fadewalk | RP: Zevran

Maker, this day (was it day? It was tricky with the sky in its state, though it had been darker for a while at least) was just getting better and better. Alistair shook his head again as he ambled down the hallway.

This was what Alistair got for falling in line behind the first person who looked like they knew where they were going who wandered by. They go remanding themselves to justice as if that were a thing and they thought anyone else here had a better grip on reality than they did. Wasn't the whole point that reality seemed to have completely fallen apart?

"Maybe someone will lock me up next. At least then I could have a nap." He stopped at a set of intersecting corridors that also had stairwells leading both up and down and groaned softly. "Whoever designed this place was completely, utterly insane." One of these branches would take him to the storeroom where things like blankets and dry rations were kept. The others... certain death?

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"I do love when you talk to yourself, my friend," Zevran said, slipping up from behind Alistair silently. "You say so many very interesting things."

The strangled yelp that Alistair... yelped was not at all embarrassing, nor was the startled flinch. If he'd run, then maybe he'd be embarrassed.

His ears were hot.

He turned, very slowly, one eyebrow lifted nonchalantly. "I see you finally turned up again."

"How could I resist the lure of so much drama?" He arched his brows slightly. "And of course you being sneaky I must see."

"Drama, ri-ight." Alistair sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm not exactly good at sneaking. I have keys and orders and a reason to be there so I thought... I'd... see if I could find what you needed without you doing something crazy like climbing the sheer face of a building that is currently suspended over the abyss of nothingness and try to squeeze through a window that a greased nug would have a hard time with." He drew a key out of his pocket. "This seemed easier?"

"You worry about me!" Zevran said, utterly delighted. "Oh, that is very good news. I thought I might have to work from scratch."

"I worry about lots of things! Like... mold on the rind of cheese. Is it supposed to be there? If I eat these blackberries will I have seeds in my teeth all day? Is there something on my face?" Alistair gestured vaguely toward Zevran's whole person. "You, are... worrisome, with your sneaking and your popping up unexpectedly and your..." He sputtered to a stop, frowning, ears pink. "Can we just go find the weapons and supplies?"

"No. First I must remove something from your face." His eyes brightened, grin sly as he moved close and rose up onto his toes as if to kiss Alistair--then lightly bussed his cheek, just beneath an eye. "There," he said, dropping back onto his heels. "It is gone now. Weapons?"

The pink in his ears deepened as Alistair touched where Zevran had just... "Maker's breath." He wanted to ask what that was for, why he'd just gone and... but he didn't want the assassin to laugh at him, a sudden twisting in his gut at the thought. He shook his head sharply. "Yes, right, onward to weapons and a life of crime."

"Or simply life as the naturally criminally-minded of us call it." Zevran followed along at Alistair's side happily enough. "As a point of curiosity: do you know where you are going?"

"When do you figure out which you are? Does stealing meat pies from the kitchens and being sent to sleep in the dog kennel and then doing it again the next day count? Maybe that's what's been missing my whole life. Crime." Alistair trailed to a halt as he frowned at another branching archway. "Theoretically, yes. From here? Er. Maybe?"

Zevran just tipped his head at Alistair. "Maybe is better than no," he decided.

"Well, we're looking for the War Room." Alistair folded his arms. "You've been crawling all over this place. Do you know where we're going?"

"Yes," Zevran said, "but you see my trouble: if I stop following you, my view will be much diminished."

"If you're just staring at my-- my backside you can lead for once!" Alistair reached to turn Zevran, both broad hands on his slighter frame, closing firmly over his shoulders and giving him a little nudge (the wrong direction). "Go on."

"If you wished your turn to stare, you only need have asked," he tsked sadly...turning and slipping past Alistair to go the right direction without pointing out the slip. "Here, I will put on a show for you."

Zevran settled into a willowy sway trained into him by his masters.

Alistair wasn't blind, and he wasn't stupid, and he'd been a Templar recruit for many years, had in fact gone through puberty around other young men with bodies shaped by training and fighting and... well, he'd noticed men before.

He'd even noticed Zevran before. How could he not, with the teasing and flaunting to whoever might be looking.

But this was just aimed at Alistair, and he felt his pulse suddenly pound in his throat.

He stood there staring, trying to throttle back the infuriated noise he'd wanted to make. A grunt, that was all he gave at Zevran's swaying walk, the mesmerizing roll of his hips. It wasn't different, this teasing, but it felt different with the brush of Zevran's lips still burning on his cheek.

It wasn't until Zevran was almost around a corner that Alistair realized he wasn't following, was in fact just staring that he lurched into a trot.

Zevran allowed himself a slightly (all right, more than slightly) smug smile, but he swallowed it back to nothing before Alistair could see. He was tempted to really put on a show but decided for once to resist that temptation. "The castle has very many very interesting rooms," he mused. "Like the Inquisitor's bedchamber. Have you seen it?"

Alistair glanced sidelong at Zevran from just off his left shoulder, trying to breathe steadily and let the red fade from his cheeks. "No? Why were you in the Inquisitor's bedchamber?"

"Because it was locked," Zevran said with surprise, as if Alistair had asked why he took a breath. "There is a long stair leading to her door, with all sorts of interesting weak points going down down down through the tower insides. It is a good thing I am not here to kill her, no? It would be a shame for it to be made so easy on me."

"Of course, because you are always so very good at opening locked doors." Alistair's grin turned cheeky, possibly even fond, though he wouldn't admit it. Watching Zevran fiddle and grumble over stubborn locks were among his best memories of traveling with Elissa during the Blight. Which should tell a person about just how bad the Blight had been, he supposed.

"I suppose it depends on my motivation. I do so love picking stubborn locks when I am motivated." Zevran somehow made that sound utterly filthy.

Then he pointed. "Is that the door we are needing?"

Alistair gave the assassin a flat look. "You go sneaking into peoples bedrooms to kill them. That's not a... you can't just make everything sound like-- nevermind." He pulled the key out once more, brushing by Zevran lightly to unlock the door.

Zevran chuckled, inordinately pleased with himself. "I do not always sneak into bedrooms to kill," he promised, slipping with Alistair into the room where the weapons and armor and enchanted gear had been stored. They closed the door immediately behind them. "I will sneak into your bedroom some night very soon to prove it, yes? You would like this, my friend."

"I've heard I snore very loudly. I probably wouldn't even notice you, all sneaky-quiet." The best way to guarantee Zevran to do it would be to protest loudly, right? Alistair looked sidelong at the assassin as he walked over to the sheaf of notes that had Cullen's inventory.

"So you would sleep undisturbed as I slipped into your room, into your bed, and curled close to share heat all through the night," Zevran purred. "At least until you woke tangled in fine elven limbs and silken sheets. There is no downside to this I am seeing. Perhaps I will share your bed tonight after all."