Dragon Age 1. Chapter 1

Zevran would not have recognized the warrior had it not been for two things; his laugh, which hadn't changed in the least, and the single-minded way he was devouring the cheese on the battered tin plate before him.

It was the laugh that first caught his attention; the cheese made him give the man a second longer look and finally recognize him. He was still tall, and broad-shouldered, but beyond that... beyond that, he looked very little like the innocent young warrior that Zevran had known in Ferelden half a dozen years ago. His hair, once kept cropped neatly short, was a shaggy mass, most of it caught back in a rough ponytail, a few lengthy wisps hanging down in front of his ears. His chin was covered in thick scruff, not quite a beard but more than just a single day's growth of stubble. He'd broken his nose at some time, and also collected an impressive array of scars since Zevran had last seen him, including one marring the right side of his face, the assassin saw as the man turned his head to talk to one of his companions. When he turned back, their eyes briefly met, amber-brown and dark honey-gold.

Zevran saw the moment the warrior recognized him, the way he froze for just a fraction of a second, eyes widening slightly. And then he continued his turn, as if nothing at all had happened, turning away to talk to someone else. He was missing a chunk out of the top of his left ear, Zevran saw; by the ragged curve of it, it had been bitten off.

The elf turned away then, and walked over to the bar. It took some time to attract the bartender's attention; he was in more of a hurry to serve the numerous large rough-looking human fighters lined up along the bar than one slender, well-dressed elf. Zevran was trying to find out from the man if the bar had any brandy at all, or even a palatable whiskey, when a large form slid into a small space to his left, scarred hands putting down a battered tin plate and an equally well-used tin mug on the bar. Zevran was annoyed at the way the bartender promptly ignored him to turn to the larger man, but forbore to openly express his displeasure.

"Zevran," Alistair said, smiling toothily down at him, and gave him a short nod of greeting before looking at the bartender. "The special bottle and _two_ glasses," he told the man. The bartender's eyebrows rose, but he turned away and bustled off into a back room without a word.

"Alistair," Zevran acknowledged him then, voice low, before giving him an enquiring look. "Special bottle?"

A grin darted across the warrior's face, making him suddenly look very much like the young man Zevran remembered. "One he keeps on hand just for me. Or so he claims, though I'm sure he sells the occasional drink out of it to those with enough gold to pay for it."

Zevran arched an eyebrow, then smiled as the bartender re-emerged from the back room, carrying two blown glass goblets in one hand, and a squat dusky bottle in the other. "Ahhh... so you drink Antivan brandy now, do you?"

Alistair nodded as he accepted the bottle and glasses from the bartender, uncorking the bottle and pouring them brandy himself. "Sometimes. I remembered you talking about it and decided to give it a try, some years ago. I've since acquired a taste for it. It's something I drink on special occasions," he said, and nudged one of the two glasses towards Zevran.

"And is this a special occasion?" Zevran asked as he lifted his glass, swirled in, contemplated and sniffed the brandy, then took a single small sip, raising his eyebrows in appreciation. Not just any Antivan brandy, but a very fine vintage of such.

"I'd count it such," Alistair said, smiling briefly at Zevran before sipping from his own glass. "It's been, what... six years? Seven?"

"About that, yes," Zevran agreed, thinking back. It seemed both so long ago, and yet such a short time ago, since that last time they'd all been together, in Denerim, at the Landsmeet. He still remembered Alistair's anger, the stubborn set to his jaw and hunch to his shoulders as he'd turned away and stalked out of the chamber, when Aedan had spared Loghain. Walked out, on Aedan and his companions and the fight against the Archdemon and his life in the Grey Wardens. Anora had been all for sending soldiers after him to arrest him; it had been Aedan – and, surprisingly, Loghain – who'd told her no. "So, where did you go, after you left?" Zevran asked.

Alistair grimaced, knocked back the brandy in his glass, and poured himself a second one. "Here and there. Caught the first ship out of Denerim that I could find a spot on. Ended up in Ostwick at first. Drifted around the Free Marches for a while, doing odd jobs when I could get them. Mainly drinking. Drank myself damn near into oblivion," he said, studying his glass, then looked up and grinned at Zevran. "Almost lost my life in Antiva thanks to that – only missed getting a dagger in the ribs because he used a move you'd taught me the counter for, back when. Anyway, I drifted to Kirkwall after that, eventually pulled myself back together and sobered up, came here to Ansburg, joined a mercenary company. Been fighting in odd corners of Thedas ever since." He paused in his litany, took a large sip of his brandy, and looked curiously at Zevran. "You?"

Zevran shrugged, sipped his own drink. "Aedan released me from my vows to him after the Archdemon fell. I remained with him a while longer, but there was little room in his life for me after he wed Anora and became King. So I left. I spent some time moving around, mainly avoiding the Crows, then spent a few years in Antiva chasing them. Now it is _me_ that _they_ avoid," he said smugly, smiling pleasantly at the other man.

Alistair snorted, then smiled. "You haven't changed," he said, running his eyes over Zevran. "Not to look at, anyway."

Zevran shrugged again. "A few more wrinkles, another scar here or there... little matters. You, on the other hand... you appear to have changed much," he said, and ran an approving eye over the tall warrior.

Alistair smiled crookedly. "I'm no longer the innocent pup I was in Ferelden, that's for sure," he said, and knocked back his drink, then refilled it and topped up Zevran's. "I've grown up a lot since then. Learned a few things. Learned a _lot_ of things," he amended, as he put the bottle back down on the bar with a loud thump. Then turned, and looked speculatively at the elf. "Remember how you used to tease me all the time? To make me blush?"

Zevran grinned, widely. "Yes. And stammer. The blush was charming, and the stammering made it particularly amusing."

Alistair snorted, then set his glass down on the bar, and moved closer to Zevran, looking down at the elf. "I don't stammer any more," he said, voice low and almost threatening. "Nor do I blush." He leaned down, slowly, his expression challenging.

Zevran could easily have avoided him, if he so wished, but... he had little interest in doing so. As he'd once told Aedan, he was attracted to dangerous things. And whatever changes Alistair had gone through in the intervening years, he was certainly _dangerous_ now, no longer the soft-hearted and innocent young man he'd once been. So he merely tilted his head back, waiting, watchful, as the taller man bent down toward him.

Lips touched his, warm and dry, and not in the least tentative. He smiled slightly, and tilted his head just slightly to one side, closing his eyes and opening his mouth just a little, inviting entry. The warrior took advantage of it without hesitation. He tasted of brandy and beer and the sharp cheese he'd been eating when Zevran had first seen him, smelled of sweat and armour polish and male musk. Alistair moved a little closer, bringing his body into contact with Zevran's, one wide hand rising to press against the small of the elf's back, pulling him close, his second rising to knot into the long hair at the back of Zevran's head, controlling the kiss

Zevran made an approving sound after a moment, raising one leg to press his thigh against the other man's groin – a well-armoured groin, preventing any real contact, but he knew that Alistair would at least be aware of the contact, the pressure, the implied desire. He let one of his own hands move, reaching up to rest against the stubbled cheek, pressing gently against it before he slid it back to intertwine fingers with long blonde hair, his other hand still holding his glass of brandy safely off to one side.

No, Alistair was certainly no longer the innocent he'd once been, he thought through the haze of rising lust as the man ended the kiss with a gentle bite to Zevran's lower lip, pulling on and worrying it slightly before releasing it, then turned the elf's head to nuzzle at his ear. Zevran shivered as Alistair's teeth closed briefly on his lobe, before the man slowly licked his way along the edge of his ear, from base to tip, once, twice. His own hand had shifted to the back of Alistair's neck now, fingertips pressing against the knobs of bone and the hard lines of muscles coming together there, silently urging him to continue what he had begun.

Lips moved to press a kiss to the soft skin just in front of his ear. "I have a room. Join me?" Alistair asked, voice a low whisper of barely-aspirated sound, a growl, a purr, right in his ear, heard by no one but him.

Zevran shivered again, then nodded, once. "Of course," he said, calmly, belying his racing heartbeat as Alistair eased back again, releasing him. He raised his glass to take another small sip from it, and took a deep breath. He met the warrior's eyes. "Of course," he repeated, and smiled, accepting the invitation there.


	2. Chapter 2

There was more drinking first, and a meal, eaten at a large table with a number of Alistair's fellow mercenaries. They eyed Zevran, but left him alone, not questioning his presence at their captain's side – for such Alistair proved to be, leader of a small band of battle-hardened men. All intelligent men, as well – certainly intelligent enough to recognize another, equally dangerous man when they saw one, regardless of his small size and seeming frailty compared to the bulky human mercenaries occupying most of the crowded bar. Or perhaps merely recognizing that if their captain wished the elf at their table, it would be unwise to question. In either case Zevran had a peaceful meal, sitting at Alistair's elbow and neatly eating a plate of reasonably edible beef stew with dumplings while Alistair had continued drinking – beer again, not brandy – and talked with his men, of the mission they'd just returned from, of rumours of other prospects the men had picked up in local gossip.

