bamftastik
in
zevran
Party in Antiva!
UNF. Guys. This just ripped out of my brain in a solid piece. Owww...
Was meant to be a continuation of this fic: PART 1 (nsfw), PART 2...but it could really be a one-shot. Zev/Rinna angst and budding romance, a little Taliesin slash, evil evil pain, mmm...
I need to sleeep now. Also, I think I've been watching too much Spartacus. ;D
Title: Insufferable, pt. 3
Pairings: Zev/Taliesin, Zev/etc
Ratings: NSFW (slash, references to rough stuff)
Words: 2,160
Summary: As he draws nearer to his encounter with the Wardens, Zevran remembers a party in Antiva and reflects on different forms of duty.
He lay flat on his stomach, hand moving to shade his eyes as he scanned the horizon. The ridge provided ample vantage, the road below snaking away toward the valley’s end. There was dust there, rising beyond the distant trees, but whether or not it was their marks it was too soon to tell.
A shadow fell across his vision. “Your Wardens?”
Sighing, Zevran folded his arms, resting his chin there. “I cannot tell.”
“Pity.” The other man sat beside him, stretching back to lean on his elbows. “Thought you would have had them by now.”
“Ferelden is a large place.”
“Too large for the great Zevran?” He laughed, leaning low to catch his eye. Larin had been eager enough, the only one amongst the other Crows to recognize his name. But there was something more there, something hinted. He had early let it be known that he was here for curiosity, nothing more. Let him have his secrets; this would be over soon enough.
Rolling onto his back, Zevran scowled. The other man watched him openly, grin broadening. He was perhaps beautiful in his own way, pale and slight for a human, his dark hair grown long and sleek to hang across his eyes. There was a certain… pointedness to his features, the oiled beard, the sharpness of his shoulders, the long and narrow waist. But of the man himself, Zevran had learned little, had not cared to.
From his belt, Larin produced a flask, bringing it to his nose before holding it out in offering. “This Ferelden wine tastes of piss, but it will have to do.”
Narrowing his eyes, Zevran shook his head.
“Suit yourself.” He took a long pull. “But ahh, the wine in Antiva. The women, the men, the parties. I had hoped you would have us home by now.”
“Then you are free to return.” He stood quick, turning to make his way down the hill.
Larin, though, was surprisingly quick, hand encircling his elbow with ease. “I meant no offense.” His fingers moved there, rubbing, lingering. “I will follow you as long as it suits me. And, for the moment, it does. I was merely wondering if you remembered… what it was like.”
He held that gaze, thick and dark, the message clear. Still, he only shook his head. “We are not here to remember. We are here to do what we must.” With that he pulled away, turning back toward camp.
* * *
He slipped easily through the crowd, lifting a glass of wine from a passing servant’s tray. Bringing it to his lips, he inhaled deep. The Master always did throw the best parties.
Already he could feel the eyes on him. The costume had been selected for him of course, but even he had to admit that it… suited. The leather of the corset was fine, lacing to a central point that jutted just below his breastbone. Embroidery lined the matching kilt, the folds falling short and shifting as he moved. The Master had impeccable taste.
It was rumored that there would even be a noble or two amongst the guests tonight. Politicians, merchants, the finest prostitutes of course, but to land the cousin of a prince… old Visarius would certainly have outdone himself.
Zevran grinned now, nodding to a pair of whores leaning against a nearby column. The smiled for him as only whores can, but the glance was merely passing. He was part of the scenery, just as they.
Moving here and there he stopped, smiling for the old man’s guests, bending to bow or kiss a cheek. He could see the others, dangerous ripples in the crowd, whispering lord and ladies come to gawk at the fearful Crows. Surely they knew that at a word none would escape this place alive. Perhaps that was why such events were so popular, why the Master had so many friends.
He spotted the man himself then, robes trailing behind him, the folds dipping low to the waist to reveal the mosaic of scars crossing there. Old he was and rather given to his… perversions, but Visarius was a Crow still and his long life alone was telling.
Those narrowed eyes met his own, one hand guiding a bowing merchant aside as his grin spread. “Ahh, Zevran.”
His bow was low, one arm bent before him.
Spindly fingers traced across his bared chest, following the lines of the tattoos visible there, hooking at last against the leathers to pull him near. “You look…” His grin broadened.
“Thank you, Master.”
“Ahh, but have you tried this?” At his snap, a servant appeared bearing a tray. The crisps were delicate, piled high with petaled cream. Plucking one, the Master held it before him.
Obediently Zevran leaned forward, taking the pouf between his lips, slow and sucking. There the old man’s fingers lingered, coming away wet to trail across Zevran’s cheek.
