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peopleofthedas2011-08-19 06:11 pm
msbarrows) wrote in peopleofthedas2011-08-19 06:11 pm
Bonds of Brotherhood - Chapter 7
Just a bit of a "time passes..." post.
Title: Bonds of Brotherhood - Chapter 7 (Leashes)
Characters: Zevran/Taliesen
Rating: M (T this chapter)
Word Count: 1,633
Summary: Taliesen musing about his entanglement with Zevran.
Taliesen sat back silently in his favourite chair, watching Zevran pad barefoot in circles around the room. The elf was keeping up his usual nonstop chatter as he went, occasionally reaching out to run his fingertips along a surface, adjust the position of a knick-knack.
The common room had changed considerably in appearance over the year of their association. The elf had a liking for bright colours and patterns, a sensual enjoyment of textures; the dingy old couch that had previously occupied the middle of the room had been replaced by a fine chaise longue of fanciful Orlesian style, upholstered in leather of a rich dark brown, decorated with numerous colourful cushions that Zevran would periodically rearrange into a more pleasing nest around himself, by some process of selection apparent only to himself.
Taliesen had never been sure if he was sorting them by colour, by texture, by comfort, some combination of all three, or some other arcane criteria. Mood, perhaps; one particularly large and soft cushion covered in dark red velvet with a wide goldwork band decorating the front always seemed to crop up when the elf was feeling frustrated by a lack of recent work. He would sit there and stroke the nap of the fabric as if he was petting a cat, running one finger repeatedly along the wire, beads and bullion of the goldwork, tracing the couched forms, a brooding look on his face.
Almost every surface in the room was upholstered, draped, or otherwise covered with a length of fabric that Zevran had liked enough to pick up – sometimes literally, he was a reasonably accomplished thief, after all. Those, like the cushions, suffered frequent re-arrangement, so that the length of soft brightly-coloured wool that was draped over the foot of the chaise one day might be trailing off a side-table a week later, trampled underfoot on the floor the week after that, then scrunched into a ball in one corner, only to be resurrected from the depths and cleaned and placed somewhere that Zevran could stroke its soft surface every time he walked by it.
Only Taliesen's corner remained free of the drift – he'd made it very clear to the elf that this one area was his, and that there was to be no encroachment on it. His chair was still the same comfortable spot it had always been, worn from his use of it, the cushions conforming to his body alone. There was an invisible line on the floor that Zevran was careful never to cross, not even when cleaning.
The difference between the elf when he was on the hunt, and when he wasn't, never failed to both fascinate and irritate Taliesen. When they were moving in on a target, he was the perfect partner – silent, efficient, able to stay perfectly still and absolutely silent in even the most unlikely or uncomfortable of positions for hours if need be. Instantly responsive to any look, touch or spoken order from Taliesen – spoken orders being very rare, as the elf usually needed only the slightest of cues to understand what Taliesen wanted him to do. On the hunt, he was like a perfect weapon, an extension of Taliesen's own will.
If only he could stay like that all the time, Taliesen might almost be able to like him. But no – off the hunt, he seemed unable to stay still or silent. There were times when that was almost enjoyable, having someone else around whose ceaseless motion and inane chatter served to distract Taliesen at least briefly from his own thoughts, but mainly Taliesen tolerated it as he would the foibles of a particularly valuable pet or an indulged child.
The mere thought of that made the constant movement and talk of the elf abruptly change from soothing to annoying, as it so often did. "Shut up and sit down," Taliesen growled.
Zevran obeyed promptly, breaking off in mid-word and slinking to his seat like a whipped puppy, curling up with a cushion in his lap – not the red velvet one, Taliesen noticed, but instead one of blue-green shot silk embroidered in fine silver thread. Taliesen breathed out sharply through his nose, and settled back in his chair even further, watching the elf through hooded eyes.