Only once Zevran was finished eating did Alistair finally lean back in his chair, stretch, and smile at his men. "I'll be in my room if an emergency comes up," he said, then rose to his feet, fingers lightly brushing Zevran's shoulder as he rose. Zevran, too, rose to his feet, ignoring the knowing looks some of the men were exchanging, and followed the warrior across the room and up three flights of stairs, to a sizable slant-roofed room up in the eaves of the building. Zevran looked around curiously, taking in the armour stands, the weapon rack, the chests and cabinets, rugs piled deep upon the floor of well-worn boards, a practise dummy at the far end of the room, a sizable bed in a windowed dormer to one side. There was a fireplace, flanked by a pair of comfortable chairs, a small table beside the most well-worn on them bearing all the items needed to do regular maintenance on blades and armour. There was a door in the wall opposite the bed; leading to another dormer, Zevran thought, and assumed there must be a bathing chamber there.

Judging by its look, this was no temporary quarter, taken for a night or a week or a month, but some place that had been occupied for a lengthy period of time; Alistair's home, as much as any mercenary might be said to have a home. Which fit in with the bartender keeping a 'special bottle' of brandy just for the warrior's enjoyment. Though he did wonder why Alistair didn't simply keep it in his own room. Perhaps related to what he'd said earlier about drinking himself nearly to oblivion.

He turned and looked at the warrior. Alistair was watching him, standing very still, head tilted just slightly to one side and a watchful look on his face. Zevran smiled at him. "A charming residence. How long have you lived here?"

Alistair shrugged, then turned away, walking over to one of the armour stands, his hands already reaching to unfasten the buckles holding his armour on. "A few years. Since my second year here; before I became captain."

Zevran lifted an eyebrow as he walked over and began helping Alistair to remove his armour, reaching for the buckles that were difficult for a man alone to undo. "A large room for anyone below the rank of captain to afford," he observed.

Alistair darted a look over his shoulder at the elf. "I didn't live here alone at first. Nor was it my room, at the time," he said, voice flattening, and looked away to hang his vambrace on the stand. "The captain prior to me had this room. I shared it with him, for a couple of years. Until he was killed, when we were involved in a minor border war out west, between Nevarra and Orlais."

The way he said _shared_ made it clear that more than just the room had been shared. Zevran nodded, fractionally, and continued working on undoing buckles. "So you inherited the rooms from him, then, more-or-less."

"Yes. More-or-less. The rooms, the company, his belongings. And some tastes I'd never acquired back in Ferelden, nor likely would have if I'd stayed," he said, softly, then glanced at Zevran again and smiled slightly. "Not that I hadn't been tempted, once or twice."

"Ah," Zevran said, and nodded, as he undid the buckles holding on Alistair's breastplate and backplate. "I thought you were, a time or two, but I was never entirely certain."

Alistair snorted, but didn't look back, busy with buckles and straps as he was. "Oh yes. You and Aedan kept me awake more than once, with all the, ah... interesting noises coming from your tent. I wasn't a _total_ innocent, you know – not after growing up in the stables and in dormitories and barracks for most of my life," he said dryly. "I just... hadn't done any of that. Myself. Yet."

Zevran nodded, and moved around to the side, dropping to one knee to reach under the tassets and undo one of the straps holding on Alistair's leg armour. He glanced up at the warrior, intercepting a heated look before Alistair turned away, hanging up another piece of armour. They continued in silence until Alistair was down to the padded linen gambeson and leather leggings he wore under his armour.

Alistair hesitated then, the first sign of uncertainty the assassin had seen in him since he'd joined Zevran at the bar. Zevran smiled, and reached up to touch his hand to the other man's cheek. "What do you want, Alistair?" he asked, simply, uninflected, neither encouraging nor discouraging, and waited for an answer.

Alistair met his eyes, and smiled, just slightly. His own hand rose to cup over Zevran's, and he turned his head to press a kiss to Zevran's palm, before pulling it away. He looked down at Zevran's hand in his for a moment, closing both hands around it, his broad thumb rubbing back and forth across the back of it, then raised his eyes back to Zevran's face. "You," he said, voice low and hoarse. "I want to fulfil every fantasy I've ever had about you in my bed, willing and compliant. I want to take you over and over again, take my pleasure of you in every possible way I can, until I'm the only thing you can think of. Until you're too tired and overcome with pleasure to do anything but lie there and let me do _whatever_ I want to you."

His hands tightened on Zevran's as he spoke. His words, the _intensity_ of them, of the way he was looking at Zevran, sent a shiver down the assassin's spine and started a pleasant tightness in his groin. He nodded, smiled mischievously at the other man. "It certainly sounds like an intriguing goal," he observed. "You are certainly welcome to try."

Alistair laughed then, a low chuckle. "You're forgetting, Zevran," he said, and tugged on Zevran's hand, drawing him closer. "I'm a Grey Warden, remember," he pointed out, wrapping his arms around the elf, then lowering his head. He paused, smiled. "I have stamina and to spare," he whispered, then kissed Zevran again.

Zevran actually had forgotten that, as many years as it had been. Consciously, anyway. His own arms rose and tightened around the warrior's waist, remembering a special night or two with Aedan, when he'd learned just how far Grey Warden stamina could last, for a determined man. The tightness in his groin increased, in pleasurable anticipation of what was likely to be a truly memorable night, helped along by the very thorough way he was being kissed by the warrior.


	3. Chapter 3

Alistair had certainly learned a lot about kissing in the intervening years, Zevran found himself thinking, as he pressed himself tightly against the warrior – a much more enjoyable experience now that the man was out of his armour. Alistair's hands were rubbing up and down his back, fingers massaging at his flesh in a very pleasant way. This time, when he pressed his thigh to the warrior, he knew that Alistair felt it, and could feel the response of the warrior's flesh through their multiple layers of clothing. And felt himself responding to an answering pressure from Alistair, as well as the kiss and the caressing hands.

He was feeling short of breath by the time Alistair ended the kiss. Alistair smiled at him – more of a knowing smirk than anything else – and reached up with one hand, cupping it against the side of Zevran's head, his thumb caressing lightly against Zevran's lips while his fingers overlay and gently rubbed at his ear. Zevran made an approving sound, then opened his mouth enough to close his teeth around the thumb, tongue flicking suggestively against the pad of it. Alistair gave a low laugh, then suddenly moved, spinning Zevran around and pushing him toward the nearby wall.

The assassin had to suppress his reactions to the abrupt man-handling, adrenaline surging and every muscle tightening in reaction to the sudden move. But he _trusted_ Alistair, even after all these years, to not actually be trying to harm him. They had been friends, of a sort, before Alistair had departed, and he was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt now. Still, he remained tense as the warrior pressed up against him.

A bark of laughter from behind him. "Sorry," Alistair said, his arms closing tightly around Zevran's waist, head dipping down to press into the join of shoulder and neck. He drew in a deep breath, mainly through his nose, inhaling Zevran's scent, then spoke again. "That was stupid. And I should know better."

Zevran gave a short, soft laugh. "You are lucky I trust you," he said, trying to turn his head to look at Alistair, but stopping when the man began nuzzling intriguingly at his ear.

"Do you?" Alistair asked softly, sounding interested. "Do you really?"

"Enough to wait and see rather than killing you out of hand, yes," Zevran answered. "Enough to be up here with you, alone, in a place you know well and I know not at all, even though we knew each other only briefly, and that many years ago. You have changed since then, I have too for that matter, but... I do not believe you have changed so far that I should _distrust_ you. Do you?"

Alistair was silent for a moment, nibbling his way up the edge of Zevran's ear and sucking lightly on the tip for a moment before he finally answered. "No. I haven't changed enough to betray or harm a friend. Even if..." he broke off, arms tightening around Zevran, and leaned his forehead against Zevran's shoulder for a long moment.

Zevran wished, then, that he could see the other man's face, as he made a guess as to what that sudden silence and stillness represented, what words had not been said. Even if his friends had betrayed him? Aedan certainly had, or at least so Alistair had believed at the time. Or perhaps the warrior would have ended it some other way. Even if he didn't always trust himself. Even if he'd betrayed them. Even if...

Zevran lost his train of thought as the warrior finally moved again, raising his head from where it rested, hands slipping downwards. One dropped down to cup over the elf's erection, the other lifted the hem of Zevran's shirt and then slid up his front underneath it, calloused fingertips finding and toying with a nipple. Zevran sucked in a hissing breath, as Alistair's hand momentarily flattened against his chest, both hands pulling him snugly back against the muscular form at his back, the warrior's own erection pressing warm and firm against his buttocks. Zevran leaned his head back against Alistair's shoulder, turning his head enough to press a kiss to Alistair's throat. He felt the man's adam's apple bob as he swallowed, once, then scruff rasped against his skin as Alistair curled his own head far enough around to kiss Zevran again. His hand pressed and rubbed at Zevran's erection, drawing an appreciative moan from the elf.

"Like that, do you?" Alistair said softly, after ending the kiss, his hand still fondling Zevran through his clothes.

Zevran nodded. "Yes," he said, voice more than a little hoarse, and licked his lips. "I should warn you, it has been some time since I last... _ahhh!_"

A low chuckle in his ear, as Alistair nuzzled into his hair. "Since you last what, Zevran?"

"Since I last enjoyed someone's company. If you keep that up..." he stopped, moaning again as Alistair's hand rubbed him in just the right way, causing his hips to jerk forward against Alistair's hand.

Another chuckle. "But I _want_ you to lose control, just like this," Alistair said, voice low and intense. He lipped at Zevran's ear again, hand still working at him, his arm around Zevran's chest preventing the elf from pulling away as he gave a slow roll of his own hips, rubbing himself against the elf's backside. He licked at Zevran's ear, then spoke again. "Enjoy this one... it's going to be a while before I let you have a second one," he whispered, then closed his teeth around the tip of Zevran's ear and worried gently at it, continuing the slow rolling of his hips, the massaging with his hand.