“Mmm.” With a final sneer he turned away, snapping his fingers again to set the servants following.
Zevran stood a moment still, watching the man go, steeling himself reflexively. But there was something more now, the prickle of a warming glare.
Raising his eyes, he saw her there across the crowd. Dark of eye, dark of hair, but her silks were radiant red. The dress seemed to be of one piece, draped from her shoulder cross her breasts, wrapping tight round her hips. It was even shorter than his own leathers; another of the Master’s gifts.
He smiled but Rinna remained cold, expressionless.
“She’s thinking of ways to kill you, you know.” The arm that encircled his waist was rough but playful, the day’s stubble coming rough against his cheek. “You can tell. Bet she’s thought of at least a dozen so far tonight.”
“Taliesin.” He pulled away, turning to face the other man. His costume was much the same as Zevran’s own, though perhaps meant to accentuate different features, the broadness of his chest, the thickness of his arms. Grinning down at him, Taliesin again leaned near, his breath warm and fragrant.
“How much wine have you had, my friend?”
Throwing back his head, he laughed. “Enough. It’s a party after all.”
Zevran’s eyes flitted again across the room, but she was gone now, the spot where she had been seeming somehow too empty.
“It’s dull though, huh? Come on, they won’t miss us.”
Allowing himself to be led, Zevran’s gaze again strayed, but she did not reappear. The corner was dark, cold and he found himself pressed against it before he had truly realized where they were. Taliesin’s hand slipped easy between the fold of the leathers, cupping him, rousing him, his laugh coming hot against his neck.
“Mmm… here, my friend?”
“Why not?” His lips traced lower now, whispering cross Zevran’s collarbone.
Placing a hand to either side of Taliesin’s face, he pushed away. “And if we are seen?”
“Let them stare.”
As the teeth fell against his neck with renewed vigor, Zevran let his eyes fall closed. His head leaned back against the wall, pinned there, arching beneath the eager grasp of Taliesin’s hands. Still they worked, cupping, stroking faster now, one moving eagerly to his own leathers.
Zevran’s lips had found his but they pulled away now with a breathless gasp. “No.” His hand fell hard against the other man’s chest, pushing firmly away.
“Andraste’s ass!”
But he was moving along the wall now, back toward the party. Just on the edge of the light he stopped, leaning heavy to catch his breath.
Rinna was there now, but Visarius was at her side, trailing one long and crooked finger down her cheek. There were others too, a pair of well-dressed nobles standing just behind her, watching eagerly as they bent together to laugh.
“Zevran.”
“Hush.”
The Master moved closer, one hand wrapping hard round her arm, dimpling the tender flesh there. Stone she may be, but she made no attempt now to hide her cringe. Dark eyes rose, meeting his across the old man’s shoulder. There was nakedness there, surprising in its suddenness. Nakedness and fear. Visarius steered her from the room, breaking that gaze, the two nobles following behind.
“Zevran.”
He turned, blinking up at the other man. “I… I have to go.”
“Zev!”
But he was already slipping through the crowd, grace sacrificed for speed. If he knew their route, he could cut them off, make it there first. Soon enough the crowds fell away, the hallways of the guild’s private quarters dark, deserted.
He had just enough time to still his breath, leaning idly against the door as they rounded the corner.
“Zevran.” Had it been possible, the Master might have been surprised. Rinna, for her part, looked quickly to the floor.
He clucked his tongue, gliding forward slow and swaying. “Visarius, you wound me. I have been abandoned.”
The old man laughed. “Not so, dear Zevran. Not so.” Again he traced a hand along his chest, the eyes of the twin nobles openly following the movements. “Go. Enjoy the party.”
“And if I said I would enjoy… something more?”
The glare hardened. “I would see you beaten for your insolence. Though this, I think, you might enjoy.”
He allowed himself to grin. “Only if it were at your hands.”
Snorting amusedly, the Master turned to his guests. “These men are cousins to our dear prince. I am merely affording them their due… hospitality. They are quite taken with our Rinna.”
“Rinna?” Zevran stalked forward now, letting the other men see it, sneering as best he could. “This is the best you offer them?”
“Her beauty is unmatched. And her skill… ahh...”
Throwing back his head, Zevran laughed. “Her thighs are as cold as her stare. I would find more excitement in the arms of a mark… after the deed was done.” He let his eyes flit to the watching guests, holding there. “I would not offer her to the boys who clean the gutters.”
He could see her surprise, but there was hurt there as well. Still, she kept her head down, still she played her part.
“You have had her then?”
