Fic: A Murder of Crows 5 pt2/?AO - Sexings

[1smut_princess]

Title: A Murder of Crows 5/?, pt2
Author: Rhion
Rating: M for sexy time.
Summary: F!Surana and Zevran each have their secrets. Some are stranger than others. The trouble with secrets is that they are best kept by only one person. But there's always someone else who knows the hidden things.
AN: Chapter five is so freakin' long, and so I cut it off a little at the bottom here more than I wanted to. I'll use what I had planned for the end of this chapter to start off Chapter Six. Mainly because this chapter was well over 13,000 words. Hopefully this puts no one out. Oh, and I'm sure you're wondering where Crow is. Don't worry, he'll make his appearance when he makes his appearance. I haven't forgotten him at all. Trust you me on that.

I am currently being mobbed by plot bunnies. For those who don't know what a plot bunny is, it is this... cute.. little idea. Just a little idea. It hops into your head, looking all innocent and stuff. And so you're all “Aww, aren't you a cute little idea? Do you have any friends?” and then another one joins the first bunny. And what happens when you have two bunnies? They breed. And quite rapidly. Currently I'm fending off quite a few, and am only giving into um.... lesseee...... the whole Pieces/Scraps/Patchwork thing was three. Then there's this one I'm debating the name for that has Zev telling the Warden a story... and oh! There's this other one that is probably a three parter that's probably going to be exceedingly dark! And those are just the ones that managed to break through the fence I was using to keep them back!
And let’s not even mention bellaknoti’s Anders/Withiel/Zev story, along with the whole going in and writing the ZevPov for Making Our Own Destiny. Which at least now has a name. (That would be ‘Thoughts of a Drowning Man’.)
As usual the translations are at the bottom.
bellaknoti was kind enough to go and fix all the punctuation issues with this. Thank goodness!

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5 continued
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Without his noticing, Zevran's hands had been busy, massaging and stroking Lahar up and down, from waist to shoulder and back. Her soft panting, closed eyes, and parted lips had brought Zevran back from his rambling thoughts like a slap. She is lost in it, he thought, watching and enjoying the view immensely, and beautiful with it. Testing the waters, Zevran rolled his hips upward, grinding against Lahar, who gasped, eyes flying wide. Shifting his grip to her hips, Zevran held her in place as he did it once more, and it was gratifying to see Lahar's eyes roll back in her head.

“Hmm, like that?” he purred. The aching between his thighs intensified, reminding Zevran that he was in just as much need as her. “What say you to another offer?”

“Umm,” she whimpered, her hips wiggling. She made a halfhearted attempt to pull away. “Zev, I don't... I don't think we... We're drugged.”

He laughed before licking from the corner of her mouth to her ear so he could breathe into it. “I believe that is part of the point; let us enjoy it then, no?”

Uncertainty flickered in her eyes. “I'm scared. It always hurts...”

Hiding a grimace, refusing to be side-tracked by a long discussion that could come later if it was needed, he gripped her arms in his hands, turning her to face him. “I am yours; I will not hurt you. You will like what I do hermosa princesa mia, this I swear,” he promised, knowing that it would be true.

“But...” She paused, chewing her lip. She sat up, crossing her arms over her chest. “But won't that mean that I deserved what happened before?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Zevran forced himself to calm. “No, it will not. You know this logically, yes? Allow me to show you, allow me to worship you as you deserve. I give this to you willingly, bonita, it is not done out of duty to my oath, but because I wish it. Understand?”

It looked like she wanted to bolt, but Lahar nodded, “You promise it's not because you think you have to?”

“Yes,” he replied, but truth be told, they did have to. There were watchers in the trees, and no matter how well hidden their location felt, someone would make sure that their 'marriage' was consummated.

“Would you -” She eyed him speculatively, fear overriding drug-induced desire. “Would you promise me that you will stop, if -”

He cut her off, prying her arms open. “I swear, Lahar, if you command me to stop I shall. If you ask me to, I may not, but if you command me, I will. You are frightened, but you need not be; I will not hurt you. I have sworn it, and will do so again and again, but you will not believe me until I show you.” Dexterous fingers went to the stays of her robe, tugging them loose. “Allow me this, Lahar. Do not make me beg.” He added the last blow, aware of how heavy-handed it was. “Only slaves beg, but I will if I must.”

“You. Are. Not. A. Slave,” she said firmly, though her voice cracked. She was shaking like a leaf as she laid a finger on his bottom lip. “Don't. Please, don't beg.”

Taking that as permission – as it was likely to be the closest thing he would get, until Lahar could accept her own needs as well as his word – Zevran peeled the top half of her robe open. Covering a breast with his calloused palm and kneading the flesh with long fingers, Zevran laid lingering, open-mouthed kisses along the side of her neck and down her collarbone. All the while, he maintained a firm grip around her waist with one arm to ensure that she wouldn't try to run. Scooting closer and crossing his legs beneath her, Zevran leaned her back so her chest would thrust upwards. The mage flailed for a moment while he laughed into a breast. Her hands searched for purchase and, granting mercy, Zevran grabbed a forearm and directed her to grip his shoulders. He lavished her with attention and heeded what made her moan, snaking his tongue around a nipple until it stiffened before carefully nibbling at it.