Zevran moaned again, the sounds deepening as Alistair's hard palm brushed over his nipple. He gave himself up to the sensations, as his only other choice would have been to fight free of the warrior's hold, and truthfully he was enjoying himself far too much at the moment to be overly concerned about the mess this was going to make of his clothes. He lifted his arm, sliding his hand up Alistair's arm within his shirt until it overlay it, cupping his own hand over Alistair's, their fingers partially interlaced. He started to reach back with his other hand, wanting to touch more of the other man, but Alistair made a warning-off sound, so instead he moved it to brace against the wall, giving himself a little more stability as Alistair rubbed insistently at him, fore and aft.

They were both silent for a couple of minutes, apart from moans and gasps, and occasional amused sounds from Alistair whenever Zevran reacted particularly noticeably to his touch. And he knew all the best places to touch, unerringly finding them even through layers of clothing. Zevran eventually found himself unashamedly rutting against the hand cupped over his groin, his head arched backwards against Alistair's shoulder as the warrior continued to fondle and stroke him. He was close, so close, but the contact had become tortuously teasing, firm one moment and then too light again, holding him just shy of orgasm...

He finally snatched his hand away from the wall, reaching backwards over his shoulder to knot his hand into the collar of Alistair's gambeson, yanking on it to lever himself up, feet scrabbling against the floor and wall for extra purchase, pushing himself as hard as he could into Alistair's hand. He cried out as he finally came, hearing Alistair's harsh, excited breathing in his ear as the man bent backwards, supporting most of Zevran's weight as the elf shuddered convulsively and then went limp. Not, he found himself thinking dazedly, a particularly elegant way in which to be brought off, and yet it had felt undeniably _good_.

Alistair carefully turned him around, keeping him supported as his shaky legs proved momentarily unable to support him. He held Zevran up with one arm around his shoulders while he pushed the elf's tousled hair gently back from his face. The smile he gave him then was warm and happy, full of approval. "Just like that. That was beautiful. Just what I wanted," he said, and kissed the elf warmly.

Zevran laughed softly, hooking one arm around the larger man's neck to steady himself. "A good start to the evening," he said agreeably. "What do you have planned for next?"

"A bath, I think," Alistair said, wrinkling his nose slightly. "I stink from a day of travel in full armour, and you could probably use a bath too after that. And then bed, and a whole lot of other things. Possibly not all of them actually in bed," he added, smiling again, deeply enough for crow's feet to form at the outer corners of his eyes.

Zevran laughed again. "I agree with this plan," he said. "Especially the need for a bath first."

Alistair nodded, and released Zevran, now that the elf had recovered enough to support himself again. He reached out to touch his fingers lightly to Zevran's cheek, tracing down the curving lines of the tattoo there. "I'm still amazed that you're actually here," he said suddenly. "I couldn't believe it when I spotted you downstairs. I was sure I was seeing things – mistaking some other elf for you, or having an hallucination again," he said, then abruptly turned, moving a few steps away as he reached for the laces at the neck of his gambeson. "I'm glad you're here," he finished quietly, sounding uncertain again.

Zevran smiled as he reached for the fastenings of his own clothes. "I am glad to be here," he replied. "Very glad."

Alistair darted a look his way, as if to make sure he wasn't joking, then turned away again, face disappearing as he tugged off his gambeson over his head. But not before Zevran had noticed a pleased smile, and a heightened colour to his cheeks that was likely just a flush from his arousal, but also might just possibly have been a blush.


	4. Chapter 4

There was indeed a bathing chamber, a rather nicely appointed one, dominated by a large copper tub that, along with a boiler for heating water, occupied most of the small room. There was even a closeted garderobe in one corner, eliminating the need for keeping a chamberpot handy, or having to leave the apartment to find a shared convenience elsewhere in the building or, worse, out back of it.

"Very nice," he said approvingly as Alistair started the bath filling. "Surprisingly nice, in fact."

Alistair grinned. "Captain Ethan did like his comforts," he said, then his expression sobered. "He paid for the installation of this tub and boiler out of his own pocket; said he didn't see any point on saving the money for his old age since he didn't think it all that likely he'd actually have one, and he'd rather enjoy his ill-gotten gains now."

Zevran nodded. "I know many who think that way. Myself included; I do put a little aside, but more for emergencies than for my old age. I, too, rather doubt I will have one. It is not a safe life I lead; nor you, either."

"No, it's not," Alistair agreed. He picked up a couple of washcloths off a nearby shelf, and dropped them into the tub, added some oil that promptly filled the room with a pleasantly spicy odour, then turned off the water and stepped in, sitting down at one end of it with his legs spread, and gestured invitingly at the space in front of him. "Join me?"

Zevran nodded, and stepped into the tub as well, sitting down with his back to the warrior. Alistair fished the washcloths out of the water, handed one to Zevran and kept the other for himself, then picked up a cake of light brown soap from a holder on the side of the tub and lathered up his cloth before handing the soap to Zevran. Zevran sniffed it, and nodded approvingly; pretty much the same spicy odour as the oil. "An improvement over the soap you used to use," he said, as he began lathering up his own cloth.

Alistair laughed. "I told you I'd picked up some different tastes since Ferelden. Enjoying soap that removes the dirt without removing my skin along with it is one of them. And smelling good, when I'm not out in the field somewhere miles from the nearest chance at a half-decent bath. Far better than smelling of old sweat or armour polish. Or a brewery. Or being like Oghren and smelling like all of them at once."

That drew a brief laugh from Zevran. "Speaking of the dwarf, he is actually one of your compatriots now – he joined the Grey Wardens, about half a year after the Archdemon was killed. To escape a nagging wife, of all things – he remarried. You'd think after how his first marriage turned out he wouldn't have been willing to do so a second time."

"Oghren? A Grey Warden?" Alistair said, clearly surprised. "That's pretty hard to imagine. Still, I suppose if Aedan was willing to make Loghain a Grey Warden, and give him the honour of the killing the arch..."

Zevran turned and gave the warrior an annoyed look, and cut him off. "It was no _honour_ to kill the archdemon," he snapped out. "It was a death sentence."

Alistair stared at him, then frowned. "What?"

"That Grey Warden we rescued at Howe's estate – Rohan? Rodan... Riordan, that was it. He told Aedan, after you had left, that only Grey Wardens can kill an Archdemon, but that doing so invariably kills the Grey Warden as well. Aedan didn't tell me the details as to why – but that is why Riordan urged him to spare Loghain; so there would be another choice as to whom to sacrifice in order to kill it. Riordan tried to finish it himself and failed, though at least he injured it badly enough to force it down to where we were able to fight it. We managed to disable and cripple it, and then Aedan ordered Loghain to make the final blow. It killed him"

"Oh," Alistair said, quietly. He sat there for a long moment, washcloth forgotten in one hand, just staring off into space, then finally shook his head and smiled humourlessly. "I was such an ass back then. Thought I knew everything about the world, and how it worked, or at least how it _should_ work."

Zevran grinned, and turned away again, setting to scrubbing himself down. "It is a common failing of the young. Thankfully most of us manage to outlive it. My training master used to tell me that the older he got, the more he didn't know. I originally thought he was referring to the forgetfulness of the elderly; it was some years afterwards before I finally came to understand what he'd truly meant – I was rather young then too."

Alistair snorted. "I damn near didn't outlive it. If it hadn't been for Ethan..." He trailed off, fell silent again.

Zevran decided not to enquire; if Alistair wished to say more about this Captain Ethan, undoubtedly he would, in time. Instead he stayed quiet, and continued washing himself, while thinking of their time together back in Ferelden, and how much had changed in the years since. After a few minutes Alistair dropped his facecloth, and began picking out Zevran's braids. Zevran made no protest; he rather liked having someone do little personal tasks like that for him. He merely finished bathing, and then sat quietly while the other man washed his hair, enjoying the feeling of Alistair's fingers rubbing his scalp.

"Ethan used to do this for me," Alistair said after a while. "At first because I was too much of a mess still to look after myself properly. And later just because he liked doing it. He'd wash my hair, comb it, braid it... he liked playing with it."

"He's why you have long hair now."

"Yes. Oh, it was already grown out a fair bit when I met him, but that was just from me not having bothered to cut it since shortly after leaving Ferelden. When I did straighten up enough to think about cutting it short again, he told me to keep it long," he said, an edge of humour in his voice. "So I did. Unfortunately I never did learn how to braid it properly myself. So now I just keep it in a ponytail."

He finished washing it, then Zevran ducked under and rinsed it, after which he turned over to kneel facing Alistair, and helped the other man to wash his hair. It was lengthy, reaching down past his shoulders in back, and was tangled and in need of a trim. It took the two of them some time to get it clean, after which Alistair declared he wanted to soak a while longer before they got out. The water was still pleasantly warm and reasonably clean, so Zevran had no objections. He turned back over, and settled comfortably back against Alistair's chest.

Alistair made a pleased sound, and wrapped his arms around Zevran, pulling him closer, up into his lap this time instead of down between his legs, arranging them with Alistair's legs outstretched before them and Zevran's slightly spread, so that his feet were hanging down to either side of the warrior's shins. "This is nice," Alistair said quietly, then let one arm drop down, his hand coming to rest on Zevran's leg, just above the knee. He rubbed his hand back and forth a few times, fingers tightening and loosening as he did, then shifted it higher up, to the inside of Zevran's thigh, caressing at the elf's skin.

