bamftastik
in
zevran
Origin Fic: Angst & Sexy Times
Finally getting around to continuing Zev's origin story, yay. First chapter is Here (NSFW/Slash warning).
Title: Insufferable, chapter 2
Pairing: Zevran/Rinna
Rating: this bit is actually SFW
Words: 1,500
Summary: Events leading up to that last mission... plus, sexy training exercises ;)
Slipping from the bedroll, he stretched. Serah stirred there, murmuring as she burrowed closer against the other girl’s back. Caryn, was it? The little cutpurse had already proven herself surprisingly handy with a bow, handier still with… He smirked.
There had almost been an argument, the thief and the whore, but he had calmed them easy enough. Little more than a smile, a few gentle words, and they had both come eagerly to his bed. With a whispered snort, he slipped beyond the edges of the camp.
Dawn had not yet broken, but already it painted the sky a burning, angry pink. Another day, another wound reopened. Light should bring life, the heady scent of it, the breeze against his face. But here, in this Ferelden, there was only mud, warming beneath it with all its thick and sodden stench. Fitting, then. Perhaps he could even grow to like it.
He relieved himself amongst the trees, moving deeper still beneath their shadow. Old routine, this, each step lengthening, lingering, stretching. Brining his arms up before him, he slipped easily into the first form. He let his eyes fall closed, working the stiffness from his neck, stretching to let the tiredness seep from his legs as he shifted.
He held the pose, feeling the breath stir deep behind the tensing muscles of his chest. Almost he could feel it there, that warmth, that memory, the feel of her against him, the turn of her head as she watched him over her shoulder. His fingers flexed involuntarily, reaching for the mirroring hand that was no longer there. He had worked these forms before.
* * *
Spring had come cool, but soon enough the summer would swell, the rising heat bearing with it sweat and filth and the brine of Rialto. Leaning his elbows on the rail of the balcony, Zevran smiled. It opened off of the main hall, the colonnade broken by fluted, marble columns and wide arched doors. Here one could pretend they saw all the world, the flat grey waters of the bay, the early stirring of the crowded streets below.
His promotion, his move to the guild hall had been meant to impress, meant to cow. A cage, if a gilded one. Straightening now, his eyes lit on the yard below. He was not the only one awake so early.
The steps were near, the building’s corner keeping him just out of sight as he descended, trailing his hand along the rail. He leaned there at its end, folding his arms to rest against a column, watching as she spun.
In Orlais they spoke of Aveline, armored and disguised, patron of the Chevaliers. In lands more distant still it was said that women took up arms, dressed as men and fought beside them. Not so in Antiva. Here the women were women and all the more deadly for the fact.
The dress was cut just below her shoulders, leaving them bare and tensing as she stretched. Dark as it was, there were intricacies there, delicate whorls twisting almost unseen across the bodice. The skirt was cut short, jagged, freeing her to move beneath its whirling grace. And above it all her hair hug loose, dark, swaying against her back as she moved away across the yard.
It was the steps behind him, though, that brought a smile to his face. Hands fluttered along his arms, gripping sudden in a slow, deep rub. The whisper came hot against his ear. “Hello, Zevran.”
“Ahh, Selena.” He turned, hand falling over hers, squeezing lingeringly as he leaned to lay a kiss on either cheek.
She snorted at that, fingers pulling away to twine amidst the laces of his tunic. “And where have you been?”
Selena was for all appearances the proper noblewoman, or perhaps a very high class whore. Her skill, though, lay in poisons, more deadly in her way that many who drew blades. Golden hair piled high atop her head to fall in cascading, exacting curls and, even at this hour, her blushes were pristine, hiding what he suspected was a bitter and troubling number of years. The gown was a deep crimson - her favorite - the bodice tight and low and… perfect.
Again taking her hand, he stepped back, openly admiring. “Dear, dear Selena.”
She leaned close, pressing herself against him, burying her face against his neck as she breathed deep. “Ah. Taliesin.” The hand came flat against his chest, pushing him away.