Lahar's legs wrapped themselves around his waist. Her normally frigid body was burning with an intense heat that scalded even through his trews. Every touch was heightened, scintillating from where their bodies pressed, and Zevran, used to passion as he was, couldn't help but feel as though he were the one on the receiving end, at that moment. His need was to touch, to push all barriers between his hands and Lahar's body away. The only thing grounding him in reality was the fingers that dug deeply into the meat of his shoulders.

With muscles straining in his back and forearms from supporting her and from holding himself back, Zevran broke from her chest, yanking her upright, before burying his hands in her hair so he could give her a languorous kiss. Keeping his eyes open, but lidded, he watched Lahar for her reactions and saw only surprise that was quickly devoured by desire.

She lacked skill but was far from the worst kisser Zevran had ever encountered, and she at least responded as he drew her deeper. Coppery blood, herbs, and saliva was a taste that should have been unpleasant, but wasn't; Lahar's tongue probed his mouth, the plush, clinging lips sliding over his. Zevran could taste and smell Lahar all around him, her loose hair falling around his head in a dark curtain, the musk of her arousal filling his senses. The need to touch her, to stroke, to sink his fingers deep, was overwhelming. Giving in without thought, unable to hold back from that, Zevran rubbed his roughened palm from the outside of her thigh to the beckoning wetness. Muggy heat enveloped his fingers long before he brushed the springy curls of Lahar's sex. Running his thumb over the seam as he continued to twine his tongue with hers. Soaking, she's soaking wet, he thought, not quite coherently, and groaned.

It wasn't until he parted her folds and began to stroke at her opening that Zevran realized Lahar had stopped kissing him.

“Pequeña?” he asked, pulling away to look in her face, cupping her head. Her eyes were closed, jaw tense. “What is wrong?”

She struggled to speak, her voice nothing but a whisper. “Nothing. Continue.”

Pursing his lips, Zevran shook his head. “That I cannot do, bonita.” An idea coalesced as he moved his hands to the neutral territory of her waist. “I think a change of method may be best for you.”

“You're going to have to touch me eventually, and it'll be necessary for me to let you,” she shrugged. “I can tolerate it.”

“You are not supposed to 'tolerate' it, pequeña, you are supposed to enjoy it,” he replied, struggling with his frustration. Taking one of her hands in his, he continued, “Direct me to where it feels good for you, princesa. I will continue to kiss you as you take your pleasure from it. This way you may learn that it is a pleasant experience.” He moved to feather kisses around her face. “And you shall be the one in control of your bliss seeking, not I.”

There was some fumbling on Lahar's part as she lay her hand over his, while rising up on her knees, pressing on one of his shoulders for balance. She slowly began returning his kisses, their combined hands on an inner thigh, the muscles becoming less tense by the moment. Relieved that his plan was working, Zevran sighed through his nose, suckling her bottom lip and trying to maintain a soothing build. No rushing. It became a mantra in his head as he tried desperately to ignore the fire in his own skin that begged him to rip his clothes off and hers. Years of practice was all that kept Zevran remotely sane when he once again encountered the moist heat of Lahar's flower. His teeth dug into his lip as Lahar's breath came in short pants that verged on growls of determination. At the press of a finger he was stroking her inner walls and they rippled and clenched around the intrusion.

“I can't!” she cried with a jerk, throwing his hand away from her and scuttling backwards.

Resisting the urge to curse, Zevran crawled closer, yanking her to him in a tight embrace. “Shh,” he soothed, massaging her back and shoulders. He tucked his chin over her head. “We shall figure it out. Take a moment, calm yourself. I am not going anywhere, princesa.”

After a few hiccuping coughs that left Lahar red-faced, she composed herself. She was tugging on the partial leggings that went with the robes, the ties that held them to her thighs having come loose, the white of the material almost the same shade as her skin. There were no traces of tears on her cheeks, yet her shoulders had shaken so hard Zevran thought that there would be. Some memories are too painful; tears will not come, no matter the need.

She mumbles into his chest, hiding herself there once more. “Why can't you just take me and get it over with, Zev? Why do you want me to enjoy it when I'm incapable...?”

“I believe you are capable of it, bonita, and, in spite of the many wrongs I have done, I do not wish to add to them unnecessarily,” he replied softly, combing fingers through the long waves of chocolate hair. “I will be no tool for further harm against you, for am I not sworn to your service? That would include protecting you even in this, would it not?”

“I suppose,” she said, sounding tired. She was quiet for a few moments, before whispering, “You do realize that I don't even know what I'm doing, right?”

He shouldn't be surprised, but was. “You have never given yourself release?”

“No,” she said quietly, unable look him in the eye. Shame colored her cheeks a dusky pink color. “I could hear others doing it, so I knew that it was... normal... but I never wanted it. Why want what others would always just force on me later?”

Cocking his head, Zevran thought aloud. “Even in the Tower, you would be forced? Where were the Templars? And the other mages? Did they not watch out for their own?”

Lahar laughed bitterly. “Who do you think did it? One Templar in particular did his best to watch what others did, but he was nothing more than a boy. There was not much he could do to stop some of the older ones’ proclivities.” She tapped her chin in thought. “No one ever seemed to notice what happened to me. I didn't bring it to anyone's attention. Why bother? I was a prisoner in the Tower, as surely as all the other mages. We're nothing more than toys for the Chantry, and, by extension, the Templars.”

His eyes widened in realization. “That is why you do not pay attention to Alistair's advances.”