He snorted, the laugh coming bitter. “It is an unfortunate truth, yes.” Making as if to slip away, he bumped hard against Visarius’ arm, sending his wine glass shattering to the stones.
The movement was reflexive, expected, but Zevran found himself pinned against the wall before he had even sensed the Master move. The blade was cool against his throat.
But there was laughter now, his guests watching with spreading grins. “Who is this man, Visarius?”
He knew enough to sense their tone, turning from Zevran with a whispered growl. “No one. Nothing. A slave.”
“Ah, but a slave that must be punished, yes? For the wine.” His companion nodded in agreement. “Forget the girl. This I would see.”
Zevran straightened, stiffening against the chill in his spine as he raised his eyes. Rinna met them unblinking, surprise and relief mixing in equal measure. He nodded.
Visarius too, had turned on her. “Go!”
Those hands wrapped now round Zevran’s elbow, twisting as he led him through the door. The breath came hot, thick, rasping against his cheek. “You will regret this.”
He only hung his head.
It was later that she found him, long after the guests and trays had been cleared away. The baths were deserted, the hiss escaping thick as he lowered himself gently into the pool. Even cool, the water was stinging, lapping at the still-oozing wounds to send flickers of light behind his eyes. The Master’s lash had been swift and deep.
She moved amongst the steam; he could not be sure how long she had watched.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Oh?” Standing, he reached for a towel, patting at his arms as he rose.
Rinna still wore her costume, though it seemed to hang tired and lifeless now. Her eyes roamed, unabashed at his nakedness. “I owe you nothing.”
He passed close, their arms brushing as she flinched. Again those eyes fell on his back, her gasp escaping unchecked.
Zevran turned, fixing her beneath a withering scowl. “And what if I do not care? What if I merely wanted the Master’s attentions for myself?”
“No one wants his attentions, or so they say. And you don’t strike me as the jealous type.”
He snorted a laugh at that, turning again for the door.
“Zevran. Why… why did you do it?”
Glancing back across a fresh scarred shoulder, he held her eyes. “We do what we must.”
* * *
Later, much later, but the memory lingered still. New hands traced old wounds, nails digging beneath the flesh as they trailed down his back. This then, the price of loyalty.
Behind him Larin bent low, wrapping one arm tight round his middle as he grunted his last. As Zevran collapsed into the grass, he felt the words trace his lips once more.
“We do what we must.”
Was meant to be a continuation of this fic: PART 1 (nsfw), PART 2...but it could really be a one-shot. Zev/Rinna angst and budding romance, a little Taliesin slash, evil evil pain, mmm...
I need to sleeep now. Also, I think I've been watching too much Spartacus. ;D
Title: Insufferable, pt. 3
Pairings: Zev/Taliesin, Zev/etc
Ratings: NSFW (slash, references to rough stuff)
Words: 2,160
Summary: As he draws nearer to his encounter with the Wardens, Zevran remembers a party in Antiva and reflects on different forms of duty.
He lay flat on his stomach, hand moving to shade his eyes as he scanned the horizon. The ridge provided ample vantage, the road below snaking away toward the valley’s end. There was dust there, rising beyond the distant trees, but whether or not it was their marks it was too soon to tell.
A shadow fell across his vision. “Your Wardens?”
Sighing, Zevran folded his arms, resting his chin there. “I cannot tell.”
“Pity.” The other man sat beside him, stretching back to lean on his elbows. “Thought you would have had them by now.”
“Ferelden is a large place.”
“Too large for the great Zevran?” He laughed, leaning low to catch his eye. Larin had been eager enough, the only one amongst the other Crows to recognize his name. But there was something more there, something hinted. He had early let it be known that he was here for curiosity, nothing more. Let him have his secrets; this would be over soon enough.
Rolling onto his back, Zevran scowled. The other man watched him openly, grin broadening. He was perhaps beautiful in his own way, pale and slight for a human, his dark hair grown long and sleek to hang across his eyes. There was a certain… pointedness to his features, the oiled beard, the sharpness of his shoulders, the long and narrow waist. But of the man himself, Zevran had learned little, had not cared to.
From his belt, Larin produced a flask, bringing it to his nose before holding it out in offering. “This Ferelden wine tastes of piss, but it will have to do.”
Narrowing his eyes, Zevran shook his head.
“Suit yourself.” He took a long pull. “But ahh, the wine in Antiva. The women, the men, the parties. I had hoped you would have us home by now.”
“Then you are free to return.” He stood quick, turning to make his way down the hill.