Zevran stayed very still for a while, then when Taliesen said or did nothing further, slowly relaxed, uncoiling a little. Shifted around, wiggling into a more comfortable position in his nest of cushions. One hand started stroking the cushion, fingers idly tracing the swirling lines of the embroidery. Taliesen bit back a growl of annoyance at that. It was about as still as the elf could stay, short of a mission.
He found himself gazing at the curve of the elf's neck, the fine coppery-brown hair falling over his shoulder, wispy ends stirring as he breathed slowly in and out, back lit by the late afternoon sun spilling through the nearby window. Found himself remembering how it felt to bury his hands in that hair, to invade the elf's mouth, possessing him with lips and tongue... gritted his teeth and moved his eyes elsewhere, all too conscious of the sudden tightness and warmth in his groin.
He would not touch the elf – not casually, anyway. He had made that decision after their second mission, knowing that the dangerous emotions Zevran raised in him were not something he could afford to indulge in. Not and retain control over both the elf and himself, not when they both craved it so much. Instead it remained the thing they never talked about, never referred to, never acknowledged. The need they both had, once Zevran had killed, the dark cruel intense passion that was punishment and reward for them both.
At least since the night with the mage they'd become more... controlled, in their desire. Even when caught up in blind lust following a kill, Zevran retained just enough consciousness and self-control to follow Taliesen away, to somewhere safe, before they indulged in their carnal frenzy. Not like that first mission, where they'd rutted within feet of the still-cooling body of their victim, or the second, where a passing traveller could have stumbled across the scene of murder and debauchery at any moment.
Sourly, Talisen had to admit that, perversity aside, they had made a startling effective team over the past year. Planning had always been the area he was most gifted in; now that he'd had an opportunity to work with a partner who was equally gifted at actually carrying out his plans, he could see how his previous associates – even Marna – had been the weak straw that had failed him again and again. He and Zevran had risen much farther in a single year of effective teamwork then all his efforts of the previous decade had ever gained for him.
He wondered if old Edelbach knew that Zevran and he would fit together so well – his planning ability, the elf's responsiveness and skill... he wouldn't put it past the old bastard, especially when teaming the pair of them gave a substantial boost to someone who was clearly a favourite of Edelbach's, and their joint success added to the Master's own already fearsome reputation as a trainer of young Crows. Though he doubted that even Edelbach guessed at how well they fit together in other ways – if he did, it would imply a thoroughness of knowledge about his apprentices that was almost frightening in scope. No, the old man was canny, and twisty as a corkscrew, but even he couldn't know the kinks of his students' minds that well, surely.
He doubted Master Kerrel had the least suspicion, either, and that was all to the good; Kerrel had been right that Zevran needed a good 'falconer', someone to keep him leashed and only release his jesses for the kill, then call him back to the glove and reward him... but Taliesen knew now that together, he and Zevran were capable of rising high, very high indeed, even beyond the sort of minor mastership Kerrel had dangled like a lure before him. Their fortunes were now very much linked, the falconer as leashed as the falcon by the tie between them. There were worse ways to be leased though, and at least with this partner he might finally have a chance at fulfilling some of his own long-held goals and dreams.
He'd have to walk carefully though; he didn't want some Master, jealous of hard-won prerogatives, deciding to deal with the two of them while they were still only a potential problem. No, best to seem... agreeable, to whatever plans Kerrel might have for the pair of them, to remain subservient in attitude, to lull suspicions any Masters might have that he'd allow ambition to influence him. To try and make the pair of them seem merely competent, not brilliant, as he knew they could be.
Zevran had started picking apart the silver embroidery on the cushion, he noticed, a tangle of glinting threads spilling down the rich fabric. It was quite spoiled now; he wondered if the elf was even aware of what he'd done.
"Zevran."
"Yes?"
"We've had another offer of a job. A good one."
A feral grin lit the elf's face, and he tossed the pillow carelessly aside, sitting up straight and attentive. "I am listening."
