fadewalk | Alistair

Alistair was avoiding him.

He was (a little) smoother than he used to be, hiding his intentions well. Pretending like he needed to always be by Cullen or Neria or one of the others' sides. But Zevran had known Alistair a very long time. He could read him the way no one else--not even Elissa, a fact which Zevran took especially pride in--could.

And Alistair? Was definitely avoiding him. Ever since Zevran had been injured trying to protect him, he'd been acting very strange--strained. Uncertain. Fumbling with feelings? There was really only one way to find out.

(Well, no, that wasn't true, but there was only one way Zevran wanted to try. Besides, he had gotten used to sleeping on an actual bed--all these nights curled in rafters or on stone were making him miss their nice little flat in Antiva even more.)

It was late at night, verging on very early morning, when he slipped in through the window. Alistair's bedroom was dark, quiet. He slept curled on his side, blanket tangled about his legs. Zevran moved on silent feet, wary of waking the other man. He slipped off his armor and soft leather shoes, then crawled into bed, light as a feather. Alistair shifted and mumbled, but Zevran had perfected the art of not waking this man, and before long they were curled together in bed.

He let out a soft sigh, relaxing. Finally at peace.

Closing his eyes, lungs filled with the scent of Alistair, he gave himself to sleep.

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Alistair was definitely avoiding Zevran.

He hadn't been able to shake the nightmares the first night after Zevran had been injured, watching him bleed out while he fumbled helplessly to save him, left trapped alone in an empty Skyhold.

It wasn't the first time he'd seen Zevran injured, wasn't the first time he'd had to help patch him up (though in the past it hadn't involved quite so much hands-on-attention). But it was the first time Zevran had thrown himself into harms way on Alistair's account and that made him...

He didn't know what it made him. Worried? Unsettled? Alternatingly angry and warm down to his little baby toes?

His toes were warm this morning. So was the rest of him. He came slowly up to consciousness, shifting carefully because there was a blond head pillowed on his arm and he didn't want to disturb--

His eyes flashed wide. He sucked in a startled breath and a piece of Zevran's hair with it, choking and coughing around it. He picked the strand out of his mouth and half sat up. With a grimace, he cleared his throat and peered down at the elf.

Zevran did not open his eyes. He was curled fully in Alistair's arms, blissfully warm and comfortable.

"My hair is not for eating," he murmured, nestling even closer.

Alistair stiffened as Zevran nestled closer. "Zevran, what are you doing in my bed? I'm fairly certain I would remember if you were here when I got in it last night."

He sighed and rolled over, laying on his back to look up at Alistair--close enough that his side nestled against Alistair's front. Silky blonde hair was swept over the pillow. "It was cold and you have been avoiding me," he said simply. "I missed your company."

Alistair looked down at him, trying not to think about the last time he lay like this with Elissa looking up at him. He felt his cheeks heating slowly. "I would have brought you an extra blanket."

He closed his eyes. What an unbelievably stupid thing to say.

"I find the heat of your body more than enough to keep me comfortably," Zevran said. He reached up to lightly brush a knuckle over Alistair's bristly chin. "Whatever you are wincing over, there is no need."

Alistair's reached to catch Zevran's hand, to still it. "Are we going to keep doing this?" He opened his eyes to look down again, throat working, trying to force a lopsided smile, but mostly looking pained. Maker, he'd been lonely. He'd known that, but waking with Zevran warm and pressed against him... he wanted to sink back down and tuck his face into his throat and just feel his heartbeat for a while.

Zevran studied him for a long minute, not trying to pull his hand away.

"Yes," he finally said. Then, voice gentle: "Even if you do not want me, my friend, you need me."

The gentleness undid Alistair's resolve to move away to get out of bed to do anything else. He didn't know what to do with such freely given kindness. Not that Zevran was a cruel person, far from it, but... Alistair didn't expect it for himself.

He needed him, yes, was slowly coming to admit that he wanted him. Maybe that he was truly wanted back. He let out a long, shaky breath and then curved forward to rest his forehead lightly against Zevran's shoulder. "You should bring extra pillows next time."

Zevran reached up to twine his fingers in Alistair's hair, lightly stroking and occasionally scratching blunt fingernails across his scalp. Soothing. There was nothing overtly sexual about the touch--this wasn't one of his over-the-top flirtations. He was offering comfort, plain and simple.