Larin, though, was surprisingly quick, hand encircling his elbow with ease. “I meant no offense.” His fingers moved there, rubbing, lingering. “I will follow you as long as it suits me. And, for the moment, it does. I was merely wondering if you remembered… what it was like.”
He held that gaze, thick and dark, the message clear. Still, he only shook his head. “We are not here to remember. We are here to do what we must.” With that he pulled away, turning back toward camp.
* * *
He slipped easily through the crowd, lifting a glass of wine from a passing servant’s tray. Bringing it to his lips, he inhaled deep. The Master always did throw the best parties.
Already he could feel the eyes on him. The costume had been selected for him of course, but even he had to admit that it… suited. The leather of the corset was fine, lacing to a central point that jutted just below his breastbone. Embroidery lined the matching kilt, the folds falling short and shifting as he moved. The Master had impeccable taste.
It was rumored that there would even be a noble or two amongst the guests tonight. Politicians, merchants, the finest prostitutes of course, but to land the cousin of a prince… old Visarius would certainly have outdone himself.
Zevran grinned now, nodding to a pair of whores leaning against a nearby column. The smiled for him as only whores can, but the glance was merely passing. He was part of the scenery, just as they.
Moving here and there he stopped, smiling for the old man’s guests, bending to bow or kiss a cheek. He could see the others, dangerous ripples in the crowd, whispering lord and ladies come to gawk at the fearful Crows. Surely they knew that at a word none would escape this place alive. Perhaps that was why such events were so popular, why the Master had so many friends.
He spotted the man himself then, robes trailing behind him, the folds dipping low to the waist to reveal the mosaic of scars crossing there. Old he was and rather given to his… perversions, but Visarius was a Crow still and his long life alone was telling.
Those narrowed eyes met his own, one hand guiding a bowing merchant aside as his grin spread. “Ahh, Zevran.”
His bow was low, one arm bent before him.
Spindly fingers traced across his bared chest, following the lines of the tattoos visible there, hooking at last against the leathers to pull him near. “You look…” His grin broadened.
“Thank you, Master.”
“Ahh, but have you tried this?” At his snap, a servant appeared bearing a tray. The crisps were delicate, piled high with petaled cream. Plucking one, the Master held it before him.
Obediently Zevran leaned forward, taking the pouf between his lips, slow and sucking. There the old man’s fingers lingered, coming away wet to trail across Zevran’s cheek.
“Mmm.” With a final sneer he turned away, snapping his fingers again to set the servants following.
Zevran stood a moment still, watching the man go, steeling himself reflexively. But there was something more now, the prickle of a warming glare.
Raising his eyes, he saw her there across the crowd. Dark of eye, dark of hair, but her silks were radiant red. The dress seemed to be of one piece, draped from her shoulder cross her breasts, wrapping tight round her hips. It was even shorter than his own leathers; another of the Master’s gifts.
He smiled but Rinna remained cold, expressionless.
“She’s thinking of ways to kill you, you know.” The arm that encircled his waist was rough but playful, the day’s stubble coming rough against his cheek. “You can tell. Bet she’s thought of at least a dozen so far tonight.”
“Taliesin.” He pulled away, turning to face the other man. His costume was much the same as Zevran’s own, though perhaps meant to accentuate different features, the broadness of his chest, the thickness of his arms. Grinning down at him, Taliesin again leaned near, his breath warm and fragrant.
“How much wine have you had, my friend?”
Throwing back his head, he laughed. “Enough. It’s a party after all.”
Zevran’s eyes flitted again across the room, but she was gone now, the spot where she had been seeming somehow too empty.
“It’s dull though, huh? Come on, they won’t miss us.”
Allowing himself to be led, Zevran’s gaze again strayed, but she did not reappear. The corner was dark, cold and he found himself pressed against it before he had truly realized where they were. Taliesin’s hand slipped easy between the fold of the leathers, cupping him, rousing him, his laugh coming hot against his neck.
“Mmm… here, my friend?”
“Why not?” His lips traced lower now, whispering cross Zevran’s collarbone.
Placing a hand to either side of Taliesin’s face, he pushed away. “And if we are seen?”
“Let them stare.”
As the teeth fell against his neck with renewed vigor, Zevran let his eyes fall closed. His head leaned back against the wall, pinned there, arching beneath the eager grasp of Taliesin’s hands. Still they worked, cupping, stroking faster now, one moving eagerly to his own leathers.
Zevran’s lips had found his but they pulled away now with a breathless gasp. “No.” His hand fell hard against the other man’s chest, pushing firmly away.
“Andraste’s ass!”
But he was moving along the wall now, back toward the party. Just on the edge of the light he stopped, leaning heavy to catch his breath.
