bamftastik
in
zevran
And now it's officially a love triangle...
Uuungh. Will someone please tell the elves in my brain to keep it down? The rest of the party is trying to sleep! Also, thanks to tahara_l for poking the nug 'til it woke up again ;D
Previous Chapters (also NSFW): ONE, TWO, THREE
Title: Insufferable, pt. 4
Pairings: Zev/Rinna
Ratings: NSFW
Words: 1,800
Summary: Rinna has heard about Zevran's contract and approaches him with a proposition...
He was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming. But still he could feel the bars against his face, that cold and pressing caress. The cage again. Always the cage.
* * *
Dangling his legs over the balcony, Zevran pressed his face to the intricate ironwork of the rail. There were vines here, leaves, things that should be beautiful, but always they would be black, always cold. Laughter floated from across the city, music, light. Just another evening, but Antiva City had never needed an excuse to celebrate.
The footsteps came soft, not disguised so much as timid. He glanced over his shoulder as he came slowly to his feet, leaning palms against the rail. Ahh, perhaps timid was not the right word. There was certainly anger, some sort of awkward resentment beneath her hesitance. He and Rinna had not spoken since that night in the baths.
“Zevran.”
Still he kept his eyes on those distant lights.
She followed his gaze, out and beyond the gates. “I would speak with you.”
“Oh? And to what do I owe this honor?”
But already she had turned, wending her way through the darkened columns, his smirk lost on her back.
The walk was short, the private chambers of the female Crows stretching away to either side. The door, too, was like so many others, adorned but unmarked. She left him to catch it as she slipped beyond.
“Ahh, I feel as though I am in the bedchamber of the Grand Cleric herself. Where no man has gone before.”
“You would be a fool to think so.” Deeper into the room she moved, pausing to stand before a tall and gilded dressing mirror. One hand lingered against her bodice, playing across the laces there. It was new, he thought, the belt wide and dark and intricately worked, one that he had never seen her wear before. Her eyes, though, held steady. She was watching him.
“Oh? And yet you have barely spoken to any man here. Always it is the same, the cold silence, the icy glares.”
There was something amused in her reflection, a growing smirk. “Did you ever think that perhaps it is just you? That you are not so charming as you think?”
He slipped closer, close enough to see the flicker of her eyes, the almost imperceptible stiffening of her back. Still she held her ground. Bending low, he trailed the whisper cross her shoulder. “Impossible.”
Rinna whirled, placing a warning hand against his chest. “I want in.”
He blinked, the smile, the retort coming perhaps a bit too slow. “As do I.”
Shaking her head, she snorted, but already she was moving away, turning to the open window. The breeze stirred her hair, the loose-flowing silks beneath her bodice. “I’m serious. When you go to Rivain, I wish to accompany you.”
Zevran sank onto the bed, leaning back to rest on his elbows. “But we don’t go to Rivain. Merchants, they travel.”
“And I can help with that.” She turned, hands clasped behind her as she paced. “I have… experience as a tracker. And I know the area. Your last sighting puts him somewhere to the northeast, yes? Just shy of the border?”
He quirked a brow. “And how do you know this?”
“As I said, I can help you.” She was moving away, back to linger before the mirror. Still she watched him, still she did not trust him at her back. And yet she asked to be part of his team. Now, though, now her eyes roamed, hand trailing to her hips. “I have… skills to offer.”
Sliding from the bed he again slipped close, standing behind her before the glass. This time, though, she did not stir, did not pull away. “Skills, is it?”
There was almost a smile behind her sneer, a whispered chuckle beneath her sigh.
He rested his chin against her shoulder, arms slipping round her waist. But there he paused, eyes lingering on the reflection. So dark, so slight, so wicked and yet he seemed to fit easily there, cheek falling to rest against her own. Still her eyes watched his reflection, hands again straying to the laces of her bodice.
His own were moving then, gently guiding hers aside, his fingers tangling in the laces. Soft and supple and fine. He felt her breath escape her, but she did not stop him. Soon enough it fell away, the binding tumbling to the floor. The silk beneath was thin, stirring again beneath the breeze, held in place by only a single button between her breasts. This he worked with almost guilty ease, the folds falling away to hang across her hips.
Again he paused, again he merely watched. So pale she was against him, so delicate and unmarked, her hair and eyes dark where his were golden. But she pressed against him now, rolling her hips as she felt him stir. Pale, yes. Delicate, never.
His hand slipped low, the remaining silks falling to puddle at her feet. Her eyes had fluttered closed, falling back against him as he traced the curve of her hips. And yet he could not look away from the glass, from that strange contrast, from the play of her lip between her teeth as he parted her.