"I will bring pillows and more blankets," he promised. "We will both be admirably comfortable, you will see."

Alistair shivered a little at the touch of those nimble fingers, nails on his scalp catching at some part inside him, loosening knots found there. He settled further and his hand came up to rest lightly on Zevran's side, brushing over the faint scars the poultices had left.

"How will I ever go back to sleeping in haylofts and ditches?" he murmured.

"You will not," Zevran promised. "When we return to our home, I will be along very soon to collect you. We will go to Antiva where we will have a little home in the city, overlooking the market. You will complain that our bed is too soft even as you wallow in it until shamefully late in the day."

He smiled up at Alistair, an obvious fondness in his golden eyes. "I am from the future, you remember. I know you are not alone very long."

Alistair lifted his head so that he could watch Zevran as he talked, gaze shifting from his eyes to his mouth and back. "You're really serious about all that?" He wet his own lips, eyes uncertain.

"I could swear on something if you like," he offered easily. "But yes, I am serious. Not all of us are Elissa."

It was important to say her name now. Vital.

The name made Alistair flinch, and he tucked his chin a little, muscles in his jaw working. "Yes, if you were her, this would be the part where you laugh at me for being a trusting fool." He was staring at a spot on the far wall now.

"It is not always foolish to trust, my friend," Zevran said. "Traveling with you taught me this."

Alistair sighed, rolling onto his back and flopping an arm over his eyes. He had this heaviness inside him that Zevran kept lightening or stirring or warming. It was confusing and it ached, but it wasn't a bad ache, but did it make him a bad man if he wanted to kiss him? Was he just being useless and needy?

He used his other arm, the one that had been around Zevran in the first place to tug him a little closer, squeezing him against his side. "I know that. Parts of me do anyway. And I do trust that you're my friend, and that this is good, and that if I had to choose anyone to be here with me in this complete crazy place, it would be you. Which maybe should surprise me? But it doesn't."

Zevran curled contentedly against Alistair's side, nuzzling his cheek against his shoulder. The warmth, the contact, the familiar scent of him--it was all so right.

"Good," he said, slipping an arm around Alistair's waist. "This I am very glad to hear."

Alistair was quiet for several minutes, enjoying the weight against him, the lithe, lean lines of his body, the scent of spice and leather, and Maker's breath that was suddenly very distracting.

He lifted his head, removing the arm from his face, looking down at Zevran's hair. "Zevran?"

"Hmmm?" he murmured, sleepily blinking open his eyes and tipping his chin toward Alistair. He'd started to drowse a bit.

The hollow in Alistair's chest twinged at having disturbed Zevran... but it wasn't nearly so hollow as he'd come to think of it. Instead it felt like something, instead of all the nothing he'd been carrying around inside him. It was that sleepy blink that made it feel like something.

He lifted his head further, reached down to cup Zevran's chin to tip it closer toward him, and brought their lips together.

Zevran made a soft noise that was part pleasure, part entreaty. He reached up, fingers curling in the front of Alistair's shirt, and arched breathlessly into the kiss.

His heart was pounding hard in his chest.

Alistair's arm tightened further as Zevran arched up and he shifted toward him, drawing him tightly against his chest as he changed the angle to the kiss, lips parting and gently tasting.

His hand stroked down over Zevran's neck, thumb brushing over his racing pulse, and he pulled away after another slow stroke of his lips. He stayed close though, eyes closed, breathing shallow and harsh as he struggled for... control? Sense? Some kind of context for what he'd done and how Zevran had reacted?

Zevran made another low, pleased noise, trapped deep in his chest. He twisted his fingers tighter in Alistair's shirt, still so close he could taste each breath.

And then, because he was Zevran, he brushed the tip of his tongue lightly across Alistair's lower lip.

Alistair groaned, soft and low at the touch of Zevran's tongue. "You are trying to kill me, aren't you? Drive me to an early, confusing, frustrated grave."

He shifted his lower body slightly away from Zevran and opened his eyes to look at him, blushing hard under his scruff. "Was that... I know it wasn't the first time you've kissed me but--" He decided eyes closed was probably easier. "But was that terrible? You can tell me if it was terrible." Why was he talking? Maker save him from his own idiot mouth.