He quirked a brow. “Such skills you have.”
“And those aren’t the only ones. But this you know.”
He reached for her, but she slipped away.
“Do you know what they are saying, Zevran? They are saying that you have forgotten the way to your own rooms.” She stalked closer now. “Or perhaps that you have none at all, that you are only here to tread upon the good graces of whoever will have you for the night.”
He trailed a finger along her cheek, arm slipping easy round her waist to pull her close. “Alas, ‘tis true. I am lost and find myself bereft of a bed. But perhaps with the aid of a kind mistress…”
She shoved him off, but there was laughter behind her smirk.
Leaning again against the column, he turned, gaze straying cross the yard. Selena moved behind him now, resting her chin against his shoulder. “Ah. The elf.”
“I too am an elf, my dear. Or have you forgotten?”
Her teeth nipped against his ear in answer, her laugh throaty, deep. “And such a pair you world make. But this one, I think, outstrips even you.”
“You think so, do you?”
She laughed. “Do I sense a wager?”
Stepping back, he dropped into a flourishing bow. “A gentleman never wagers on such things.”
“And you are no gentleman.” Crossing her arms, she snorted. “You are what you are, Zevran. Do not pretend otherwise.” Selena turned on her heel, disappearing amongst the pillars.
He blinked after her, still half-bowed, straightening with a shake of his head. But the hesitation lasted only a moment, the easy smile returning as he turned and slipped across the yard. Still the other woman’s back was to him, his steps snaking sideways, silent.
One palm pressed out before her, arm sweeping round to hold tense and straight at her side. She didn’t falter as he slipped his own behind it, her breaths deep and smooth and steady. His other hand moved round her waist, fingers splayed just above the warming tension of her belly, hovering, lingering but never touching.
Leaning close, he let his nose fall just behind her ear. Dark, sweet, wicked. “Rinna, Rinna, Rinna…”
“Zevran.”
His fingers fluttered now round her wrist, trailing slow across the length of her arm. Still she held the form, hair brushing cross his face as she chuckled.
Her leg twisted quick, the kick meant to sweep him from his feet. But already he had darted away, spinning to circle round, just out of reach. He had seen it coming, of course; it is what he would have done.
Rinna smirked.
Again he stepped close, moving as though for a low, frontal attack. She blocked correctly, the crouch coming easy, but he stepped aside at the final moment, catching her as he slipped behind. His arm came hard round her waist now, his palm pressing firm against the softness of her middle.
He pressed his cheek to hers. “Too slow.”
She shifted quick, leaning closer instead of away, her arm swinging wide. Recovering just in time, he caught her wrist, spinning her around to face him.
There was strength there, struggling still, her glare wicked. “You’re insufferable.”
He only tsked, bending to trail a laughing whisper across her collar bone. “Ahh, but I will be leaving you soon. I have taken a contract. You have heard of the Rivainian merchant?”
She stiffened, the catch in her breath almost imperceptible. “I don’t believe you.”
“’Tis true. Why would I lie?”
She snorted.
“You doubt me?” Closer still he moved, again breathing deep to stir her hair. “Have I ever told you of the time I bested the personal guard of Prince Azrin?”
Tilting her head, Rinna pulled back to meet his eyes. “Had anyone ever told you that you leave your serratus exposed?”
The pain bloomed quick, her fingers darting to the tender flesh beneath his arm. Sharp, short, the ache pierced deep, the very air stolen away in a hissing gasp. He bent double as she slipped away, but there was a chuckle growing beneath those ragged breaths.
* * *
His fingers strayed now, lingering just between the ribs, the gap beside his heart. The slightest pressure would be enough to bruise, but still pushed them deeper. Enough. Just enough.
She had turned beyond the columns, her smirk glinting justified. Such light there had been, never a hint of pain or pleading. Proud. Strong. And still she had begged.