Taliesen suppressed an answering grin of his own, in anticipation of their next hunt... and its inevitable aftermath.
Title: Bonds of Brotherhood - Chapter 7 (Leashes)
Characters: Zevran/Taliesen
Rating: M (T this chapter)
Word Count: 1,633
Summary: Taliesen musing about his entanglement with Zevran.
Taliesen sat back silently in his favourite chair, watching Zevran pad barefoot in circles around the room. The elf was keeping up his usual nonstop chatter as he went, occasionally reaching out to run his fingertips along a surface, adjust the position of a knick-knack.
The common room had changed considerably in appearance over the year of their association. The elf had a liking for bright colours and patterns, a sensual enjoyment of textures; the dingy old couch that had previously occupied the middle of the room had been replaced by a fine chaise longue of fanciful Orlesian style, upholstered in leather of a rich dark brown, decorated with numerous colourful cushions that Zevran would periodically rearrange into a more pleasing nest around himself, by some process of selection apparent only to himself.
Taliesen had never been sure if he was sorting them by colour, by texture, by comfort, some combination of all three, or some other arcane criteria. Mood, perhaps; one particularly large and soft cushion covered in dark red velvet with a wide goldwork band decorating the front always seemed to crop up when the elf was feeling frustrated by a lack of recent work. He would sit there and stroke the nap of the fabric as if he was petting a cat, running one finger repeatedly along the wire, beads and bullion of the goldwork, tracing the couched forms, a brooding look on his face.
Almost every surface in the room was upholstered, draped, or otherwise covered with a length of fabric that Zevran had liked enough to pick up – sometimes literally, he was a reasonably accomplished thief, after all. Those, like the cushions, suffered frequent re-arrangement, so that the length of soft brightly-coloured wool that was draped over the foot of the chaise one day might be trailing off a side-table a week later, trampled underfoot on the floor the week after that, then scrunched into a ball in one corner, only to be resurrected from the depths and cleaned and placed somewhere that Zevran could stroke its soft surface every time he walked by it.
Only Taliesen's corner remained free of the drift – he'd made it very clear to the elf that this one area was his, and that there was to be no encroachment on it. His chair was still the same comfortable spot it had always been, worn from his use of it, the cushions conforming to his body alone. There was an invisible line on the floor that Zevran was careful never to cross, not even when cleaning.
The difference between the elf when he was on the hunt, and when he wasn't, never failed to both fascinate and irritate Taliesen. When they were moving in on a target, he was the perfect partner – silent, efficient, able to stay perfectly still and absolutely silent in even the most unlikely or uncomfortable of positions for hours if need be. Instantly responsive to any look, touch or spoken order from Taliesen – spoken orders being very rare, as the elf usually needed only the slightest of cues to understand what Taliesen wanted him to do. On the hunt, he was like a perfect weapon, an extension of Taliesen's own will.
If only he could stay like that all the time, Taliesen might almost be able to like him. But no – off the hunt, he seemed unable to stay still or silent. There were times when that was almost enjoyable, having someone else around whose ceaseless motion and inane chatter served to distract Taliesen at least briefly from his own thoughts, but mainly Taliesen tolerated it as he would the foibles of a particularly valuable pet or an indulged child.
The mere thought of that made the constant movement and talk of the elf abruptly change from soothing to annoying, as it so often did. "Shut up and sit down," Taliesen growled.
Zevran obeyed promptly, breaking off in mid-word and slinking to his seat like a whipped puppy, curling up with a cushion in his lap – not the red velvet one, Taliesen noticed, but instead one of blue-green shot silk embroidered in fine silver thread. Taliesen breathed out sharply through his nose, and settled back in his chair even further, watching the elf through hooded eyes.