“Advances? Alistair?” she scoffed. “He only thinks he wants me because I'm the only other Warden around, and because I take responsibility off his shoulders, so he doesn't have to think, to worry. Under any other circumstance he would pay me no mind. Frankly, I wish he wouldn't, anyway. He's a good man, but I've seen enough of what 'good men' can do, Templar, almost-Templar, or otherwise.” The expression was ugly, a glimpse at what lay under the cool demeanor, and Zevran knew he was one of the only people to ever have caught sight of it, if not the only person.

Her hostility was gone as quickly as it had emerged. “I'd rather take my chances with a known danger than wait for someone who is supposed to be honorable, goodhearted, and perfect, to stab me in the back. The marks they leave are far worse than what those who are considered 'evil' would. At least I know where I truly stand with someone who is dangerous. I will always know that my position is at risk, and that they will abandon, kill, torture, or toss me out if they see a personal benefit. There is never a question of will they do it, only when they will do it. That, I can handle.”

“You would make a very good Crow,” he said, grasping her chin. “But you are not the sort who should think like this, pequeña. Do you truly believe that I will betray you?”

Her answer came too fast for it to be true. “I don't know.”

Yes, I would, he thought baldly, but lying was better. “Liar.” He shook her head from side to side with his grip. “My freedom is wrapped up in you, your survival and success. It behooves me to not do such a thing.”

“Who's the liar now?” she asked plainly, her words like a slap though absent of malice or anger. “The only thing I have to watch with you, Zevran, is to make sure that you keep seeing that it is better for you here than elsewhere. I can't force you to stay, to do anything, nor would I try to. You're not a slave, not to me, so I take it as a personal favor when you do as I ask.” One of his legs was going numb from her weight in his lap, but was relieved by her shifting. “It would be nice if I could have some warning before you betray me, but it's unlikely I'll get it, so I'll just stay on my toes, if that's agreeable?”

“You are too cynical for someone so young,” he said, grazing her mouth with his thumb. “I would rather you trust me, bonita, than not. It would be a nice thing for a change.”

Her brows arched high on her forehead. “Of course I trust you, Zev - probably more than I should - but trusting someone doesn't mean that I have to believe that they won't work in their own benefit over mine, if it suits them.”

“And you, Lahar? Would you betray me if it was to your benefit?” he asked, curious more than anything.

“I like to think I wouldn't,” the mage replied, laying her head on his shoulder. “I hope it never comes to that. I don't like the thought that I could do something like that just for myself. If it was for more than just me, then yes, I would. Even if I wouldn't like it, know that at least I would try to avoid it.”

It was strangely comforting knowing that Lahar wouldn't throw him away callously, and to know that she did trust him, even though she was aware that he was capable of doing her great harm. A nagging certainty was whispering that it was unlikely he could betray her at all; it was an irritating thing that was shoved aside in favor of re-stoking the fires of desire in the mage. Sex was easy, sex was understandable and uncomplicated.

Well, it was usually uncomplicated.

“Then let me show you how much I appreciate your hopes and trust preciosa,” he murmured, proceeding to draw her into a long kiss. He broke away briefly to whisper, once she was writhing – kissing, at least, she seemed to heartily enjoy. “Since you do not know where to touch, may I use your hand to show you?”

Her only reply was to kiss him harder and rise up on her knees once more. Unfortunately, just as before, Lahar tensed and pulled away once contact was made with her sex. At this rate I shall have to tie her up and simply show her that it can be good, he thought, disgusted, even though the assassin knew without a doubt that doing so would only add to the barriers, rather than take any away. By now, Zevran was so sexually charged with his own needs he could howl. Frayed nerves sought to win out over preternatural patience. Patience won, but only by a narrow margin.

A very narrow margin.

Voice husky, he pleaded with her. “Lahar, princesa, please.”

Shuddering under the intensity in his gaze, Lahar's eyes were wide with something between her own arousal and fear. “Tell me what I should do.”

That was the last thing he was expecting. “Excuse me?”

“Tell me how to touch myself.” Here was a suggestion that brought infinite possibilities to mind. It was also a suggestion that kept him from throwing her down and plundering every inch of her body until she screamed. Drawing a deep breath, she continued. “I don't know how, and you do, but I... maybe if you tell me how to do it, then it won't be you touching me at all.” The last bit came out in a mumbled rush: “And you can show me how to touch you too, by doing it to yourself...”

He had to work to bring saliva into his suddenly dry mouth. “Fortuna sonríe, that is an... excellent idea encatadora.”

She fidgeted and coughed into her fist, nervously. “So, um... what do you want me to do?”

He yanked his shirt over his head, and threw it somewhere near the vicinity of 'I-Don't-Care Land'. “How comfortable are you with your own nudity?” He tugged at the hem of her robe. “You are already partially bared to me; I would see more if I may.”

Lahar squirmed. “Can we work towards that instead? I don't think, I think I may not be able to do that. Yet.”

Ah Zevran, do not be greedy; you can work with this, yes?

She must have noticed his disappointment, though he had tried to mask it. “Could we still touch each other some?”

The offer, phrased as a question was a boon, and he nodded his acquiescence. “Above the waist then, yes?” Unlacing the top of his trews, instant relief from constriction elicited a sigh. “Much better.”

The mage started to scoot back. “I should change positions, shouldn't I? Your legs are probably tired from holding me up so long.”