So hard, so cold her stares and yet here was softness, here was warmth. Why then…? Was this hesitance?
Rinna turned to him, breaking that strange reflecting gaze. He blinked a moment, staring down at her, almost surprised to see a smile there as she slipped closer, driving his fingers deeper. Zevran chuckled.
Her hands were on his laces, roaming eager beneath the tunic to pull them free. He helped her, pulling away to slip the leathers over his head. Now it was she who paused, leaning back as if to admire him, trailing a wondering finger cross the designs of his arms and chest. It was a look he had seen many times before.
Pulling her close, his lips found hers, the hesitation there perhaps only imagined. Warm and tart they parted, meeting him eagerly as her breasts were crushed against him, her hands roaming to his back.
She stopped, pulling away with a sudden hiss.
Ahh, yes. That. That hadn’t spoken about it, there had been no need, but there was something behind her eyes now that he did not recognize, that he would have been loath to name even if he had had the words.
Rinna moved behind him now, hands following the scars without touching, the warmth of her setting the broken flesh to prickling.
“Why did you do it?”
“You have already had your answer.”
“No. I’ve had excuses.” Something of the old tone had returned. “Or is that all you’re capable of? Excuses and lies?”
He turned, catching her wrist, still raised as if to touch him. But the words had been hollow; there was no sternness in her gaze.
“Does it… hurt?”
“No so much anymore. But, at the time, yes.”
She watched him still, that same searching gaze from the mirror. “I suppose I owe you… my thanks.”
“You owe me nothing.”
Her hand slipped from his, falling again against his chest. The other fell beside it, lingering as her head tilted, the pair of them sliding up to wrap around his neck. His arms slipped beneath her as she leveled herself upward, wrapping round the small of her back for support. There she paused, bracing against his shoulders, holding herself as far away as she could without falling.
Unreadable still, that gaze. There was wonder there and warning, some hint of that eternal, wicked cold. When she lowered herself against him, he gasped.
Her thighs wrapped tight now, eyes holding his unblinking as she rose against him, as she fell. Slow but quickening, strong as she was silent but never, never breaking that gaze. Her nails scraped hard across his shoulders as she drew him deeper, guilt and pain forgotten.
It was only then that she let her head roll back, hair trailing behind her as her eyes fell closed. And still she rose, still she pressed, his grip on her almost slipping as he staggered toward the bed.
She fell against the sheets, sliding upward, one hand gripping hard against his arm to pull him with her. Her legs wrapped round again, drawing him deep, locking tight behind his back. So too did her hands trace upward, over his arms as he tensed and strained, rubbing up and over his shoulders to pull him closer still.
But there they pressed, up and away, spinning to pin him beneath her. He had slipped free of her, the cry bitten pained as he fell against the bed. Straddling him now, her hands played across his chest.
“Am I in?”
Zevran opened one eye.
She smiled down at him, smirking wicked. Leaning close, she let the whisper trail across his cheek, let him feel the warmth of her against his thigh, just out of reach. “Am I in?”
He chuckled, then. Irony.
“Yes.”
As he felt her tighten around him, Zevran laughed. Delicious, delicious irony.
* * *
He had felt the eyes before he wakened. It was nothing new; let them stare. He could feign sleep a bit longer. But it prickled now, the wondering, the desire to meet that gaze. His head felt full, thick, the curiosity for things half-remembered suddenly overwhelming.
She lay closer than he had realized. Rinna. He blinked at that, his smile coming lazy, sated. Hers came crooked, the disbelief not so well hidden.
“Hi.”
“Hello.” Closer he slid, wrapping one arm round her waist. Still she was pale, that long, dark hair tangled cross the pillow, but there was warmth here, the baking glow of day.
He turned, blinking at the window. There was no glare, no morning mist.
“What time is it?”
“Late.”
He snorted at that, slipping from the bed to rest his hands on the window sill. The sun had not yet reached its peak, but to say it was not close would be a lie.
“What?” Still she lay stretched across the bed, watching him unabashed.
“I, ahh… I do not normally…” He ran a hand through his hair.
“Ah.” Rolling onto her back, she shrugged. “Go then. I’m sure you have preparations to make.” There was no malice behind the words. Why had he expected there to be?
Gathering breeches and boots he made for the door.
“Zevran?”
He turned.
“Remember our deal.”
With a smirking chuckle he slipped into the hall.
* * *
A restful night. One more thing that seemed only a distant memory. He could not tell how long he had been awake, how long he had deliberately grasped at those fading threads, willing the dream to continue. But dawn was breaking, another handful of hours gone.