He turned slow, rolling his head to work the stiffness from his shoulders. Rubbing idly at the new bruise, the old pain, he made his way back toward camp.
Title: Insufferable, chapter 2
Pairing: Zevran/Rinna
Rating: this bit is actually SFW
Words: 1,500
Summary: Events leading up to that last mission... plus, sexy training exercises ;)
Slipping from the bedroll, he stretched. Serah stirred there, murmuring as she burrowed closer against the other girl’s back. Caryn, was it? The little cutpurse had already proven herself surprisingly handy with a bow, handier still with… He smirked.
There had almost been an argument, the thief and the whore, but he had calmed them easy enough. Little more than a smile, a few gentle words, and they had both come eagerly to his bed. With a whispered snort, he slipped beyond the edges of the camp.
Dawn had not yet broken, but already it painted the sky a burning, angry pink. Another day, another wound reopened. Light should bring life, the heady scent of it, the breeze against his face. But here, in this Ferelden, there was only mud, warming beneath it with all its thick and sodden stench. Fitting, then. Perhaps he could even grow to like it.
He relieved himself amongst the trees, moving deeper still beneath their shadow. Old routine, this, each step lengthening, lingering, stretching. Brining his arms up before him, he slipped easily into the first form. He let his eyes fall closed, working the stiffness from his neck, stretching to let the tiredness seep from his legs as he shifted.
He held the pose, feeling the breath stir deep behind the tensing muscles of his chest. Almost he could feel it there, that warmth, that memory, the feel of her against him, the turn of her head as she watched him over her shoulder. His fingers flexed involuntarily, reaching for the mirroring hand that was no longer there. He had worked these forms before.
* * *
Spring had come cool, but soon enough the summer would swell, the rising heat bearing with it sweat and filth and the brine of Rialto. Leaning his elbows on the rail of the balcony, Zevran smiled. It opened off of the main hall, the colonnade broken by fluted, marble columns and wide arched doors. Here one could pretend they saw all the world, the flat grey waters of the bay, the early stirring of the crowded streets below.
His promotion, his move to the guild hall had been meant to impress, meant to cow. A cage, if a gilded one. Straightening now, his eyes lit on the yard below. He was not the only one awake so early.
The steps were near, the building’s corner keeping him just out of sight as he descended, trailing his hand along the rail. He leaned there at its end, folding his arms to rest against a column, watching as she spun.
In Orlais they spoke of Aveline, armored and disguised, patron of the Chevaliers. In lands more distant still it was said that women took up arms, dressed as men and fought beside them. Not so in Antiva. Here the women were women and all the more deadly for the fact.
The dress was cut just below her shoulders, leaving them bare and tensing as she stretched. Dark as it was, there were intricacies there, delicate whorls twisting almost unseen across the bodice. The skirt was cut short, jagged, freeing her to move beneath its whirling grace. And above it all her hair hug loose, dark, swaying against her back as she moved away across the yard.
It was the steps behind him, though, that brought a smile to his face. Hands fluttered along his arms, gripping sudden in a slow, deep rub. The whisper came hot against his ear. “Hello, Zevran.”
“Ahh, Selena.” He turned, hand falling over hers, squeezing lingeringly as he leaned to lay a kiss on either cheek.
She snorted at that, fingers pulling away to twine amidst the laces of his tunic. “And where have you been?”
Selena was for all appearances the proper noblewoman, or perhaps a very high class whore. Her skill, though, lay in poisons, more deadly in her way that many who drew blades. Golden hair piled high atop her head to fall in cascading, exacting curls and, even at this hour, her blushes were pristine, hiding what he suspected was a bitter and troubling number of years. The gown was a deep crimson - her favorite - the bodice tight and low and… perfect.
Again taking her hand, he stepped back, openly admiring. “Dear, dear Selena.”
She leaned close, pressing herself against him, burying her face against his neck as she breathed deep. “Ah. Taliesin.” The hand came flat against his chest, pushing him away.
He quirked a brow. “Such skills you have.”