“No, no, do not move; stay where you are, bonita, your weight is little enough burden for the reward.” Lahar nodded, a slightly hesitant look to her face as Zevran reached out; he wrapped one arm behind her lower back to keep her steady, as he had before, pulling her a bit to his chest, before opening his mouth to gently tease under her ear. "You are free to touch me as you like, encantadora, for I am yours."

Her face betrayed a flash of confusion. “I thought you were going to tell me how to touch myself, first?”

“Oh, I am, certainly,” he assured her, nipping at the side of her neck. “But I wish you to be comfortable with me first, as I have already made contact with you more than you have made with me, yes? Please hermosa encantadora mia, release me from my prison,” he coaxed.

A look of intense concentration on her face, Lahar slid her palm down his chest, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake. Zevran bent his head so he could capture a nipple, laving it as there was another hesitation, encouraging, silently begging Lahar to touch him. She took a deep, fortifying breath, the sound loud beside his ear; he had the taste of her soft skin in his mouth, and then her hand was sinking under the waistband of his breeches. Her fingers tangled in the curls over his member before reaching their goal. Unable to stop the groan that originated somewhere deep in his stomach, Zevran left Lahar's breast to ravish her mouth, tongue pushing between her lips, hips lifting as much as they could from the ground as she grasped his thickness.

Sweet Fortuna! Hissing in relief as she freed him, the air cooled the hard heat in her slender hand. “Can you feel how hard I am princesa?”

Zevran could feel how hot Lahar's cheek was where it pressed against his. Her voice was breathy. “Yes.”

“It is because I want you, mi princesa, mi cielo, mi diosa.” Rough, hoarse the endearments fell from his lips in encouragement. “Don't be frightened of it, of me; this -” he covered her hand where she touched him, “- is what you do to me, evidence of your power over me.”

Zevran was sure Lahar would normally protest, and was glad she did not. Zevran didn't think what little patience he had would last through another argument of power and control. Not right now, but later – perhaps. This was a gift he could give her, a fee he had to provide for her protection when it would be needed later. What did it matter if he enjoyed this; he could teach her the pleasures of the flesh at his leisure. If the side effect was to heal some of her wounds, it was only fair - as she so often patched him up - even if what he could give was a different sort of physical than what she did.

“I do this?” Squeezing, she leaned away to look down between them - not that she could see much in all likelihood - their hands covered the bulk of his erection, and he was not entirely free of his trews either.

He hummed, low in his throat. “Si, mi pequeña, esto es lo que me haces.”

She gave him an experimental squeeze, and he moaned again. “It feels nice?”

“Nice is not...” Chewing on his lip, Zevran massaged the head of his cock. “...not a word I would use, pequeña, at all, for how it feels. Mierda, words, I cannot think of, right now.” The familiar weight filled his grip, the skin slipping up and down softer than any other part of his body. “Lick your finger hermosa encatadora mia.” He gave her the direction she needed, unable to refrain any longer. “And then stroke it along your slit, look for the...” He paused, watching avidly while she did as he said, the cool touch of her hand unbearable for its loss. “...peak of flesh. It will feel like...” Dipping his head, he flicked a quick swipe over her nipple. “Similar to this bud here.”

Her eyes became huge, and Zevran knew she had found it. “This?” She rose up and tilted back, while he continued to support her back, showing him. “Is this it?” Lahar's index and ring fingers were holding herself open, the slicked middle finger darting over the nubbin. “It tickles!”

Only a monumental exercise in willpower stopped Zevran from hauling Lahar up so he could show her just how much that area could 'tickle'. Sweet Andraste, surprised by the action, almost shocked by it, Zevran fixated on the view of tender flesh that was revealed. You are just full of surprises aren't you pequeña? Fortuna smiles on me this day...

Reminding himself to breathe dammit, and that he had to guide her along in this self-discovery, he fumbled for more instructions. “Play with it, run your fingers over it, pinch it – do what feels right. Do what makes you...” Searching for a word other than 'tickle' or 'good', Zevran came up short. He wasn't exactly running at full capacity at the moment – Lahar was just too distracting. “Do what makes it tingle, like a little jolt of electricity.”

The position was awkward to say the least, but Zevran continued to hold Lahar up, while pumping and stroking his manhood in time to each exploratory touch on the pearl that was Lahar's center of pleasure. Sighs, interspersed with surprised giggles, came from the mage, her expression verging on joyous. It was more than clear she had never done this, had never expected it to feel as it did. A feeling of enthralled pride welled up in Zevran – I gave her this.

“Mía, toda mia.” Reverently, he gasped the words out, forgetting to speak in Ferelden, enraptured by Lahar's display.

Unable to stop himself when Lahar tossed her head back in a whimper, he released his hold on his prick, grabbing her hip so he could shift. Leaning in, Zevran ran his tongue over her fingers, tasting the salty musk of a woman's natural perfume. She was so slippery that he could almost fool himself that it was an accident when the thick muscle of his tongue moved down to her entrance, dipped in a moment, then made its way back to her busy fingers. Hips churning, Lahar moaned the whole time, lost to it, but becoming steadily more aware, and more tense, if the nails that bit into his shoulder were anything to go by. Reluctantly, Zevran stopped, but not before one last long swipe from bottom to top, and returned to pleasuring himself.

“You – you licked me!” She sank back down in his lap, lips swollen, cheeks bright, eyes glazed.