"You know how to delay your orgasms," Alistair said quietly, more a statement than a question. "To hold them until you're allowed to release them."

"Yes. As long as my partner co-operates and doesn't stimulate me more than I can bear, of course."

He could feel it when Alistair nodded his head. "Good. I want you to do that. I want to tease you for a while, keep you excited for as long as possible before finally letting you come again. I'm sure you know how _good_ that will feel."

Zevran nodded. "Oh yes. It is a kind of play I have done before, and that I usually quite enjoy."

"Good," Alistair said again, his hand drifting higher yet. "Let's start now. Let me know when you're getting too close."

Zevran nodded again, and relaxed back against Alistair, closing his eyes as the man's hand brushed over his balls, then along his shaft, fingers lightly toying with it. Alistair didn't do anything else, just gently handled him, both of them silent and still apart from that one hand. Zevran lay quietly, feeling himself slowly hardening under the light, teasing touch. He could feel Alistair growing excited again as well, his cock rising slowly up, coming to rest between Zevran's legs, his erection rubbing against Zevran's balls any time either of them shifted weight. Too, he could feel each breath Alistair took, hear the increasingly ragged edge to his breathing; knew his own was no steadier. He arched his head back after a while, feet bracing against the sides of the tub as he pushed himself into Alistair's hand, seeking a firmer touch, wanting _more_ than just this gentle teasing. Alistair obliged, closing his hand firmly around Zevran's erection, broad thumb stroking across the rounded tip. It drew a gasp from Zevran, answered by a low chuckle from Alistair, the sounds bouncing off the hard tub and the tiled walls of the room.

It felt wonderful, the relaxing warmth of the bath, the spicy-scented humid air, the feel of strong arms around him and a muscular body under him, the almost-floating buoyant feeling of it all, the touches, now firm, now teasingly light again. And especially that it was with someone he trusted enough to _let go_ with, to let down his guard, to not be constantly watching for betrayal, because this was _Alistair_, and no matter how rocky their friendship back in Ferelden had started off, or how abruptly it had ended, they had saved each other's lives enough times in that year, gone through enough together for him to _trust_ this man, even now, even years later, even as changed as he was. As they both were.

He cried out, his hand grabbing and closing tight around Alistair's wrist. The warrior _stopped_, fingers loosening their grip instantly, waiting while Zevran shuddered, muscles gone taut with the effort of holding back, knees lifted and toes curled tightly as he rode it out. Finally he took a deep shuddering breath, and relaxed again. "Sorry. That came on... more suddenly than I would have expected. I am out of practise, I fear."

Alistair laughed, softly, and hugged him. "That was fine. You held it off. All right, enough of that for now – let's get out and get dried off," he said.

Zevran nodded. He had to sit and rest a half-minute before he was able, with Alistair's help, to rise to his feet and step out of the tub. Alistair handed him a towel, then picked up one himself and began drying off. Zevran looked at the warrior's own very erect cock, and smiled. "I hope we're going to do something about that soon," he said.

Alistair grinned. "Dry off first. I don't want either of us getting chilled while we're busy with other things."

Zevran snorted, but continued wiping himself down, carefully avoiding his own aching erection. So far he was quite pleased with their progress, and looking forward to seeing what Alistair wanted to do next.


	5. Chapter 5

Zevran studied Alistair as the two of them dried off, taking in some of the other changes to the man. Scars, for one thing – a lot more of them than he'd had back in Ferelden, including one high up on the outside of his left thigh that was recent enough to still be scabbed in spots and reddened where it was healed. He found himself studying the warrior's face, taking note of how very different the scarred cheek and broken nose made him look, even more so than the shaggy mane of hair did.

Eventually Alistair looked up, and caught him staring. A wry smile twisted his lips. He dropped his towel to the floor, and walked over. It took Zevran's breath away for a moment, that walk – so confident, so self-assured, so everything that Alistair _hadn't_ been, back in Ferelden. Alistair reached out, gripped Zevran's chin, tilted his head back just enough to make kissing him comfortable. Another way in which the man had changed – how easily he touched, how warmly he kissed, without any fear or hesitancy. Just as if it was the most natural thing to do, to reach out to another. To share intimacy with a friend.

He could feel Alistair's erection brushing against his own, its warm moist tip rubbing against his stomach. He let one hand drop down to caress it, feeling the velvety softness of Alistair's foreskin, the heat and hardness within it. He reached up and set his other hand on Alistair's shoulder, thumb and fingers caressing the skin there, moist from the water still dripping off the warrior's still-damp hair. Alistair made a pleased sound, a soft moan into Zevran's mouth, allowing the elf entrance to his own. When, a short while later, Zevran pulled gently on one hip while pressing on his shoulder, Alistair obeyed the unspoken prompt without resistance, just easily and naturally turned, pliant to Zevran's will, putting his back to the wall. Zevran ended the kiss, looked him in the eyes. Alistair looked back, calmly. Waiting.

"I want to jerk you off," Zevran said, pressing himself enough against Alistair to trap their erections between the two of them.

Alistair smiled. "Then do it." Just a little breathless, his pulse beating strongly beneath Zevran's hand where it rested on the join of shoulder to neck, a flush of colour in his cheeks. Accepting, not resisting, even though it had been he calling the shots until now.

Zevran smiled, and slid his hand to the back of Alistair's head, twining his fingers into long wet hair and drawing him down for another kiss. His other hand pressed and pulled gently on Alistair's thighs, guiding him into the stance Zevran wanted him in; shoulders and upper back pressed against the wall, legs spread a little and feet braced against the floor well out from the wall, lowering him just far enough down it to put the taller man at a height where Zevran could comfortably handle him, easily kiss him, their heads now on a level. He arranged his own erection out of the way, down between Alistair's legs, and curled his hand around the other man's cock, stroking it gently at first, then more firmly, as he resumed the kiss.

His other hand was free to roam, and he let it do so, exploring the texture of Alistair's stubbled cheek, toying with his ear – not quite as sensitive as elf ears, but still a pleasant place to be fondled – then let his hand caress down the corded throat, across the broad planes of Alistair's chest, seeking out and toying with his nipple. A much more sensitive spot; that drew a gasp from the man. And a second gasp, when he rubbed his thumb over the tip of Alistair's cock, then in a circle, spreading out the beads of slick moisture oozing from the slit in the end.

He let the kiss end, dropping his mouth to Alistair's neck, using lips and tongue and teeth on it, little nibbling bites, not hard enough to hurt but enough to be felt, enough to imply what _could_ be done, were they so inclined. His hand found and teased Alistair's other nipple, went back and forth between the two for a while, sometimes caressing, sometimes tweaking with his fingertips. All the while his other hand stroked and rubbed at Alistair's cock, urging the other man into movement. The sensation of Alistair's muscles clenching and loosening as he began to thrust into Zevran's hand was wonderful, Alistair's inner thighs and ass rubbing against the hard curve of Zevran's own erection as the warrior moved.

He abandoned Alistair's nipples, using both hands on him now, one hand wrapped around the base of his shaft, the other loosely cupped around and over the end of it. Each time Alistair thrust forward into his hands he tightened them momentarily, drawing little gasping cries of pleasure from the warrior. He bit down on Alistair's shoulder as he concentrated on controlling his own excitement. Hard this time; hard enough to likely leave a bruise. Alistair cried out, then – in pain and in pleasure, his hips thrusting hard into Zevran's hands as he came, milky white seed spurting out of him to spatter across both their bellies, hips thrusting a last few times before he stilled, save for his panting breaths, and his arms rising from where they'd been braced against the wall to wrap around Zevran and pull him into a hug.

Alistair kissed Zevran's neck, and bit once, gently, at his left collarbone. "Thank you," he husked out between panting breaths, and tightened his grip a moment, an almost uncomfortably hard hug. "Thank you," he said again, as he released Zevran, and smiled warmly at him.

Zevran laughed, softly. "I think that it is I that should be thanking you," he said, grinning widely. "So far this is proving to be a very pleasantly entertaining night."

Alistair laughed as well, and pushed him gently away, before straightening up to walk back over to the tub. He fished out the washcloths they'd used earlier, wiped himself clean, tand handed the remaining cloth to Zevran so that he, too, could clean himself off. "Let's take this to the bed now," Alistair suggested.

"Mmm. One request, first, if you don't mind."

"What's that?"

"Shave first. The stubble is rather endearing but with some of the things I suspect we will be getting up to, I think it might prove rather irritating to sensitive areas."

That drew a laugh from Alistair; a loud laugh, and a crooked grin. "All right," he agreed. "Shave first, then bed."

Zevran nodded, and made himself comfortable on the edge of the tub, watching interestedly as Alistair got out soap and oil, a strop and a razor, and set to work to scrape his chin and cheeks smooth.


	6. Chapter 6

"Smooth enough?" Alistair asked, feeling his chin and arching an eyebrow in amused enquiry at Zevran.

"I don't know. Let me test," Zevran said, hopping to his feet and walking the few steps back to Alistair's side. He reached up, stroking his fingers against Alistair's cheek, then smiled and cupped his hand around the back of the warrior's neck, pulling him down close enough that he could nuzzle against his cheek, dropping a few kisses along the line of his jaw. "Yes, very nice," he said agreeably when he was done, and licked his lips.

