, he cast about for a moment before spotting the intruder.
"Oh-ho, I seem to have lingered too long," the Antivan elf chuckled as he relaxed from his defensive stance. He seemed to be in no rush to cover himself as he reached for his smallclothes in an unhurried fashion. "Or perhaps I should linger a bit longer, my dear Warden?" He grinned lasciviously at Alessar as the Warden finally stumbled out of the brush, face burning in embarrassment.
"N-no! No... I... I didn't know you were down here," the younger elf stammered, looking fixedly at the bundle of clean clothing in his arms. "I'm sorry, I should have... called a warning or something..."
"It is fine," Zevran reassured him as he pulled on his leathers. "I certainly do not mind." His voice was warm; Alessar heard amusement there, and something else, as well. Invitation.
He shook his head. "I'm sorry," he repeated, feeling utterly foolish for a number of reasons.
"You need not be, my dear Warden," the assassin said, his smile audible. Figuring he must be at least half-dressed by now, Alessar finally felt safe glancing up at the other elf, who was regarding him curiously, as if he found such shyness odd.
"One does not grow up in circumstances such as mine without losing a certain amount of self-consciousness," Zevran noted. "Besides, what good are all of these tattoos if no one gets to see them?" He grinned as he pantomimed the tracery of tattoos down his chest.
Alessar now knew exactly where those tattoos ended, at least from the front, and the way his body reacted to that particular thought made him groan inwardly in dismay and pray that Zevran did not notice. Maker's Breath, I don't need this...!
"I'll... keep that in mind," he managed to say, looking down at the ground.
"Ah, my dear Warden," the assassin sighed. For a moment, it seemed as if he would say something more, but he simply chuckled in a resigned sort of way. "I shall leave you to your bath, hmm?" Stopping only to scoop up his shirt and dagger baldrics, he sauntered off in the direction of camp without looking back.
Alessar waited several long moments after the other man's footsteps had receded before hastily undressing and wading into the water. The sudden shock of cold calmed him somewhat, and for the next quarter-hour, he concentrated on getting clean, fiercely scrubbing his skin in the most unerotic manner possible.
Zevran smiled to himself as he headed back to the camp. He hadn't intended to give the young Warden an eyeful, but as he'd said, he didn't mind doing so, not at all.
In the past, he'd used that sort of display as simply one more weapon in his seduction arsenal, a gambit for those who were not easily talked into bed. He hadn't tried that tactic on Alessar thus far, thinking it was far too direct for the shy Warden, but it certainly seemed to have had an interesting effect, and not a negative one. It remained to be seen, however, if this little encounter would aid Zevran's pursuit of the other elf or not. Would it cause him to withdraw back into his shell of reticence, or might it serve to whet his appetite...?
If nothing else, the assassin thought with a grin, perhaps he will have something more pleasant to dream about than darkspawn, tonight.
.fin.
In terms of the WWN storyline, this is quite early -- somewhere between Knots 3 and 5.
Glimpse
Author: jenovan
Word Count: 1527
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: ...nudity? XD
Time: ~2 hours
With directions from a helpful farmer they passed on the road earlier in the day (Alessar thanked him by buying a wheel of sharp white cheese, which was a welcome addition to their rations), the company camped near a broad, burbling creek for the night. Of course that meant they'd have fresh water to drink and cook with, but it would also be pleasant to have a bath in a body of water where one could see what lay on the bottom, for once.
Alessar, finished with his share of the camp chores for the evening, intended to take advantage of the opportunity. It was nearing dusk as he made his way through the sparse underbrush towards the creek, and he hoped to be washed and done before full dark; if not, he'd have to make his way back by the light of the campfire. He found his plan foiled, however, when he heard a very familiar voice humming a tune as he approached the creek.
The Warden halted in his tracks, having no desire to be alone with Zevran in a situation requiring the removal of clothing. Not that he expected the other elf to actually do anything, but Alessar was still trying to wrap his head around the idea of being attracted to another man, and he imagined that whatever might happen in such an encounter would be both confusing and thoroughly embarrassing.
He should have simply turned and left, he knew. He could come back later, when he was positive that everyone else was accounted for and that he'd have privacy, and in the meantime, he could let Zevran have some privacy of his own. Except...
He'd let his eyes be drawn towards the sound of the assassin's voice, and he found himself staring at a tattooed, finely sculpted back, glistening wet in the rapidly fading light. As he stood there, rooted to the ground by equal parts fascination, terror and shame, he fervently thanked Andraste and the Maker that the creek - at least where Zevran stood - rose to above waist-level. The water was clear, but what lay below the surface was impossible to see from this distance and angle, and what was visible was more than enough.
Perhaps just as pleased as Alessar (if not more so) about the chance for a really good bath, the Antivan elf was taking his time, humming absentmindedly as he washed. The swirling linework of his tattoos seemed to move of their own accord, writhing slowly on his upper arms, across his shoulders and down his torso, and it was impossible for Alessar not to wonder how and where those lines ended.