“And those aren’t the only ones. But this you know.”
He reached for her, but she slipped away.
“Do you know what they are saying, Zevran? They are saying that you have forgotten the way to your own rooms.” She stalked closer now. “Or perhaps that you have none at all, that you are only here to tread upon the good graces of whoever will have you for the night.”
He trailed a finger along her cheek, arm slipping easy round her waist to pull her close. “Alas, ‘tis true. I am lost and find myself bereft of a bed. But perhaps with the aid of a kind mistress…”
She shoved him off, but there was laughter behind her smirk.
Leaning again against the column, he turned, gaze straying cross the yard. Selena moved behind him now, resting her chin against his shoulder. “Ah. The elf.”
“I too am an elf, my dear. Or have you forgotten?”
Her teeth nipped against his ear in answer, her laugh throaty, deep. “And such a pair you world make. But this one, I think, outstrips even you.”
“You think so, do you?”
She laughed. “Do I sense a wager?”
Stepping back, he dropped into a flourishing bow. “A gentleman never wagers on such things.”
“And you are no gentleman.” Crossing her arms, she snorted. “You are what you are, Zevran. Do not pretend otherwise.” Selena turned on her heel, disappearing amongst the pillars.
He blinked after her, still half-bowed, straightening with a shake of his head. But the hesitation lasted only a moment, the easy smile returning as he turned and slipped across the yard. Still the other woman’s back was to him, his steps snaking sideways, silent.
One palm pressed out before her, arm sweeping round to hold tense and straight at her side. She didn’t falter as he slipped his own behind it, her breaths deep and smooth and steady. His other hand moved round her waist, fingers splayed just above the warming tension of her belly, hovering, lingering but never touching.
Leaning close, he let his nose fall just behind her ear. Dark, sweet, wicked. “Rinna, Rinna, Rinna…”
“Zevran.”
His fingers fluttered now round her wrist, trailing slow across the length of her arm. Still she held the form, hair brushing cross his face as she chuckled.
Her leg twisted quick, the kick meant to sweep him from his feet. But already he had darted away, spinning to circle round, just out of reach. He had seen it coming, of course; it is what he would have done.
Rinna smirked.
Again he stepped close, moving as though for a low, frontal attack. She blocked correctly, the crouch coming easy, but he stepped aside at the final moment, catching her as he slipped behind. His arm came hard round her waist now, his palm pressing firm against the softness of her middle.
He pressed his cheek to hers. “Too slow.”
She shifted quick, leaning closer instead of away, her arm swinging wide. Recovering just in time, he caught her wrist, spinning her around to face him.
There was strength there, struggling still, her glare wicked. “You’re insufferable.”
He only tsked, bending to trail a laughing whisper across her collar bone. “Ahh, but I will be leaving you soon. I have taken a contract. You have heard of the Rivainian merchant?”
She stiffened, the catch in her breath almost imperceptible. “I don’t believe you.”
“’Tis true. Why would I lie?”
She snorted.
“You doubt me?” Closer still he moved, again breathing deep to stir her hair. “Have I ever told you of the time I bested the personal guard of Prince Azrin?”
Tilting her head, Rinna pulled back to meet his eyes. “Had anyone ever told you that you leave your serratus exposed?”
The pain bloomed quick, her fingers darting to the tender flesh beneath his arm. Sharp, short, the ache pierced deep, the very air stolen away in a hissing gasp. He bent double as she slipped away, but there was a chuckle growing beneath those ragged breaths.
* * *
His fingers strayed now, lingering just between the ribs, the gap beside his heart. The slightest pressure would be enough to bruise, but still pushed them deeper. Enough. Just enough.
She had turned beyond the columns, her smirk glinting justified. Such light there had been, never a hint of pain or pleading. Proud. Strong. And still she had begged.
He turned slow, rolling his head to work the stiffness from his shoulders. Rubbing idly at the new bruise, the old pain, he made his way back toward camp.