Rinna was there now, but Visarius was at her side, trailing one long and crooked finger down her cheek. There were others too, a pair of well-dressed nobles standing just behind her, watching eagerly as they bent together to laugh.
“Zevran.”
“Hush.”
The Master moved closer, one hand wrapping hard round her arm, dimpling the tender flesh there. Stone she may be, but she made no attempt now to hide her cringe. Dark eyes rose, meeting his across the old man’s shoulder. There was nakedness there, surprising in its suddenness. Nakedness and fear. Visarius steered her from the room, breaking that gaze, the two nobles following behind.
“Zevran.”
He turned, blinking up at the other man. “I… I have to go.”
“Zev!”
But he was already slipping through the crowd, grace sacrificed for speed. If he knew their route, he could cut them off, make it there first. Soon enough the crowds fell away, the hallways of the guild’s private quarters dark, deserted.
He had just enough time to still his breath, leaning idly against the door as they rounded the corner.
“Zevran.” Had it been possible, the Master might have been surprised. Rinna, for her part, looked quickly to the floor.
He clucked his tongue, gliding forward slow and swaying. “Visarius, you wound me. I have been abandoned.”
The old man laughed. “Not so, dear Zevran. Not so.” Again he traced a hand along his chest, the eyes of the twin nobles openly following the movements. “Go. Enjoy the party.”
“And if I said I would enjoy… something more?”
The glare hardened. “I would see you beaten for your insolence. Though this, I think, you might enjoy.”
He allowed himself to grin. “Only if it were at your hands.”
Snorting amusedly, the Master turned to his guests. “These men are cousins to our dear prince. I am merely affording them their due… hospitality. They are quite taken with our Rinna.”
“Rinna?” Zevran stalked forward now, letting the other men see it, sneering as best he could. “This is the best you offer them?”
“Her beauty is unmatched. And her skill… ahh...”
Throwing back his head, Zevran laughed. “Her thighs are as cold as her stare. I would find more excitement in the arms of a mark… after the deed was done.” He let his eyes flit to the watching guests, holding there. “I would not offer her to the boys who clean the gutters.”
He could see her surprise, but there was hurt there as well. Still, she kept her head down, still she played her part.
“You have had her then?”
He snorted, the laugh coming bitter. “It is an unfortunate truth, yes.” Making as if to slip away, he bumped hard against Visarius’ arm, sending his wine glass shattering to the stones.
The movement was reflexive, expected, but Zevran found himself pinned against the wall before he had even sensed the Master move. The blade was cool against his throat.
But there was laughter now, his guests watching with spreading grins. “Who is this man, Visarius?”
He knew enough to sense their tone, turning from Zevran with a whispered growl. “No one. Nothing. A slave.”
“Ah, but a slave that must be punished, yes? For the wine.” His companion nodded in agreement. “Forget the girl. This I would see.”
Zevran straightened, stiffening against the chill in his spine as he raised his eyes. Rinna met them unblinking, surprise and relief mixing in equal measure. He nodded.
Visarius too, had turned on her. “Go!”
Those hands wrapped now round Zevran’s elbow, twisting as he led him through the door. The breath came hot, thick, rasping against his cheek. “You will regret this.”
He only hung his head.
It was later that she found him, long after the guests and trays had been cleared away. The baths were deserted, the hiss escaping thick as he lowered himself gently into the pool. Even cool, the water was stinging, lapping at the still-oozing wounds to send flickers of light behind his eyes. The Master’s lash had been swift and deep.
She moved amongst the steam; he could not be sure how long she had watched.
“You didn’t have to do that.”
“Oh?” Standing, he reached for a towel, patting at his arms as he rose.
Rinna still wore her costume, though it seemed to hang tired and lifeless now. Her eyes roamed, unabashed at his nakedness. “I owe you nothing.”
He passed close, their arms brushing as she flinched. Again those eyes fell on his back, her gasp escaping unchecked.
Zevran turned, fixing her beneath a withering scowl. “And what if I do not care? What if I merely wanted the Master’s attentions for myself?”
“No one wants his attentions, or so they say. And you don’t strike me as the jealous type.”
He snorted a laugh at that, turning again for the door.
“Zevran. Why… why did you do it?”
Glancing back across a fresh scarred shoulder, he held her eyes. “We do what we must.”
* * *
Later, much later, but the memory lingered still. New hands traced old wounds, nails digging beneath the flesh as they trailed down his back. This then, the price of loyalty.
Behind him Larin bent low, wrapping one arm tight round his middle as he grunted his last. As Zevran collapsed into the grass, he felt the words trace his lips once more.
“We do what we must.”