“Did you like it preciosa? I know I did.” He sucked on his own lips in the hope of gathering any last trace of her essence, and nuzzled her face. “I could do it again if you wish me to.”

She squirmed, clearly embarrassed, but interested. “Not yet.”

He kissed the corner of her mouth. “Como desees, bonita. Touch yourself princesa, I want to see your pleasure; show it to me. Share it with me.”

Laying back slowly, taking Lahar with him, Zevran sped up his motions; the build-up had taken so long already. Between them, their hands worked, and Zevran could feel her nectar on his knuckles from time to time, unable to tear his gaze from Lahar's face. Her eyes would close, only to open and watch him watching her. Her moans picked up volume, and Zevran echoed them when he fisted his hand in her hair, leaning up to fill her mouth with his tongue. It was tempting, so very tempting to change his hold on his cock, to direct it to her entrance, to have her impale herself on it as she rocked against her hand. Of course, he did not, but the thought did cross his mind.

There was a whimper, and Lahar mumbled brokenly into his mouth. “It’s... I can't, I can't keep going!”

Knowing she was close, Zevran twisted his hand so he could grab her fingers and rubbed them quickly over her nubbin. She was too far gone to care that he was touching her, and then it didn't matter. Lahar froze, a forlorn mewl issuing as Zevran felt a rush of moisture over their tangled fingers. It was more than he could bear, and he bucked up against her, not entering, only grinding against her femininity until he, too, fell off the cliff with a shout.

Arching his back, arms stretching out, Zevran gave a contented groan. “Ah sweet relief.” He rolled his wrists so they would pop. “Mmm, I thank you for sharing with me.”

Hovering, Lahar's elbows were planted on the ground. “It was... weird.” Before he could question her, Lahar ground down against him, letting out a giggle. “We're all slippery!”

“Sweet Maker!” He sucked in a breath as she did it again. “Never mind the Maker: Sweet Fortuna!” Clasping his hands in front of his face, he stared into the treetop canopy. “I take back all my curses about your virtue, my fair Fortuna! For this, I shall have to shower you with gold!”

Lahar laughed, rocking back as she sat up, but the laughter ceased rather abruptly to be replaced by doubt. “Did... that feel good for you, too?”

“Oh yes, yes it did hermosa pequeña mia, very good.” He knew he must still step carefully with her. She wasn't a virgin, but something worse, and required much care. “I was only thanking my good fortune for being here with you, preciosa. I am a lucky man, that you would gift me with your first pleasure, and even moreso for following it up with such a carefree and happy expression.” He sat up, gathering Lahar close before rolling her gently onto her back. “That this was a joyous experience for you, I could ask for no sweeter thing."

She swallowed, a touch apprehensively. “And now what comes next? Are... we supposed to...?”

“Anything you like pequeña, anything at all.” He held his weight off of her. “If I could but steal a kiss, you shall have no arguments from me bonita.”

When Lahar didn't respond immediately, Zevran dipped enough so he could press his mouth to her forehead, and withdrew. Rolling onto his side, he tucked himself back into his trews, before finally draping an arm over her midsection. Propped on a forearm, he used that hand to play with a strand of the younger elf's chestnut locks. You are a fool Arainai, he chided himself harshly, that was the same thing you said to her that night. Idiota, do not forget how fragile she is. So fragile preciosa, I should not shock you. It ruins what you have given me this day.

Words were like sex, something Zevran was skilled with, but with Lahar his words either fell flat or were sullied by their combined past experiences. In Zevran's case, his former conquests were usually well-versed, and words were just pretty things to fill silence with, while in Lahar's... 'It hurts' she says, says this as though that was normal. Cursing himself a thousand times a fool, he made no more movements other than to stay close. To lean down and kiss her temple or play with her hair that was all he did, all that he would allow himself.

“Zevran?” She was quiet, so very quiet.

“Mmm?” He paused midway through brushing his lips over her face once more.

“I don't know what I want to do.” Her head rolled back so she could catch his gaze. “Is there something you'd like to do?”

He attempted a light tone. “There are always things I would like to do. Perhaps we could go over some more Antivan phrases? I believe I could teach you some of the more colorful ones, so you have something to yell at darkspawn.”

“If you want...” She was more confused than anything else. “But I'm usually too busy chanting to waste breath cursing them.” She reached up to run the tip of a finger along his tattoo – a finger that still bore her scent. “You don't have to steal kisses. I'll give them to you if you want them, or you can take them whenever you want.” At this, she turned scarlet. “Or not. Whatever you like.” Rapidly, she changed the topic before he could say anything. “So what does 'braska' mean? I haven't figured that out.”

“It is difficult to translate, an idea along the lines of 'damn',” he answered with a frown. Refusing to be put off, he said, “My dear Lahar, I am an assassin, a rogue. I steal things – whether they be items or life. This is simply who I am.”

Lahar shifted to her side so she could face him squarely. “But you don't need to steal what's freely given.”

His brow furrowed. “My... 'stealing' of kisses from you... bothers you?”

“Well, think about it.” She gestured vaguely. “‘Stealing’ means taking what does not belong to you, means taking from someone else without giving something back. So, you can't actually steal something like that. Not unless you were trying to hurt me, which, in that context, wouldn't make any sense, now would it?”

“You are very... odd, my dear Warden,” he averred, but he saw the logic. “It was a turn of phrase, nothing more; please do not worry yourself over it if I say something similar at some other time, as it would be unintentional. This is what has been... bothering you?”