Maker's Mercy, what is wrong with me? the Warden thought, flustered, but he couldn't bring himself to look away. This isn't- I've never wanted-
Not until these past few weeks, anyway. It was bad enough that he found his imagination getting overly creative whenever Zevran dropped one of his cheerfully suggestive remarks, but now he'd have much more specific imagery for his thoughts to run away with.
He felt his ears growing hot in a blush that was only going to get worse if he persisted in this... this voyeurism. It was difficult to imagine that the Antivan elf really minded being seen nude, or being watched at all, but being secretive about it like this felt wrong and a little unpleasant. If he came forward now, though, pretending to have just stumbled in, Zevran might wonder if he'd been there the whole time - especially since his face was probably red as a beet by this point. And if the assassin realized Alessar was so very interested...
Not that he doesn't flirt constantly anyway, but it'd only get worse, the dark-haired elf fretted. And even if I wanted... that... It's too dangerous.
It was a flimsy excuse at best; the longer Zevran was with them, the more Alessar was convinced of his earnest desire to leave his past behind. No, his reasons to avoid the other man were more instinctive, more visceral: the remembered sensation of a sword nicking his throat, the triumph of an impending kill flashing in amber eyes. But those reasons were losing a little more traction every day, and moments like this were not helping.
He swallowed hard as Zevran briefly ducked beneath the surface and came back up. Fresh rivulets of water trickled down his body, visible to Alessar as shifting prisms of light, as he raked his fingers through his wet hair and pulled it back behind his ears. Those tracks of water were leading the Warden's eyes downward again, and he shook his head, finally breaking free of the spell the other elf had unknowingly cast on him. I've got to leave, he thought desperately.
But it was too late; apparently finished with his bath, Zevran began to wade towards the bank. Feeling like a child, the Warden shut his eyes and counted heartbeats, trying to give the other elf enough time to get to the bank and pick up a towel, or his clothes, or... something. Anything. All right, once he's more, er, covered, I can come down and act as if I've just arrived. Just the fact that he's half-dressed should excuse my blushing, I think. I hope.
That hope shattered as he opened his eyes to the sight of a completely, gloriously nude Antivan assassin, standing on the bank and rubbing the ends of his blonde hair with a towel.
Alessar wasn't entirely sure what happened next; he must made some sort of sound - not loud, but certainly noticeable as something out of place in the darkening evening - and Zevran immediately tensed. Suddenly looking like the deadly assassin he was despite his lack of clothing, he cast about for a moment before spotting the intruder.
"Oh-ho, I seem to have lingered too long," the Antivan elf chuckled as he relaxed from his defensive stance. He seemed to be in no rush to cover himself as he reached for his smallclothes in an unhurried fashion. "Or perhaps I should linger a bit longer, my dear Warden?" He grinned lasciviously at Alessar as the Warden finally stumbled out of the brush, face burning in embarrassment.
"N-no! No... I... I didn't know you were down here," the younger elf stammered, looking fixedly at the bundle of clean clothing in his arms. "I'm sorry, I should have... called a warning or something..."
"It is fine," Zevran reassured him as he pulled on his leathers. "I certainly do not mind." His voice was warm; Alessar heard amusement there, and something else, as well. Invitation.
He shook his head. "I'm sorry," he repeated, feeling utterly foolish for a number of reasons.
"You need not be, my dear Warden," the assassin said, his smile audible. Figuring he must be at least half-dressed by now, Alessar finally felt safe glancing up at the other elf, who was regarding him curiously, as if he found such shyness odd.
"One does not grow up in circumstances such as mine without losing a certain amount of self-consciousness," Zevran noted. "Besides, what good are all of these tattoos if no one gets to see them?" He grinned as he pantomimed the tracery of tattoos down his chest.
Alessar now knew exactly where those tattoos ended, at least from the front, and the way his body reacted to that particular thought made him groan inwardly in dismay and pray that Zevran did not notice. Maker's Breath, I don't need this...!
"I'll... keep that in mind," he managed to say, looking down at the ground.
"Ah, my dear Warden," the assassin sighed. For a moment, it seemed as if he would say something more, but he simply chuckled in a resigned sort of way. "I shall leave you to your bath, hmm?" Stopping only to scoop up his shirt and dagger baldrics, he sauntered off in the direction of camp without looking back.
Alessar waited several long moments after the other man's footsteps had receded before hastily undressing and wading into the water. The sudden shock of cold calmed him somewhat, and for the next quarter-hour, he concentrated on getting clean, fiercely scrubbing his skin in the most unerotic manner possible.
Zevran smiled to himself as he headed back to the camp. He hadn't intended to give the young Warden an eyeful, but as he'd said, he didn't mind doing so, not at all.
In the past, he'd used that sort of display as simply one more weapon in his seduction arsenal, a gambit for those who were not easily talked into bed. He hadn't tried that tactic on Alessar thus far, thinking it was far too direct for the shy Warden, but it certainly seemed to have had an interesting effect, and not a negative one. It remained to be seen, however, if this little encounter would aid Zevran's pursuit of the other elf or not. Would it cause him to withdraw back into his shell of reticence, or might it serve to whet his appetite...?
If nothing else, the assassin thought with a grin, perhaps he will have something more pleasant to dream about than darkspawn, tonight.
.fin.