Zevran stayed very still for a while, then when Taliesen said or did nothing further, slowly relaxed, uncoiling a little. Shifted around, wiggling into a more comfortable position in his nest of cushions. One hand started stroking the cushion, fingers idly tracing the swirling lines of the embroidery. Taliesen bit back a growl of annoyance at that. It was about as still as the elf could stay, short of a mission.
He found himself gazing at the curve of the elf's neck, the fine coppery-brown hair falling over his shoulder, wispy ends stirring as he breathed slowly in and out, back lit by the late afternoon sun spilling through the nearby window. Found himself remembering how it felt to bury his hands in that hair, to invade the elf's mouth, possessing him with lips and tongue... gritted his teeth and moved his eyes elsewhere, all too conscious of the sudden tightness and warmth in his groin.
He would not touch the elf – not casually, anyway. He had made that decision after their second mission, knowing that the dangerous emotions Zevran raised in him were not something he could afford to indulge in. Not and retain control over both the elf and himself, not when they both craved it so much. Instead it remained the thing they never talked about, never referred to, never acknowledged. The need they both had, once Zevran had killed, the dark cruel intense passion that was punishment and reward for them both.
At least since the night with the mage they'd become more... controlled, in their desire. Even when caught up in blind lust following a kill, Zevran retained just enough consciousness and self-control to follow Taliesen away, to somewhere safe, before they indulged in their carnal frenzy. Not like that first mission, where they'd rutted within feet of the still-cooling body of their victim, or the second, where a passing traveller could have stumbled across the scene of murder and debauchery at any moment.
Sourly, Talisen had to admit that, perversity aside, they had made a startling effective team over the past year. Planning had always been the area he was most gifted in; now that he'd had an opportunity to work with a partner who was equally gifted at actually carrying out his plans, he could see how his previous associates – even Marna – had been the weak straw that had failed him again and again. He and Zevran had risen much farther in a single year of effective teamwork then all his efforts of the previous decade had ever gained for him.
He wondered if old Edelbach knew that Zevran and he would fit together so well – his planning ability, the elf's responsiveness and skill... he wouldn't put it past the old bastard, especially when teaming the pair of them gave a substantial boost to someone who was clearly a favourite of Edelbach's, and their joint success added to the Master's own already fearsome reputation as a trainer of young Crows. Though he doubted that even Edelbach guessed at how well they fit together in other ways – if he did, it would imply a thoroughness of knowledge about his apprentices that was almost frightening in scope. No, the old man was canny, and twisty as a corkscrew, but even he couldn't know the kinks of his students' minds that well, surely.
He doubted Master Kerrel had the least suspicion, either, and that was all to the good; Kerrel had been right that Zevran needed a good 'falconer', someone to keep him leashed and only release his jesses for the kill, then call him back to the glove and reward him... but Taliesen knew now that together, he and Zevran were capable of rising high, very high indeed, even beyond the sort of minor mastership Kerrel had dangled like a lure before him. Their fortunes were now very much linked, the falconer as leashed as the falcon by the tie between them. There were worse ways to be leased though, and at least with this partner he might finally have a chance at fulfilling some of his own long-held goals and dreams.
He'd have to walk carefully though; he didn't want some Master, jealous of hard-won prerogatives, deciding to deal with the two of them while they were still only a potential problem. No, best to seem... agreeable, to whatever plans Kerrel might have for the pair of them, to remain subservient in attitude, to lull suspicions any Masters might have that he'd allow ambition to influence him. To try and make the pair of them seem merely competent, not brilliant, as he knew they could be.
Zevran had started picking apart the silver embroidery on the cushion, he noticed, a tangle of glinting threads spilling down the rich fabric. It was quite spoiled now; he wondered if the elf was even aware of what he'd done.
"Zevran."
"Yes?"
"We've had another offer of a job. A good one."
A feral grin lit the elf's face, and he tossed the pillow carelessly aside, sitting up straight and attentive. "I am listening."
Taliesen suppressed an answering grin of his own, in anticipation of their next hunt... and its inevitable aftermath.