There would be no rest, not for him. And yet perhaps today would find these Wardens. Perhaps it would at least be swift.
Previous Chapters (also NSFW): ONE, TWO, THREE
Title: Insufferable, pt. 4
Pairings: Zev/Rinna
Ratings: NSFW
Words: 1,800
Summary: Rinna has heard about Zevran's contract and approaches him with a proposition...
He was dreaming. He knew he was dreaming. But still he could feel the bars against his face, that cold and pressing caress. The cage again. Always the cage.
* * *
Dangling his legs over the balcony, Zevran pressed his face to the intricate ironwork of the rail. There were vines here, leaves, things that should be beautiful, but always they would be black, always cold. Laughter floated from across the city, music, light. Just another evening, but Antiva City had never needed an excuse to celebrate.
The footsteps came soft, not disguised so much as timid. He glanced over his shoulder as he came slowly to his feet, leaning palms against the rail. Ahh, perhaps timid was not the right word. There was certainly anger, some sort of awkward resentment beneath her hesitance. He and Rinna had not spoken since that night in the baths.
“Zevran.”
Still he kept his eyes on those distant lights.
She followed his gaze, out and beyond the gates. “I would speak with you.”
“Oh? And to what do I owe this honor?”
But already she had turned, wending her way through the darkened columns, his smirk lost on her back.
The walk was short, the private chambers of the female Crows stretching away to either side. The door, too, was like so many others, adorned but unmarked. She left him to catch it as she slipped beyond.
“Ahh, I feel as though I am in the bedchamber of the Grand Cleric herself. Where no man has gone before.”
“You would be a fool to think so.” Deeper into the room she moved, pausing to stand before a tall and gilded dressing mirror. One hand lingered against her bodice, playing across the laces there. It was new, he thought, the belt wide and dark and intricately worked, one that he had never seen her wear before. Her eyes, though, held steady. She was watching him.
“Oh? And yet you have barely spoken to any man here. Always it is the same, the cold silence, the icy glares.”
There was something amused in her reflection, a growing smirk. “Did you ever think that perhaps it is just you? That you are not so charming as you think?”
He slipped closer, close enough to see the flicker of her eyes, the almost imperceptible stiffening of her back. Still she held her ground. Bending low, he trailed the whisper cross her shoulder. “Impossible.”
Rinna whirled, placing a warning hand against his chest. “I want in.”
He blinked, the smile, the retort coming perhaps a bit too slow. “As do I.”
Shaking her head, she snorted, but already she was moving away, turning to the open window. The breeze stirred her hair, the loose-flowing silks beneath her bodice. “I’m serious. When you go to Rivain, I wish to accompany you.”
Zevran sank onto the bed, leaning back to rest on his elbows. “But we don’t go to Rivain. Merchants, they travel.”
“And I can help with that.” She turned, hands clasped behind her as she paced. “I have… experience as a tracker. And I know the area. Your last sighting puts him somewhere to the northeast, yes? Just shy of the border?”
He quirked a brow. “And how do you know this?”
“As I said, I can help you.” She was moving away, back to linger before the mirror. Still she watched him, still she did not trust him at her back. And yet she asked to be part of his team. Now, though, now her eyes roamed, hand trailing to her hips. “I have… skills to offer.”
Sliding from the bed he again slipped close, standing behind her before the glass. This time, though, she did not stir, did not pull away. “Skills, is it?”
There was almost a smile behind her sneer, a whispered chuckle beneath her sigh.
He rested his chin against her shoulder, arms slipping round her waist. But there he paused, eyes lingering on the reflection. So dark, so slight, so wicked and yet he seemed to fit easily there, cheek falling to rest against her own. Still her eyes watched his reflection, hands again straying to the laces of her bodice.
His own were moving then, gently guiding hers aside, his fingers tangling in the laces. Soft and supple and fine. He felt her breath escape her, but she did not stop him. Soon enough it fell away, the binding tumbling to the floor. The silk beneath was thin, stirring again beneath the breeze, held in place by only a single button between her breasts. This he worked with almost guilty ease, the folds falling away to hang across her hips.
Again he paused, again he merely watched. So pale she was against him, so delicate and unmarked, her hair and eyes dark where his were golden. But she pressed against him now, rolling her hips as she felt him stir. Pale, yes. Delicate, never.
His hand slipped low, the remaining silks falling to puddle at her feet. Her eyes had fluttered closed, falling back against him as he traced the curve of her hips. And yet he could not look away from the glass, from that strange contrast, from the play of her lip between her teeth as he parted her.
So hard, so cold her stares and yet here was softness, here was warmth. Why then…? Was this hesitance?