Looking sheepish, she ducked her head. “Yes. Stupid, I know, of all the things – darkspawn, the Dalish, everything... I get squeamish about how you word something.”

Deciding to test Lahar's boundaries, Zevran began kissing her all over her face. Small fists tapped him a few times on the chest as she giggled, and he finished everything off by dragging his tongue over the side of her nose. That made her squeal and scrub at her face, all traces of anxiety gone from Lahar once more. It was then that he took that opportunity to kiss her soundly, an activity that he found himself more than willing to spend great amounts of time on.

After all, they had three days of 'seclusion'; why not give Lahar everything she had never had?

“Mm... that is probably the longest I have ever spent kissing a single person.” He huffed a laugh into the alabaster column of throat.

Twisting underneath him, Lahar made a face. “You've kissed more than one person at the same time? Is that even possible?”

“Ah, that would be a sensitive topic princesa; I do not think you'd wish to touch on it.” Zevran would smack the back of his own head if it wouldn't confuse Lahar more. Thrice damned drugs, loosening my tongue! I cannot just say everything that comes to mind! Braska! “But this - ” he said, pressing his mouth to hers briefly, “- is an activity you enjoy very much, is it not?”

“I do, but, don't you enjoy it too?” His braids had come loose from the tie that held them back, and Lahar was toying with them, tugging at the knotted leather that kept them from fraying.

Mouth not checking with his brain, even as he cursed himself, he continued on. “Kissing is all well and good, but there are more things to do with ones’ mouth than engage someone else's. Whores do not pass them out for free, and that is the mindset I grew up with. Kissing is between those who have feelings, and not for those servitors who sell the illusion of love to give to the buyer.” Now it was Zevran's turn to feel strange and uncertain. “It is something I avoided doing more than was necessary to get a job done.”

“Well, we're friends aren't we? And since I'm not buying them, or selling them, if you want kisses you can have them.” Her expression was soft. “But don't just... do it because I like it. Do it if you like it.”

Uncomfortable, Zevran did something he couldn't remember doing in years, outside of an act. He squirmed. It was most certainly not the high point of his life. Zevran was seductive, passionate, able to entice with soft caresses or forceful grasping. Yet, at that moment, the elf was feeling... soft. For some freakish reason, the thought that Lahar wanted him to do something for his own simple enjoyment, for simple affection, was frighteningly wonderful.

The only thing he could be glad of was that Lahar didn't ask about the fact that he had been taught that kisses were far more intimate than anything else, that they bore implications, with few acts being more intimate than that. Except sleeping. Brought up short, Zevran buried his face in her chest to hide. I have slept with her every night for a week, I have woken up beside her every day. Unsettled in the extreme, he struggled internally. Sleep – I have not slept with another since leaving the apprentice barracks; even then, it was not as if we slept so close that we could touch. Sleeping next to someone meant lowering one's guard, revealing yourself at your most physically vulnerable. Arainai you absolute, total fool – you have let her too close!

Except there was no changing it. Sleeping beside Lahar was some of the first actual rest he had gained since leaving Antiva. In bed with her, Zevran could close his eyes and not worry for being attacked, and at the moment it was not as if there was anything he could do about it, anyway. Their role as a mated pair required a shared sleeping arrangement.

Something came back to him, something that he had overheard when playing the servant for the Masters once. 'Keep your friends close, and your enemies closer'. Master Adolfo had told Taliesen that when the Crow had questioned the Master about why the meeting and close 'friendship' shared between Adolfo and Mistress Pilar. Taliesen had been arguing that since the female Master was a rival, and had been seeking to poach on Adolfo's territory, that it would be best to keep her at a distance. Adolfo had smacked Taliesen, before explaining in no uncertain terms that the best way to spy on and thereby control, an enemy was to keep them close. As close as a lover. Zevran's thoughts twisted, only able to ask himself the question inside the darkest corners of his mind: who was watching who when it came to Lahar and himself?

Glancing up at Lahar, he had his answer. Her eyes were closed, a little curl to her lips, digits dancing in his hair. I watch her, but is she my enemy? Zevran couldn't see her turning on him without cause. Best not to give her one, he reasoned, not paying conscious attention to the instinctual urge that commanded him to stay as close as he could. It was the same one that said to not let her out of sight, that she was an unknown. Once, Zevran thought that he was better off with the demons he knew rather than the spirits he didn't; now he was unsure which was which.

With a forceful mental shake, he threw off such troubling musings.

“Earlier,” he said, propping his chin up on her breastbone, “you said 'not yet' to a suggestion I made. It is something I would like to do, bonita, but I'm unsure of the reception a second offer would receive.”

Lahar blinked slowly, obviously having been in the midst of drifting off. “What did you have in mind?”

He circled the nearest of the mage's nipples with a lazy fingertip, before dragging the digit lower. “I would like to see you bare, and to possibly touch you myself, show you more than what you have discovered by your own hand.”

“Um...” She thought it over, before giving a tentative nod. “Could you... keep your pants on, at first?”

“Ciertamente, hermosa pequeña mia; anything to make you more comfortable,” he assured her, scooting down her body.

Keeping his touch light, Zevran finished removing the last of his Warden's robe, leaving the tall thigh-socks on. Rocking back on his heels, he looked at his handiwork, admiring Lahar's body. There was something of honey-coated innocent sin in the elf mage's unconscious manner, a complete lack of awareness of how lovely she looked right then. The contrast of soft green grass, luminescent flesh, woody dark hair at head and crotch, and the rare flash of pink from lips, nipples and when she shifted just so – her sex.