Alistair grinned, and kissed him back, just once, on the end of the nose. "Good. Bed?"

Zevran nodded, and the two returned to the main room, Alistair leading the way. He stopped by the bed, and turned to look at Zevran, his right hand rising up to touch the elf's still-damp hair, then he wound some of it around his hand and tugged lightly, drawing the elf closer to him. Zevran looked up at him, waiting curiously to see what the warrior would do now.

Alistair reached out with his other hand, setting it down on Zevran's chest, resting over the curling line of intertwined tattoos that coiled around the elf's body. The fingertip of his index finger lightly traced the edges of one motif, then he slid his hand slowly along the line of tattoos, down and around Zevran's side, following the line of tattoos as they wrapped around just above Zevran's right hip. Alistair's hand dropped down to cup his buttocks, urging the elf a little closer, before he brought it back around to the front and reached down to fondle Zevran's cock.

Zevran's erection had pretty much faded away while Alistair had been shaving, but it returned quickly at Alistair's touch. He closed his eyes, turning his head a little – as much as it could turn, with Alistair's hand still wrapped in his hair – and nuzzled against Alistair's hand, then opened his mouth slightly to suck on the heel of Alistair's thumb. Alistair drew a deep breath, then relaxed his hand, hooking his thumb into Zevran's mouth. Zevran opened his eyes and gazed steadily at Alistair as he sucked firmly on it, his tongue swirling suggestively around the ball and thumbnail.

Alistair shuddered, just slightly. He moved slowly to the side and backwards, Zevran obediently following him, stopping only when he felt the bed behind him. He released Zevran's erection and hair, slipped his thumb free of the elf's mouth, and set his hands on the elf's shoulders instead, then pressed down. As the elf sank gracefully to one knee, Alistair sat down on the edge of the bed, his legs spreading wide. Zevran glanced down; the warrior was already half-erect. He shifted his weight, folding his other knee under him, before looking expectantly up at Alistair.

"Use your mouth on me, Zevran," Alistair said, voice low and intense.

Zevran nodded, and bent down, letting his hands come to rest on Alistair's thighs – both to support himself, and to have some control over the warrior's movements. He stopped with his mouth just barely not-touching Alistair's tip, then slowly stretched out his tongue and licked it in a circle, around the edge of Alistair's glans. Alistair hissed, his cock stiffening further, and his hands jerked slightly, before he moved them from where they had still been resting on Zevran's shoulders, up to the sides of the elf's head, his thumbs overlying Zevran's ears and caressing against them.

Zevran licked delicately at him for a little while, little light touches to the glans, further circling licks around its edge, then tongued at the slit of the meatus and at the sensitive area just underneath it, drawing a low moan from the larger man. Alistair's hands tightened slightly around Zevran's head, his thumbs stroking repeatedly along the edges of the elf's pointed ears. Only once Alistair was fully erect did Zevran dip his head further, closing his mouth around the tip. He sucked on it lightly, drawing a low moan from Alistair, before slowly letting his head drop further yet, taking more in, his tongue flexing against the underside. He withdrew, keeping just the very end in his mouth, then dipped again, this time taking in as much of Alistair's erection as he easily could, until it met the back of his throat.

He stilled for a moment, taking a couple of deep breaths through his nose, letting himself get used to the wide stretch of his mouth that taking in so much of Alistair had required. Once he was ready again, he withdrew just slightly, then closed his eyes and dipped his head, swallowing _just so_ as he did so, taking Alistair in deep. The warrior cried out, hands tightening spasmodically on Zevran's head as his cock slid into the elf's throat. Zevran swallowed again, drawing an appreciative moan from Alistair, before slowly drawing back his head. Once he could, he took another breath, then dipped his head again, swallowing Alistair down a second time. Alistair's hips jerked slightly, another cry escaping his lips. Zevran set up a slow rhythm, taking the warrior deep, holding him there and swallowing at intervals to make his throat muscles clench and loosen around Alistair's cock, before withdrawing enough to breathe before swallowing him down again. Alistair's hips were rolling just slightly whenever he took him in deep, just the faintest tightening and relaxation of muscles, as the warrior forced himself to stay still.

"_Maker_, Zevran, that feels... that feels..." Alistair gasped out. He slid one of his hands down and under to cup lightly against the front of Zevran's throat, from the chin down, so he could feel the muscles shifting there as the elf moved and swallowed. His other hand was making little exploratory touches to Zevran's face and head, caressing his cheek, smearing a thread of moisture that was drooling out of one corner of the elf's mouth, smoothing his hair back from his face with little shaky movements.

Zevran hummed in acknowledgement, opening his eyes again to peer up at the warrior. Alistair groaned loudly as he swallowed again, the warrior's head falling back, mouth opening as he panted for breath. Zevran lowered his eyes, studying Alistair's taut stomach for a moment, watching the way the muscles clenched and slackened as the warrior gasped for breath, studying the scars that marred his flesh, the scattering of moles just above the cut line of his left hip. He slid his hand higher on the warrior's thigh, wanting to reach out and touch them, then changed his mind, and dropped it down between Alistair's legs instead, reaching to grasp and gently fondle the warrior's sack instead, massaging it with his fingertips.

Alistair cried out hoarsely at the added sensation. He slipped his hand back out from underneath Zevran's throat, and used both hands to repeatedly smooth back the elf's hair from his face. Zevran made a pleased humming sound, enjoying having his hair petted that way. He closed his eyes again as he drew back, took a couple of deep breaths through his nose, then lowered his had as far as it could go, nose touching the fine curls around the base of Alistair's cock. The warrior moaned, then gasped as Zevran swallowed, and swallowed again, pressing up with his tongue repeatedly and just lightly champing his jaw at the same time. He held the position as long as he could, until he was light-headed with lack of air, before he withdrew slowly, sucking hard once he was able to. Alistair gave a sharp, sobbing cry, curling forward with his hands holding tightly to Zevran's head, as he came into the elf' mouth, hips jerking in little almost-thrusts as he orgasmed.

He collapsed backwards when the spasming ended, sprawled out limp on the bed, legs still dangling over the edge, his chest heaving as he struggled to catch his breath. Zevran rose shakily to his own feet, rubbing the back of his hand against his chin to clean it where a trickle of saliva and seed had escaped his mouth. He moved forward, onto the bed beside Alistair. The warrior reached out, pulling him down so that his head was pillowed on Alistair's shoulder, Alistair's arm around his shoulders.

Alistair ran his other hand in a caressing motion down Zevran's side, then rested it on his hip, fingers and thumb clenching warm and firm against his skin. "That was perfect," Alistair said, voice a low rumble. He shifted his weight, rolling a little towards Zevran, and let his hand slide down between the elf's legs, fingers cupping around the elf's near-hairless sack, thumb caressing his still-erect cock. "I haven't forgotten about this. Your turn soon," he growled, then nuzzled into Zevran's hair.

Zevran smiled, and tilted his hips, just enough to press himself more firmly into the warrior's hand. "What are you thinking of doing?"

Alistair pulled back his head, and smiled warmly down at the elf. "Some more teasing first, I think," he said, curling his fingers in a caressing gesture around Zevran's balls, then loosened them and slid his hand higher to curl around and grasp the elf's shaft, tugging rhythmically on it.

Zevran hissed, eyes closing and head tilting back. "That... sounds acceptable," he managed to gasp out.

Alistair laughed, and released him, then rolled back over onto his back. "_After_ I catch my own breath," he said dryly. "Even a Grey Warden needs some recovery time."

Zevran chuckled, and rolled over to press himself against the warrior's side, letting his arm drape over Alistair's broad chest. "I have no objections to a short break," he said agreeably.

Alistair didn't answer, just tightened his arm around Zevran's shoulders in a brief hug.


	7. Chapter 7

Alistair's breathing had evened out to the point that Zevran had begun to wonder if the man had fallen asleep before he finally stirred again, rolling over on his side to lean over Zevran, studying him, a slight smile playing around his lips. He reached out and touched one fingertip to the tattoo on Zevran's cheek, tracing it lightly along the curving lines.

"It still doesn't feel real that you're here," he said, then bent his head enough to brush his lips over Zevran's. "_Why_ are you here?" he asked after raising his head again, sounding slightly puzzled. His hand, meanwhile, continued slowly downwards, tracing down the side of Zevran's neck, then lazily circling the dip at the front of the elf's throat. His eyes dropped away from Zevran's, watching the movement of his own hand, an absorbed expression on his face. "Here in Ansburg, I mean, not here in my bed."

"Random chance," Zevran said quietly, shrugging slightly, watching the Alistair's face. "I travel a lot; even if the Crows by and large avoid me now, it is better for me not to stay in any one place too long. There is always some young idiot who believes that _he_ will be the one to kill me, and thereby make a name for himself. I get tired of killing them. Or of seeing them kill people who they believe are my friends," he added, frowning. "As if making me angry will make me less capable of killing them. A foolish and ultimately lethal belief."

Alistair's eyes flicked back to his face for a moment. "Does that happen often?" he asked, voice showing only curiosity, no fear. His hand, meanwhile, began to find its way down Zevran's front. Alistair dipped his head again, to lick at the hollow his fingers had been circling.

Zevran hummed and tilted his head back, giving the man better access to his throat. "Not very often; I only rarely make an effort to befriend anyone. But even once is too often," he said darkly, and let his eyes drift shut, concentrating on the feeling of Alistair's mouth on his neck, of the hand drifting slowly down his front.

