Sorry for some weird access thing happening--the hovering box for your name came up when trying to post and I clicked something without realizing.
(Mild referential spoilers for DA:I.)
Sinful Men | Dragon Age: Inquisition, Warden!Alistair/Zevran, 646 words
"Now that we're alone, you can go on and drop your trousers."
Alistair stared at Zevran, waiting for the punch line, but Zevran continued to stand by his cot and watch Alistair expectantly. It had been nearly ten years since they had seen each other. There were some obvious differences, such as Zevran's now waist-length hair and the expensive Orlesian leathers he wore, but he still stunk of cheap cologne and made terrible jokes. "Maker's Breath, that's not funny, Zevran."
"I was not attempting levity, my friend. I've taken care of those nasty little Venatori before they took up driving you Wardens mad again, so I am attempting to get my reward started. So drop your trousers and let's be on with it. I've gone weeks without. Maybe even months. I'm suffering here."
"Your reward is the money we gave you! And that we're helping you get away from the Crows again," Alistair snapped. "Maker's Breath, what are you even asking me?"
"You really do like to take the Maker's name in vain, don't you?" Zevran shook his head and started pulling off his tunic. "That's a sin, you know. You should find the nearest chantry and confess. If you hurry up and drop those trousers, you can entertain the sisters with a few more sins."
"Mak—are you asking me to have sex with you?" Alistair tried to look away from Zevran, but couldn't rip his gaze off his surprisingly smooth bronze chest. Alistair slapped a palm to his face to cover up his staring. "I should've known when I contacted the Inquisition about an assassin that I'd somehow wind up with you. And I should've known that letting you stay in my room would lead to nonsense like this."
Zevran glanced about the room, holding his tunic and rolling his bared shoulders. "Is nonsense not why you brought me in here? I admit I thought it rather forward of you, especially since you once seemed to possess a very narrow range of appreciation for others, but it's been ten years. I thought to give you the benefit of the doubt."
"The rest of the keep is full! Most rooms have four or five men in them. I was trying to be nice."
"So be even nicer and drop your trousers."
"I'm not going to drop my trousers! I brought you in here so you could sleep. On your cot. Not mine."
"We can do it on my cot, if you like. I don't mind."
"That's not—" Alistair paused when he realized Zevran had walked up close and was peering up at him with a smirk on his face. The sudden proximity gave him a sudden flash of warmth. "—not what I—I didn't—Maker's Breath."
Zevran chuckled and hooked his fingers underneath Alistair's breastplate to tug him down. "What a sinful man you are. Did you want me to start slow, then?"
Their faces were close now, close enough that Alistair instinctively leaned further down for a kiss. Zevran's lips were surprisingly soft, his kiss surprisingly gentle. Alistair hadn't expected that. As he closed his eyes, shivering as Zevran sucked on his bottom lip, he realized he hadn't expected to enjoy it, either. Yet he had wanted it all the same.
"I'm pretty sure there's some sort of saying about mixing business and pleasure," Alistair murmured, opening his eyes.
Zevran put his arms around Alistair's shoulders, spreading heat wherever he touched. "Yes, that you should do it and often. Now, if you haven't any other business to conduct, let's get on with the pleasure part." He kissed Alistair's chin, sucking on it gently, and Alistair wondered if Zevran would do that any body part.
Alistair didn't have any other business to conduct, and even if he did, he had promptly forgot about it. "Maker's Breath," he swore again, and dropped his trousers.
Re: Zevran/Alistair
(Mild referential spoilers for DA:I.)
Sinful Men | Dragon Age: Inquisition, Warden!Alistair/Zevran, 646 words
"Now that we're alone, you can go on and drop your trousers."
Alistair stared at Zevran, waiting for the punch line, but Zevran continued to stand by his cot and watch Alistair expectantly. It had been nearly ten years since they had seen each other. There were some obvious differences, such as Zevran's now waist-length hair and the expensive Orlesian leathers he wore, but he still stunk of cheap cologne and made terrible jokes. "Maker's Breath, that's not funny, Zevran."
"I was not attempting levity, my friend. I've taken care of those nasty little Venatori before they took up driving you Wardens mad again, so I am attempting to get my reward started. So drop your trousers and let's be on with it. I've gone weeks without. Maybe even months. I'm suffering here."
"Your reward is the money we gave you! And that we're helping you get away from the Crows again," Alistair snapped. "Maker's Breath, what are you even asking me?"
"You really do like to take the Maker's name in vain, don't you?" Zevran shook his head and started pulling off his tunic. "That's a sin, you know. You should find the nearest chantry and confess. If you hurry up and drop those trousers, you can entertain the sisters with a few more sins."
"Mak—are you asking me to have sex with you?" Alistair tried to look away from Zevran, but couldn't rip his gaze off his surprisingly smooth bronze chest. Alistair slapped a palm to his face to cover up his staring. "I should've known when I contacted the Inquisition about an assassin that I'd somehow wind up with you. And I should've known that letting you stay in my room would lead to nonsense like this."
Zevran glanced about the room, holding his tunic and rolling his bared shoulders. "Is nonsense not why you brought me in here? I admit I thought it rather forward of you, especially since you once seemed to possess a very narrow range of appreciation for others, but it's been ten years. I thought to give you the benefit of the doubt."
"The rest of the keep is full! Most rooms have four or five men in them. I was trying to be nice."
"So be even nicer and drop your trousers."
"I'm not going to drop my trousers! I brought you in here so you could sleep. On your cot. Not mine."
"We can do it on my cot, if you like. I don't mind."
"That's not—" Alistair paused when he realized Zevran had walked up close and was peering up at him with a smirk on his face. The sudden proximity gave him a sudden flash of warmth. "—not what I—I didn't—Maker's Breath."
Zevran chuckled and hooked his fingers underneath Alistair's breastplate to tug him down. "What a sinful man you are. Did you want me to start slow, then?"
Their faces were close now, close enough that Alistair instinctively leaned further down for a kiss. Zevran's lips were surprisingly soft, his kiss surprisingly gentle. Alistair hadn't expected that. As he closed his eyes, shivering as Zevran sucked on his bottom lip, he realized he hadn't expected to enjoy it, either. Yet he had wanted it all the same.
"I'm pretty sure there's some sort of saying about mixing business and pleasure," Alistair murmured, opening his eyes.
Zevran put his arms around Alistair's shoulders, spreading heat wherever he touched. "Yes, that you should do it and often. Now, if you haven't any other business to conduct, let's get on with the pleasure part." He kissed Alistair's chin, sucking on it gently, and Alistair wondered if Zevran would do that any body part.
Alistair didn't have any other business to conduct, and even if he did, he had promptly forgot about it. "Maker's Breath," he swore again, and dropped his trousers.