Shy hands moved to cover herself. “Zev?”

Taking the fine boned wrists in hand, he tugged them back, gently. “No, please, do not do that.” Running the backs of his knuckles over the swell of breast to stomach to thigh, “You have always had little care before if I saw you, was it not you who said that it is only skin, something that everyone has?”

“That was before.” She licked her lips, legs shifting. “I feel like... you look like you're going to eat me.”

He didn’t bother to keep the predatory smile from his face. “That is exactly what I intend to do preciosa, and it is a good thing. Do not shy from it.”

The confused frown was replaced by a gasp when he leaned forward, dragging his tongue from her bellybutton down to the crisp hair on her mons. He could taste himself on the chillier-than-most-people's skin, the bitter tang of his seed having never been wiped away. It was all-together not unpleasant, and nipping at Lahar's flesh, the assassin refrained from parting her folds just yet. Slowly, he scrubbed the last, pungent vestiges of his climax from her outer lips as he massaged the Warden's inner thighs, every few passes darting the tip of his tongue into her crevice to flick the bud there, inciting anxious movement from the mage.

Giving a satisfied hum when she granted him greater access by parting her thighs involuntarily, Zevran set about exploring the flower before him, tracing the outline of each bump and petal, savoring the richness of arousal. Knowing he had won when her back began arching, he tugged a thigh over his shoulder. Suckling at the firm button of her clit, he focused there until her hands dug into his locks. Mindless whimpering interspersed with begging moans signalled that Lahar was lost enough that he could risk invading her sheath. With great care, while teasing with lips, teeth and tongue at the ridge of her pleasure center, he eased two fingers into her. This earned him a grunt and a roll of her hips. Good, he thought, relieved, as it had been the point of penetration that had derailed all his earlier attempts at touching the Warden. You can think of nothing but the enjoyment, yes? Splendid.

Shortly thereafter she was keening, arching her back so much that he almost feared that she would hurt herself. All at once, Lahar went limp, sighing, the tips of her nails flexing into his scalp, and deeming that he had teased his Warden enough, Zevran kissed his way up her stomach, hand remaining wedged between her thighs. As though everything were right in her world, Lahar sighed, fingers twining through his hair while she petted him, the look in the mage's eyes faraway, seeing some peaceful and distant landscape.

He nuzzled her chin, knowing the answer to the question before asking it, hoping to lead Lahar to the obvious conclusion. “And how was that, princesa?”

A small smile played around her lips, full of surprised wonder. “It didn't hurt.”

“Marvelous.” His voice was husky and raw – just as his body felt, the thick pool of blood between his own thighs having returned. “And glad I am for that,” he said, resuming the motion of the digits buried within Lahar's womanhood.

“Oh!” She exclaimed in muffled surprise. “What are you doing?” Wriggling, Lahar tried to catch sight of the action, and Zevran obliged by lifting away enough so she could watch him pull his fingers from her, slowly, before pushing them back in, as she gave an answering whimper to the invasion.

Offering, praying she would accept for his sake, at the very least, he coaxed her some more. “I can make it better than even that, for both of us, bonita, if you let me.”

Beneath him, Lahar took a few moments to think about it before nodding with barely a hint of misgiving as he stilled the stroking to give her the chance to decide. “It will feel good for both of us? For you, too – not just me?”

“Extremely.” He was taken aback by Lahar's concern for his own pleasure. “I did not wish to startle you by simply proceeding to the next stage without asking.”

In reply, Lahar reached up to cup his jaw. “Thank you for that.” Her hands slid down to his chest. “Thank you for making everything so nice for me, for being patient. I'm grateful that it's you, Zevran, here with me, instead of someone else. I don't... I don't think I could do this, otherwise.”

It was stupid for him to feel so... thrilled by her sentiment, but he was, whether because of the drugs, or because of the knowledge that Lahar was generally an honest sort and that she truly felt that way, as though being shown patience and skill was a rarity. Patience was something that had been taught to Zevran from a very young age, so it was something he took for granted, forgetting that men tended to be urgent in most matters. Abusers, whenever they took their time, it was only to make it worse for the victim rather than better – leaving that point moot.

Lahar brought him back, with a halting caress near his waistband. Not wanting to show his Warden too much at once, he drew away so he could shuck his pants altogether. She may have seen his manhood before, but not when it was fully erect, out in the open, and thus threatening. He could be at least that sensitive. Slipping back up her body, Zevran drew Lahar into another of those long kisses she so enjoyed, waiting until she dug her nails unconsciously over the flesh of his back before nudging her entrance with his tip.

Now it would be tricky, for he would have to fight both his body's demands and contend with Lahar's vicious past. She took the decision from him, though, pushing her hips upwards, a look of focused determination on her features. Gasping in unison - Braska! Is she trying to break me? - not for entirely different reasons, the two elves shuddered and remained still.

He was panting, arms shaking where they were braced beside her head. “I had wanted to take more time with you Lahar. You need not have rushed so.”

Under him, the mage whimpered. “I wanted it to be by my hand. I'm sorry.”

“Hush now.” Gathering his strength, Zevran reigned in his traitorous body. “You are unhurt?” At her nod, he shifted his weight to one arm, freeing his hand for more useful purposes. “Relax and let me do this for you.”