Alistair's other hand squeezed his upper arm, the warrior's arm tightening around Zevran's shoulders for a moment. Alistair ducked his head further, mouth leaving his throat, forehead pressing warmly against the side of his neck. Zevran could feel his eyelashes, a ticklish sensation against the skin of his shoulder. "I hate losing friends," Alistair said quietly, still except for the one hand drifting further south. He spread it out flat on Zevran's stomach, fingertips rubbing in small circles, palm pressing against the elf's navel. After a long moment of silence he lifted it head again, kissed the dip he'd been licking at, then slowly began to work his way out along Zevran's collarbone, pressing kisses along it. His hand resumed its downward path, finally reaching Zevran's cock – still partially erect – and curled around it.

Zevran sucked in a deep breath through his nose, body tensing as Alistair's hand tightened and pulled, then released and slid down, gently but firmly, over and over again. The warrior lifted his head from where he'd reached the end of the elf's collarbone. "Remember to let me know if you're too close," he said, then lowered his head, and licked from Zevran's shoulder back along his shoulder, returning to the dip in his throat. He started working his way down Zevran's body then, little kisses and licks, until he reached a nipple, then stopped there for a while, licking it repeatedly, broad licks at first, then tonguing at the nipple as it firmed up. All the while his hand was still slowly stroking up and down Zevran's erection, bringing it back to aching fulness.

Zevran's hands tightened on the sheets, and he moaned as Alistair changed sides, and began licking at the other nipple. Alistair slipped his arm out from behind Zevran's back, and toyed with the first one, rubbing it with his calloused fingertips, then tweaking it between them even as he bit down lightly on the other, drawing a loud gasp from Zevran, his back arching at the twinned sensations.

Alistair chuckled softly, then moved his hand to rest in the middle of Zevran's chest, chin resting on the back of it as he looked up at the elf's face, his other hand dipping further back between Zevran's legs to caress and fondle his balls. "You don't know how many times I've dreamed of you in my bed," he said, voice husky.

Zevran lifted his head and peered down at him. "Oh?" he asked. "From your talking of fulfilling every fantasy you've ever had of me in your bed, I admit that I _did_ get the impression that you'd thought of me at least a time or two since leaving Ferelden."

Alistair grinned. "Since even before leaving Ferelden, actually," he said, and dipped his hand further back, to press at the sensitive area between Zevran's balls and rump, drawing another hissing gasp from the elf. "You and Aedan..." he broke off, and shook his head slightly, smiling ruefully at the elf. "The pair of you were often _loud_. Intriguingly so at times, as I mentioned earlier. I'd had more than a few heated dreams with you in them before I left. Of course back then I was... confused. Repressed. I hadn't a clue what I really wanted. Oh, I knew the concepts, had some vague ideas of what was involved, some idea of what it might feel like..." he broke off, cheeks definitely colouring.

Zevran grinned. "Why Alistair," he gasped out breathlessly as the warrior's hand returned to his erection, stroking it firmly again. "I thought you said you didn't blush any more?"

Alistair laughed again, easily, unselfconsciously. "I guess I was wrong," he said, and moved his hand aside, lowering his head to kiss Zevran's chest. "Or maybe it's just you. You and the memory of how damned flustered you used to be able to make me with just a few well-chosen words or a meaningful look."

Zevran grinned, then gasped and arched upwards, as Alistair stroked his thumb firmly over the tip of Zervan's cock, an area he's been neglecting so far. "_Alistair...!_" Zevran exclaimed, voice ragged, as he closed his eyes, letting his head drop back to the bed again

Alistair snatched his hand away, watching Zevran's face with a faintly worried look as the elf shuddered and cried out, entire body going rigid. "That was a strong one," he observed quietly as the elf finally went slack again. "Feel good?"

Zevran gave a short laugh. "Yes. Exquisite," he gasped out, eyes opening again. "Who taught you how to cause dry orgasms? This Captain Ethan you have spoken of?"

Alistair smiled, crookedly. "Yes. He gave me a very _thorough_ education, on quite a few subjects."

Zevran smiled widely. "Kissing?"

"Started with that, yes. Moved on to other things pretty quickly. Then he realized just how much I _didn't_ know, and amused himself for quite some time with teaching me everything he knew. In bed and out of it."

Zevran nodded. He lifted his head, and looked down at Alistair. "You cared for him, very much, didn't you?" he asked quietly, one hand rising to stroke Alistair's hair, smoothing it back from his face.

"Yes," Alistair said, very quietly. "I don't know if I was actually in love with him... I was such a mess when he first took me in, and then pretty much dependant on him for a long time. I don't think what we had then could be called love. _Need_, yes. At least on my side of things. I was only just really finding my feet and taking control of my life again when he was killed. If he'd lived... I don't know. I cared for him. I believe he cared for me. But..." he shrugged, then fell silent. His hand, resting on Zevran's thigh while they spoke, crept back over to Zevran's cock and began slowly stroking it again, drawing a gasp and an expletive from the assassin. Alistair grinned. "But enough of my past. Right now I just want to think of my future. Very short term future. The next five or ten minutes, perhaps."

Zevran laughed, softly. "And what do you foresee in this future, oh seer?"

Alistair laughed, then suddenly released Zevran and rolled off him, all but bouncing to his feet. "I have a couple of ideas. Give me a minute to make up my mind," he said, as he walked over to a nearby cabinet and opened it, taking out a wide-mouthed ceramic jar. "We'll be needing this, in any case," he added, and turned to walk back over to the bed.

Zevran had levered himself up on his elbows, and gave the jar an interested look. "Something nice and slippery, I assume?"

Alistair grinned. "Very," he agreed, as he moved to sit back down on the bed, jar in hand.


	8. Chapter 8

For all his words of wanting to put aside talk of his past and just think about their short-term future, Alistair seemed very withdrawn and quiet for the next few minutes. After rejoining Zevran on the bed, he didn't do anything at first except stretch out beside the elf, wrap his arms around him, and hold on tightly. Zevran silently hugged him back, giving what physical comfort he could, familiar with the look of a man haunted by the demons of his past. A look he knew from the mirror; he was nothing if not demon-haunted himself. Rinna, Taliesin, Aedan, the few others he'd opened himself to in the course of his life only to have circumstances snatch them away.

It was good to put aside thoughts of the past for a while. To just concentrate on the now, on the warm, breathing man in his arms and the very pleasant night they were having together. He moved one arm from around Alistair's back, letting it slip down between them, coming to rest on the man's half-hard cock. Alistair made an approving sound, and released his grip on Zevran, rolling away from him and propping himself up on his elbows. He smiled at Zevran, then nodded at the jar sitting abandoned on the bedding nearby. "You might as well use some of that on me," he said.

Zevran nodded, and moved over in reach of it, carefully removing the cork and dipping a finger inside to see what it contained. Some sort of thick oily salve, colourless and almost scentless. He scooped a little out and replaced the cork, then rubbed his hands together, raising an eyebrow when he noted how the salve softened as it warmed, becoming runnier and noticeably slicker. "Intriguing," he said, and moved to kneel between Alistair's legs, running his hands up the warrior's erection to coat him with the stuff. He tugged on him several times, bringing him fully erect, Alistair making a pleased sound and dropping his head backwards while Zevran did so. After a moment Alistair lay down flat on his back, only his knees still raised as he kept his legs spread around the kneeling elf. He just lay there and let Zevran handle him for a while, making pleased groans or moans at intervals as Zevran's talented hands stroked and fondled him.

"Enough," Alistair finally said, voice ragged and hoarse as he sat up and gently pushed Zevran's hands away. "I've made up my mind what I want to do next."

Alistair rose to his knees, looking around with a slight frown, then moved towards the head of the bed. He stacked the two pillows on top of each other, a short distance back from the headboard, then gestured for Zevran to come closer. "Kneel on these, with your legs spread; you'll need to brace your hands against the top of the headboard," he directed.

Zevran nodded, and moved into the position Alistair wanted, feeling a pleasant sense of anticipation as he tried to guess just what the warrior intended to do next. He could not help but smile when Alistair's hands began spreading a coating of the oily salve on his inner thighs and between his legs; he was familiar with what such preparations typically led to. But the warrior did not stop with just slicking Zevran's thighs; once that was done, he moved away off the bed again, and Zevran heard a drawer scraping open and shut somewhere nearby, then the bed creaked and sagged as Alistair rejoined him again.

Alistair's fingers touched his backside, stroking down between his buttocks, rubbing some of the salve over the puckered flesh there. Then Zevran felt something cold and hard pressed against him, and slowly slip inside. The tip went in easily enough, being small, but whatever it was – some sort of plug, obviously – it was sharply tapered, and was soon stretching him enough to be on the edge of uncomfortable. His hands tightened on the headboard as he braced himself, then he forced himself to relax the right muscles and it slid smoothly into place. He felt momentary surprise; it was wide, but not particularly long, stretching him without pressing in the right places to actually stimulate him very much. Usually such things were made of a size and shape to do both.

Alistair moved to kneel directly behind him, his own knees planted on the bed to either side of Zevran's calves, the greater spread of them lowering him while the pillows lifted Zevran, both together adjusting their height difference just enough for him to easily position his cock between Zevran's legs, snug up against his groin. Zevran closed his legs around the other man's erection, firmly enough to hold him securely in place between his thighs. Alistair rolled his hips, just once, testing that he could slide back and forth between them. Zevran made a pleased sound as the motion caused Alistair's cock to bump and rub against the elf's balls.