Rinna turned to him, breaking that strange reflecting gaze. He blinked a moment, staring down at her, almost surprised to see a smile there as she slipped closer, driving his fingers deeper. Zevran chuckled.
Her hands were on his laces, roaming eager beneath the tunic to pull them free. He helped her, pulling away to slip the leathers over his head. Now it was she who paused, leaning back as if to admire him, trailing a wondering finger cross the designs of his arms and chest. It was a look he had seen many times before.
Pulling her close, his lips found hers, the hesitation there perhaps only imagined. Warm and tart they parted, meeting him eagerly as her breasts were crushed against him, her hands roaming to his back.
She stopped, pulling away with a sudden hiss.
Ahh, yes. That. That hadn’t spoken about it, there had been no need, but there was something behind her eyes now that he did not recognize, that he would have been loath to name even if he had had the words.
Rinna moved behind him now, hands following the scars without touching, the warmth of her setting the broken flesh to prickling.
“Why did you do it?”
“You have already had your answer.”
“No. I’ve had excuses.” Something of the old tone had returned. “Or is that all you’re capable of? Excuses and lies?”
He turned, catching her wrist, still raised as if to touch him. But the words had been hollow; there was no sternness in her gaze.
“Does it… hurt?”
“No so much anymore. But, at the time, yes.”
She watched him still, that same searching gaze from the mirror. “I suppose I owe you… my thanks.”
“You owe me nothing.”
Her hand slipped from his, falling again against his chest. The other fell beside it, lingering as her head tilted, the pair of them sliding up to wrap around his neck. His arms slipped beneath her as she leveled herself upward, wrapping round the small of her back for support. There she paused, bracing against his shoulders, holding herself as far away as she could without falling.
Unreadable still, that gaze. There was wonder there and warning, some hint of that eternal, wicked cold. When she lowered herself against him, he gasped.
Her thighs wrapped tight now, eyes holding his unblinking as she rose against him, as she fell. Slow but quickening, strong as she was silent but never, never breaking that gaze. Her nails scraped hard across his shoulders as she drew him deeper, guilt and pain forgotten.
It was only then that she let her head roll back, hair trailing behind her as her eyes fell closed. And still she rose, still she pressed, his grip on her almost slipping as he staggered toward the bed.
She fell against the sheets, sliding upward, one hand gripping hard against his arm to pull him with her. Her legs wrapped round again, drawing him deep, locking tight behind his back. So too did her hands trace upward, over his arms as he tensed and strained, rubbing up and over his shoulders to pull him closer still.
But there they pressed, up and away, spinning to pin him beneath her. He had slipped free of her, the cry bitten pained as he fell against the bed. Straddling him now, her hands played across his chest.
“Am I in?”
Zevran opened one eye.
She smiled down at him, smirking wicked. Leaning close, she let the whisper trail across his cheek, let him feel the warmth of her against his thigh, just out of reach. “Am I in?”
He chuckled, then. Irony.
“Yes.”
As he felt her tighten around him, Zevran laughed. Delicious, delicious irony.
* * *
He had felt the eyes before he wakened. It was nothing new; let them stare. He could feign sleep a bit longer. But it prickled now, the wondering, the desire to meet that gaze. His head felt full, thick, the curiosity for things half-remembered suddenly overwhelming.
She lay closer than he had realized. Rinna. He blinked at that, his smile coming lazy, sated. Hers came crooked, the disbelief not so well hidden.
“Hi.”
“Hello.” Closer he slid, wrapping one arm round her waist. Still she was pale, that long, dark hair tangled cross the pillow, but there was warmth here, the baking glow of day.
He turned, blinking at the window. There was no glare, no morning mist.
“What time is it?”
“Late.”
He snorted at that, slipping from the bed to rest his hands on the window sill. The sun had not yet reached its peak, but to say it was not close would be a lie.
“What?” Still she lay stretched across the bed, watching him unabashed.
“I, ahh… I do not normally…” He ran a hand through his hair.
“Ah.” Rolling onto her back, she shrugged. “Go then. I’m sure you have preparations to make.” There was no malice behind the words. Why had he expected there to be?
Gathering breeches and boots he made for the door.
“Zevran?”
He turned.
“Remember our deal.”
With a smirking chuckle he slipped into the hall.
* * *
A restful night. One more thing that seemed only a distant memory. He could not tell how long he had been awake, how long he had deliberately grasped at those fading threads, willing the dream to continue. But dawn was breaking, another handful of hours gone.
There would be no rest, not for him. And yet perhaps today would find these Wardens. Perhaps it would at least be swift.