So saying, Zevran applied skillful digits to her bundle of nerves, refusing to start moving within Lahar until she had adjusted to his intrusion completely. Smooth palms ran over his shoulders and biceps, the artless caressing as enticing as the heat that he was buried in, weakening his resolve. Already Lahar was sighing, clasping, wet, flexing around him, parted thighs rubbing against his, and Zevran moaned without remorse. Yes, you should know what you do to me hermosa pequeña mia; like you, I am not unaffected, he thought, but he couldn't speak in words she would understand.

Biting at his lip, he felt the sweat born of desire and strain forming along his back, the restraint he was exercising costing him dearly in his current state. Knowing he would be unable to hold out much longer before moving, he sped up the motion of his fingers, plying her pearl causing her to churn and that continual stroking over his chest and arms to become more desperate. Hoping to bring Lahar to another peak before continuing, Zevran struggled to block out the sensation of tightening and relaxing muscles around his member.

“Please!” Legs locking around the backs of his thighs, Lahar cried out; her hands fisting in his hair, she leaned up, eyes scrunching.

Any resistance Zevran had crumbled, and he began pumping. Together their voices rose, ringing in his ears. Quickly adjusting his angle, knowing that there was no possible way he could last very long, he pushed one of Lahar's long legs close to her chest, causing a thrashing shriek and bucking hips. She was shaking and flushed, chest heaving, a beautiful wild thing.

A litany of praise fell from his lips, half in Antivan, half in Ferelden. “Apretada, bonita, yes, ah, Maker! Muy apretada preciosa!” He fell forward to rest on his elbows. “This, this is how it should be!”

He seized upon Lahar's mouth, catching each of those delicious sounds she made, and soon he would have to pull free because he was close. She tore her mouth from his, and Zevran's head lolled to the side as she kissed from the side of his jaw down his neck, like she was trying to devour him whole. Unschooled, untutored, it didn't matter – he could only care for the sensation of uninhibited, raw desire that he had stoked into a raging fire in Lahar. Some of it was due to his own personal skill, some to Lahar's own natural instincts, and some from the drugs administered for the Bonding ceremony. What did it matter? This was their first time together, and it would set the tone for the rest of their encounters.

Teeth sunk into his lip, blood filling his mouth; Zevran clamped down on the need to release right now that was screaming from the place they were joined. Lahar had already been worked to near frenzy before, and it was no surprise when she froze, locked in a soundless cry, face twisted in ecstasy. That was all Zevran could handle, and with stuttering thrusts he followed right after, unable to force himself to pull out as he had planned, but only to press farther in, to crush the Warden close as he spilled his seed.

With a deep groan, Zevran heaved himself up so he no longer squashed the Warden. “Mmm.” Carefully sweeping away some of her hair that was plastered to her cheeks, he looked down at her. “And that, my little minx, is what it is supposed to be like.”

Dazed and blinking, her pupils sluggishly dilated and contracted. “I feel so... full... it's... wonderful.” A yawn broke free, and she stretched like a cat. “Oh my. Am I supposed to be so sleepy?”

“Then rest pequeña, it is not abnormal to be tired from such activities.” Cupping a downy soft cheek with calloused palm, thumb tracing a lip that was bruised from ardent kissing, Zevran gave her a tight smile.

Now was the time he generally made himself scarce, leaving behind either a very dead lover, or a very satisfied one. In many cases, both. The body has muscle memory, and after the amount of years spent as an assassin, the urge to finish in ways that were not so... pleasant as this was nigh overwhelming. Especially with the taste of thick, cloying blood on his tongue, the tremors that wracked his muscles only concealed with practice.

“You're bleeding.” Her slim fingertip touched the bottom of his lip; she was unaware of just how dangerous he could be, that his self-control was hanging by such a slim thread. “May I?”

At his nod, a bolt of cold shot through Zevran’s mouth, like a slap back to reality. It did more than mend the tear in flesh, also washing the internal shakes away. Is it possible that you read my expression? He measured the mage's own look, the peculiar undefined weight in frozen blue-gray irises heavy with their own conclusions. Or mayhap you know of the danger you are in pequeña, and accept it as normal?

“Sleep now bonita.” He wrapped an arm around her, drawing Lahar close.

The Warden snuggled down, hands making fists that were tucked under her chin after rolling so that her back was pressed to his side, head pillowed on his bicep. It took only a few moments before her breathing evened into the soft hum of sleep. Gazing down at her, Zevran sighed. She resembled nothing so much as a kitten, worn out from their activities. Disengaging gently, and rising smoothly from the tangled mess that had originally been spread out bedrolls, the Antivan went to the trees. He needed to clean up, relieve himself and find Morrigan.





XXXX

Well everything is in Spanish this time, so no need to say which is which.


bonita - beautiful

Pequeña – little one

preciosa – good looking

princesa - princess

mi cielo - my sky (similar in terms of in English saying to someone ‘my sweet’)

mi diosa - my goddess

Fortuna sonríe – fortune smiles

encatadora - enchanting/enchantress

hermosa pequeña mia – my beautiful little one

Si, mi pequeña, esto es lo que me haces. – yes my little one, this is what you do to me

Mierda - shit

Mío, toda mia – mine, all mine

Como desees – as you wish

Ciertamente - Certainly

Apretada - tight

Muy apretada – very tight