"Just perfect," Alistair said breathlessly, then leaned forward, chest against Zevran's back, hands to either side of his on the top edge of the headboard. He began to thrust, slowly at first, pausing a couple of times so they could make some minor but necessary adjustments to their positions. Once Alistair was satisfied that he could move easily without slipping loose, he began to thrust more energetically.

Zevran quickly realized what the point of the so-short plug was. Each time Alistair thrust forward, flesh slapping against his, it jarred the plug a little. It was too short to stimulate him directly; instead it contacted the flesh near the right spot, still stimulating in its way, but not strongly so. More of a teasing sensation than anything else, especially since he knew all too well how it _would_ feel, if it would only contact the right spot inside rather than missing it repeatedly. He found himself pushing back when Alistair pushed forward, as if a better contact would somehow make the too-short plug rub against just the right spot.

Alistair did not fail to notice what he was doing; the man laughed softly, and bent his head to kiss Zevran's shoulder. "Feels good, doesn't it?" he rasped out

"Yes," Zevran managed to gasp out. "Though not good enough."

Alistair chuckled, and continued thrusting, harder now, grunting each time he slammed forward. Zevran had to lean forward a little and brace himself more securely against the headboard to prevent his knees from sliding forward on the pillows. The slide of Alistair's flesh between his legs, the bumping and rubbing of his balls, combined with the sensation of not-quite-the-right-spot being repeatedly pressed against inside of him was slowly driving him wild, especially after Alistair took one of his own hands off of the headboard and began stroking it up and down Zevran's chest and belly and thighs, fondling and rubbing him everywhere in reach except for his aching erection.

Zevran found himself curling over, his head hanging between his braced arms, needy whimpers escaping him. After all the teasing that Alistair had done to him already, he was _so close_ to going over the edge, yet still denied the sensations that would finish it. The man had obviously acquired a truly fiendish imagination and range of knowledge since his departure from Ferelden.

He whimpered again, only just preventing himself from pleading for more, begging for release. He just held on to the headboard, held onto his self-control, as Alistair pumped against him, the warrior breathing in deep gasping breaths now. Alistair's pace finally grew erratic, then after a few more strokes he cried out and and jerked, his hand returning to brace against the headboard as well as he pumped his hips the final few times needed to finish himself off, his seed squirting out in spurts to spatter against the bed and bedding as he came. He stayed as he was for a long moment, weight pressed against Zevran's back, forehead resting on the elf's shoulder, his panting breaths gusting over Zevran's sweaty skin. Finally he straightened up enough to slowly move backwards, and let himself collapse on the bed.

Zevran released the headboard as well, only now noticing the ache in his fingers and palms from how tightly he'd been holding onto it, how hard he'd been braced against it. He flexed his fingers and shook out his hands, as he slowly turned around on his knees to look at Alistair.

The warrior was sprawled on his back, one arm lifted over and covering his eyes, the other outstretched, still panting to get his breath back. One knee was raised, the other leg straight, his penis lying lax between them, having left a smear of sperm on his inner thigh. Zevran could not help but smile and snort softly in amusement, comparing this relaxed, wanton man to the nervous virgin of memory. Ignoring his own uncomfortable erection, he moved over to lie down beside Alistair again, smiling as the man immediately moved to put an arm around him and hold him close, to nuzzle at and kiss him, showing affection as casually and easily as if they were long-time lovers and close friends.

He had to admit, he felt as comfortable with Alistair as if little to no time had passed since they'd been companions. He still felt a great degree of trust toward the man, one of only a handful of people he'd ever really come to trust in his life. And a large part of that trust, he realized now, was because Alistair had always been so honest and open, his thoughts and emotions so transparent. When he'd first seen Alistair down in the bar, he'd been shuttered, his emotions hidden away, his reactions muted, but here in privacy he was himself again. His humour was still active and obvious, though not showing in self-deprecating ways any more, his emotions were still so easily revealed. He wondered at the change for a moment, between the hardened mercenary he's first seen downstairs and this warm, open man, then stilled as it hit him... Alistair trusted him, too. Trusted Zevran enough to just be _himself_, not hiding anything, not guarding his reactions.

Zevran found himself putting his arms around the other man and hugging him tightly, moved beyond words.

"Zev?" said Alistair, worriedly.

Zevran just tightened his arms, and held on, burying his face against Alistair's shoulder.


	9. Chapter 9

Alistair didn't question, just hugged him back, pulling the elf closer and then rolling over so that Zevran ended up draped over top of him, his arms around Alistair's shoulders and neck, the other man's arms around his shoulders and waist. The lower arm moved, then Alistair's hand pressed warmly against the small of his back, before it began to move up and down in a soothing motion.

Zevran didn't say anything, just sighed and gradually relaxed under Alistair's touch. They just lay there like that for a while, neither speaking.

Eventually Alistair's hand drifted lower, fingers caressing over Zevran's buttocks. It drew a smile from the elf, then a low laugh as the fingers dipped lower yet, pressing between his legs. He pressed a kiss to the skin of Alistair's chest, then raised his head to smile warmly at the man. Alistair's own head was raised, and he smiled back at the elf, a knowing smile. An _anticipatory_ smile.

With careful, deliberate movements Alistair stroked a couple of times at the sensitive skin behind Zevran's balls, then drew back his hand and closed his fingertips around the flared base of the plug, carefully drawing it out before tossing it aside, to land with a muted thump on the sheets near the foot of the large bed. He rolled over again, carrying Zevran with him, so that the elf ended up on his back, Alistair's arm still under his shoulders, the other man stretched out beside him, his weight supported on the elbow of the arm underneath Zevran. It left Alistair's other hand free, and he promptly put it to use, reaching down to stroke firmly up Zevran's flagging erection, urging it back towards fullness.

Zevran groaned at the touch, legs and feet stiffening for a moment as muscles tensed, the touch against over-stimulated flesh as much pain as pleasure for a moment, before his body decided to interpret it as definite pleasure.

Alistair leaned down over him, pressed a kiss to his forehead. "This time," he said, very softly. "I promise."

Zevran nodded acceptance and closed his eyes, waiting to see what Alistair was going to do.

Alistair stroked his cock for a while, avoiding the most sensitive areas around the tip and instead concentrating his touches on the base and balls, sometimes on the flesh in back of them, between Zevran's legs. Not enough touching to bring him to a dry orgasm this time; his hand instead retreated well before that, and spent some time wandering the planes of Zevran's stomach and chest, teasing at his nipples, before moving even higher, stroking along the column of Zevran's neck, followed by little exploratory touches of calloused fingertips to the elf's face.

Zevran could not help but smile, eyes still shut, as a fingertip stroked down the bridge of his nose, then traced the arch of a cheekbone, of his eyebrow. He felt Alistair lean down over him, very close now, and then the warm wet tip of a tongue traced along the curves of the tattoo along his cheek and up to his temple, as if tasting it. He laughed, and Alistair kissed him, tongue slipping warmly into his mouth, while the warrior's hand worked its way down again, coming to rest on his side, fingers flexing against his skin as the warrior's tongue flexed and slid in his mouth, the pressure of Alistair's body a comforting weight on his chest.

Eventually Alistair's hand moved further down again, brushing lightly over Zevran's erection again, just once, then reaching further back. He smeared his fingers in the slick salve still coating the elf's thighs, then reached back, slowly sliding a finger into Zevran, curling it forward to brush lightly over the sensitized spot deep inside.

Zevran groaned and tried to push back against the finger, but Alistair was already withdrawing it, keeping just the tip inside. Then in again, another teasing touch and retreat. Over and over again, not at any regular interval, but at random times, sometimes withdrawing his hand completely to toy with Zevran's cock again. It felt incredible, every nerve seeming sensitized to Alistair's touch, anticipating it, each light little brush, every caress or manipulation so strongly felt. He found himself closing his arms around Alistair again, clinging tightly to him, his gasps and moans turning to sobs, overwhelmed with sensation, with _need_. A need whose fulfilment seemed to dance forever just out of his reach, the caresses and touches never quite enough – not firm enough, or in quite the right place, or not lasting long enough, a torturous teasing that went on, and on...

He broke, crying in earnest now, babbling through his tears, in the simplest words he knew, his earliest tongue, as he first clung to Alistair, then abruptly released him, wanting to touch himself and finish it, wanting Alistair to do it, _anything!_ But instead Alistair stopped entirely, holding him down as he struggled and heaved, hips thrusting at empty air in search of friction, hands fighting the warrior's hold, but Alistair's grip was unbreakable, his will implacable. He wept, and begged, and finally stilled, slowly returning to calmness as the demands of his body eased off. He felt oddly empty as the tears passed. Cleansed. And still wanting, but waiting again, trusting that there would be something more, that there would finally be an ending to this.

Alistair released his wrists. Scrubbed at his face, with a corner of sheet, cleaning it. Kissed him gently, little light kisses against his cheek, then on his forehead, then the lips.

"Zevran," he said, quietly, Alistair's voice low and hoarse with strain. And again, over and over, until Zevran focused on him, _looked_ at him. "It's over. Take me, any way that you want, Zevran. Finish it."

