Fanfiction: Blood Poison 8. Longest one yet!
Zevran was beside the door, daggers drawn, watching for movement outside. He heard the clatter of someone trying to open a chest that was locked and, because he was listening for it, heard Leliana take two whisper-soft steps toward the chest.
“Zevran, do you know how to pick locks?” Neria asked unexpectedly.
Leliana’s steps stopped. Zevran turned his head and smiled. “Of course. I would be a poor assassin if I didn’t.”
It took him nearly twice as long as it would have taken Leliana, but the lock was popped open. He spent more time practicing the skill after this.
There were many, many archers against them. Three arrows were sticking out of Sten’s armor, one out of Alistair’s. Wynne was casting spell after spell upon the men, but her lined face was growing haggard. Neria tossed lightning from one hand to the next and the air bloomed with a metallic taste. A whole field of lightning fell upon the archers to sting them all at once. Their eyes turned to her. Alistair began to run.
She took the first arrow through her leg as she started to turn away. The second was better aimed and went through her belly, ripping out beside her spine. She fell, and still more arrows were coming.
Alistair finally reached her and threw his body over hers. His shield came up to cover them both while he roared for Wynne, Morrigan, anyone please. Morrigan came and tucked herself into the small space between Alistair and Neria. He heard her hiss curses to Neria about what a foolish girl she was, so stupid not to hide before casting, but he did not see how the witch cradled Neria’s head so gently as her other hand moved over the elf’s body in haste.
“You must wear armor and learn to fight better than that. You should think twice before using magic. It is foolish.”
This is the first thing Neria heard upon opening her eyes. Sten was sitting beside her bedroll.
“I won’t stop using my magic. I don’t believe that I am able to.” She tried to sit up and it was Leliana’s gentle hand that lifted her. “You are right about the armor, but I don’t think I’ve seen any my size.”
“This is because Fereldens do not make armor for young boys.”
Neria’s brown eyes turn up to the qunari again. “Stop, Sten, all of these compliments, you are making me blush.” She heard Zevran chuckle quietly somewhere near.
“I can alter some leather for you,” Leliana says cheerfully while stroking her hand up and down Neria’s back. “It is not so difficult.”
“I want a shield too.” Neria's smile for Leliana is a warm one.
“You cannot fight as our dashing Alistair does, if this is what you are thinking.” Zevran crouches very near to the two women. “Come, rest, and tomorrow I will teach you how to fight as I do, yes?”
“Yes,” Neria agrees, but she looks up under her lashes at Alistair, his shield strapped behind him. He flushes and looks away.
They are camped within an ancient and freezing temple of stone when Zevran is given a watch with Neria. The others are sleeping within a room and the two elves are at the end of the hall, weapons held loosely, Neria in her patched robes as her new armor is not yet ready. Zevran was speaking low to Neria, trying to shock her.
Neria was hiding her smile. “In all of Thedas, truly, do you think? There is not a more skilled lover even in Orlais? Maybe I should ask Leliana and see if she agrees.” And now her smile comes, almost wolfish. “Maybe I should try Leliana. Make you watch. You can tell me if she is better. And I will see how you perform with Morrigan.”
Zevran laughs long and low, stalking toward Neria. She backs away, turning in the hall while facing him, a light in her eyes. “Morrigan? Ah, but then you would be so envious I think, that she should have such a treat while you do not.”
“You think that I should try you? Zevran, you should have made your intentions plain.” He moves quickly, three long steps and she is still pulling back, but he catches her. He dips his head and lowers his mouth to hers.
She stops moving away. Their lips brush, then at the same time they open, tongues electric as they touch for the first time. His hands slide down her back to the base of her spine and he pulls her closer to him. She releases a quick breath and worries at his lower lip while her hands slide down his arms. They are still kissing as she grips his wrists and pulls his arms away from her body. She holds him there, does not allow him to touch her.
He deepens the kiss and her back arches, fitting her whole body against his from breast to rib to belly to hip, her feet on tiptoe between his. Her head tilts and her mouth works against his as if starved, but then she breaks away with a quiet gasp.
The temple feels so cold when she is gone from him. He opens his eyes to find her several steps away, lips parted with her own fingertip tracing over the slickness of the lower one. Her eyes are half-closed and her desire he reads in the darkness there.
She does not allow him to close the space between them and within ten minutes she talking and laughing with him as before. He does not touch her again before the watch is over.