It took a while for the words to sink in, their meaning to be understood. He moaned, once, then _moved_, flipping the warrior over on his back, startling a yelp out of him. He pounced on top of him, straddling his hips, capturing Alistair's wrists and pinning them down, he the one in control now, not Alistair. He rolled his hips, grinding their erections together, moaning and gasping as overstimulated nerves protested. Alistair moaned too, pelvis lifting slightly from the bed to press up against Zevran.

The assassin cursed, and changing his grip to trap both of Alistair's wrists in one hand, freeing the other. A weak grip; Alistair could have easily broken it if he'd wished to. But he remained as he was, letting Zevran do as he wished. Zevran reached down between them, as he raised himself up on his knees, his hand unerringly finding and positioning Alistair's cock, then he sank down, hard and fast, both of them crying out as he took in Alistair's length with a single hard thrust. He moaned, then sat up straighter, releasing his grip on Alistair's wrists to brace his hands against the warrior's ribs instead, arching his back as he began to pump himself up and down, riding the other man hard, each withdrawal and sudden thrust accompanied by a gasp or moan from Alistair, a cry from himself. It _hurt_, a deep-seated ache that wavered between pleasure and pain. The room echoed with their sounds, then with Zevran's keening scream as he came, hips continuing to jerk spasmodically as he finally found release, seed spurting white over Alistair's straining stomach,. Alistair's own harsh cry an echo of it as he jerked and pumped his own seed into Zevran.

Zevran collapsed afterwards, bonelessly limp, truly empty now, too tired to do anything but lie there as Alistair carefully separated the two of them. Too exhausted to care when Alistair rose from the bed and walked away. He floated on the edge of sleep, feeling as if he was wrapped in heavy padding, warm and safe.

He came back to himself, to the feel of a warm wet cloth being run over his skin, the familiar spicy scent of soap they'd used earlier filling the air. Alistair, cleaning him, wiping away the sweat and salve, the smears of seed. He co-operated, as best he could, though as tired and wrung-out as he now felt, his body didn't want to obey him. He felt clumsy and slow. Thoughts took ages, movements took aeons.

Then somehow the cleansing was done, and he found himself curled up under the sheets, Alistair spooned up against his back, arms warm and snug around him.

"Rest for a while," Alistair whispered, lips tickling against his ear. "Sleep. You're safe."

He nodded tiredly, and did as told.


	10. Chapter 10

Zevran woke again sometime before dawn, disturbed by Alistair moving around – he was not used to sharing a bed, having only rarely done so in his life, and that mainly years ago, back in Ferelden with Aedan. "Where are you going?" he asked in a whisper as Alistair climbed out of bed.

"Need to pee," the other man whispered back. Zevran nodded, and after Alistair had made a trip to the garderobe in the bathing chamber and returned, he went and made use of the facilities too.

Alistair was still awake when he returned to the bed. The two of them curled up together again, but after a couple of minutes Zevran became aware of a certain familiar pressure against his buttocks, and felt himself stir in response to it. "Again?" he asked, amused.

Alistair laughed, softly, and nuzzled into Zevran's hair for a moment. "Do you mind?" he asked ruefully.

"Not at all," Zevran said, amused, and taking Alistair's hand in his guided it downward to show him why. Alistair laughed.

They spent a while just touching and caressing each other, cuddled together under the sheets, with occasional snorts of laughter or soft gasps as they wiggled around to reach different parts of each other. In all their moving around Zevran eventually ended up stretched out on top of Alistair again. He ground his groin against the warrior's, smiling as the motion made Alistair groan and tighten his hands on Zevran's buttocks.

"How shall we do this?" Zevran asked. "I could just keep doing _this_, I suppose," he added, grinding himself against Alistair again, grinning as it made Alistair moan a second time.

Alistair laughed, briefly and breathlessly, his hands sliding upwards to rest on either side of Zevran's waist. "Whatever you want," he said.

"Mmmm. In that case, I think I want you," Zevran said.

It took only a slight rearrangement of their position, his arms hooking around the back of Alistair's legs as the other man spread them and lifted them towards his chest, and then he was pushing into place within the larger man, feet braced against the bed and his weight mostly pushed forwards against the warrior. It felt good, tight and warm, and the little moaning gasp Alistair gave as he seated himself deep inside seemed to go straight to his cock.

As sated as they both were from their earlier activities, there was no haste to what they did now. They took it easy, a long slow time of rocking together, enjoying the different sensations of flesh rubbing against flesh. They changed their positions to a more comfortable one as time passed, Alistair's legs dropped down to wrap around Zevran's waist and hips, freeing their hands for caressing, letting them lie more closely together. It was good, it was very good, a seemingly endless time of slow pleasure, building not to an abrupt peak but instead just arriving there unexpectedly, as Zevran cried out and emptied into Alistair, shuddering and holding on tightly as his hips thrust a last few times, hearing Alistair give a soft cry of his own, the other man's orgasm starting even as Zevran's ended.

They lay entwined for a little while, catching their breath again, then cleaned themselves with a corner of one sheet, before curling up together again, warm and content, with no need to speak or to move apart. They stayed that way until the window overlooking the bed brightened with rising sunlight.

Zevran smiled when he heard Alistair's stomach rumble. "Hungry?"

"Starving. Grey Warden appetites, you know," Alistair said, running his hand down Zevran's side in a way that made it clear he was referring to more than just one sort of appetite. It drew a chuckle from the assassin.

"Do we eat here, or downstairs?" Zevran asked.

"Downstairs. I suppose we should bathe first. We've rather undone whatever good last night's bath did us."

Zevran grinned. "If you're saying we likely reek of sex, I would have to agree. Another bath would be good."

Alistair laughed, then rolled over and got out of bed. "I'll start one running," he said, scratching at his stomach as he walked off. Zevran watched him leave, admiring the view, before he sighed and got out of bed as well, and followed him off to the bathing chamber.

* * *

><p>Zevran pushed his damp hair back from his face, and frowned at the state of his clothes. He'd known the smallclothes were unlikely to be wearable today, after Alistair having brought him off in them the night before, but he'd stupidly not separated them from the rest of his clothing when they'd stripped off to bathe; the leggings were damp, and the tail of his shirt had apparently dragged through the mess at some point as well. And him with no changes of clothing here, his pack being elsewhere.<p>

Alistair looked over, and smiled. "Leave those there, I can loan you something clean," he said.

Zevran snorted. "I will be swimming in your clothes – you are rather larger than I," he pointed out.

"Yeah, but I still have some things of Ethan's around, and he wasn't much larger than you are," Alistair said, and went to dig around in a chest against one wall, turning around a minute later with a dark green tunic and brown sueded leggings. "No smallclothes, I'm afraid."

Zevran accepted them with a word of thanks, and dressed quickly, with his own stockings and shoes and a decided lack of smallclothes. The clothing was still loose on him – "wasn't much larger" translating out to someone between Zevran and Alistair in height, and rather bulkier through the shoulders and hips than the elf was, necessitating that he borrow a belt as well – but it was clean and dry, smelling only of the cedar lining of the chest it had been stored it. A nice outfit, he saw, as he smoothed the wrinkled fabric, admiring the delicate tracery of gold embroidery along the hems of the tunic. He wondered what memory it evoked for Alistair, that the man had kept it, but forbore to ask.

"Do you have a comb?" he asked, and followed Alistair's nod to the mantelpiece, where a broken-toothed comb carved out of bone or ivory lurked among the detritus and decorations there. He quickly neatened his hair, then deftly braided it back in his habitual hairstyle. He turned to see Alistair working the last few snarls out of his own hair, and smiled. "Let me do that for you," he offered impulsively, and had Alistair sit in the chair while he combed the man's hair smooth, then braided it back for him. Not in Zevran's own style, but in a single simple braid.

Alistair felt at it when he'd finished, then rose to his feet and turned, smiling warmly at Zevran. "Thank you," he said, and leaned down to give the elf a lengthy kiss.

Zevran grinned up at him. "It makes you look quite dashing," he observed. "Well. Shall we go dine?"

"Of course," Alistair said, and led the way out of his rooms and back down to the main room. It was quieter this morning than it had been the night before, only a handful of people there, and all of them concentrating on their own breakfasts. Alistair claimed a small table in one corner, where they could both sit with their backs to the wall and watch the room, and sent the barmaid scurrying off to fetch them food from the kitchen. They settled down, not talking at first, just studying the rest of the room and occasionally stealing glances at each other.

Only once the food had arrived – a large platter heaped with bacon, sausages, and oat cakes accompanied by a large pot of sweetened milky tea – did Alistair finally look at Zevran. "So," he asked hesitantly. "You planning to move on again?"

Zevran shrugged. "I don't know. I have no real plans at the moment. I have just been drifting."

Alistair nodded, and munched on another strip of bacon. "What if you had a reason to stay here?" he asked, sounding a little nervous.

"Are you thinking of offering me one?" Zevran asked cautiously.

"Maybe. If you're open to the idea..."

"Within your mercenary company? Or, ahh... something more personal?"

Alistair smiled crookedly. "Both, by preference, though I'll take what I can get. If you're interested."

"I am certainly intrigued. Enough to consider it, at least. Perhaps we should talk terms," he said, and raised an eyebrow at Alistair.

Alistair smiled again, more warmly this time, the corners of his eyes crinkling, a dimple appearing at the corner of his mouth. "Good," he said.

Zevran smiled back, glad he'd walked in here the night before. He had been too long alone. So had Alistair, he suspected. And now... well, they would just have to see how things worked out.

It was a start.


End file.