"This is better answer, I think," Zevran murmured, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Alistair's hair and pressing in for another kiss. This one was slow and languid and hot, though carefully controlled. Zevran didn't want to overwhelm Alistair too much, but...just a little overwhelmed was not such a bad thing.

Like his lips moving over Alistair's. His tongue dipping into his mouth and stroking his, teasing his, flicking and twining before ultimately retreating before Alistair could do much more than feel the building simmer.

Zevran caught Alistair's lower lip between his teeth and oh-so lightly dragged across it as he released him, pulling back to meet his eyes.

"Anything but terrible. I could kiss you all day."

The way Alistair met the kiss had a lot in common with his attempts at many things. As soon as he stopped worrying about what he was doing he fell into it with a natural grace.

It was more than letting the kiss simply happen, his own mouth hungry, soft and wanting in a way that let Zevran's lips and tongue drive it, but not passive. He shuddered at the nip of Zevran's teeth and then stared back, face furiously red.

"I... that... as far as plans go, I've heard many that were much worse." He licked his lips, tasting the traces of the kiss there, and let out a raspy chuckle. "Maker's breath, Zevran, you... you really know how to kiss."

"I enjoy kissing you," he said with a return laugh. "I am also a fan of doing many other things with you--things we will hopefully be able to explore at some point?"

He waggled his brows playfully.

Alistair rolled his eyes, his cheeks still flushed, looking like an idiot most likely, and his arms still very full of lissome elf.

He ran a hand absently down Zevran's back, face screwing up in thought. "This different worlds, different times, different us...es... isn't confusing at all, is it? You'll just claim you know we do explore... things. At some point. And at that point? Will I remember already, um...?" He coughed softly and buried his nose in Zevran's hair, breath against the tip of his ear.

Zevran shivered and pressed in, one lithe leg hooking over Alistair's flank to drag his hips closer.

"It depends on whether time is a straight line or not," he murmured. "Or how we escape. Will we create many paradoxes? I cannot say."

Whether it was Zevran's strength or Alistair's unwillingness to resist, his bulkier frame shifted toward him with a little huff of air past his lips. "Ooh, maybe the world will end entirely from too much shenanigans. Too many? All the fiddly paradox things, hmm?"

His hand pressed over the small of Zevran's back, anchoring him there, stopping his fingers from roaming further.

And yes, of course he subtly shifted, letting their hips rock together--not even necessarily to start something. Mostly just because he loved the flurry of sparks low in his belly, the early burn of excitement.

"If we are stuck in this world instead, I cannot mind too much," he mused. "It is better than too many shenanigans."

The brush of Zevran against him sent Alistair's heart racing. His throat clicked as he swallowed.

"What about demons and creepy mirrors and copies of people? That seems like more than enough shenanigans." His voice was a low rasp, much more affected than his rambling words suggested.

Well, that was promising.

"We fought a blight and killed an archdemon," Zevran said with a shrug. "Demons and creepy mirrors and copies of people seem easy to handle in comparison, no?"

Alistair stilled, a heaviness settling over him. "You fought a blight and killed an archdemon. I got blind drunk and fell down a well in Jader." He shifted, disentangling himself carefully. "Well it was more of a cistern than a well. For pig watering. I fell in a pig trough, marvel at my heroism!"

The frustration, the bitterness was back on his tongue and his mouth watered with the desire to spit.

"Is this so?" Zevran asked, moving to his knees behind Alistair. He slid an arm around his waist and pressed his face to his shoulderblades. "It is strange, because I remember a strapping blond man who also struck down darkspawn and held his shield between me and death."

Zevran closed his eyes. "The dark parts of our lives do not define us, Alistair. The places where we were cowards, or fools, or assassins sent to kill Grey Wardens... They are not the whole of our story."

It takes time, but as Zevran talks, pressed against his back Alistair slowly softened, the stiffness gentling out of him an inch at a time until he was twisting toward him again.

"I'm really not worth all this, Zevran. But, I'm glad you think I am because I'm weak, and selfish, and you--" He reached to touch his face with a gentle brush of his fingers.

"You make me want to be like that. Your shield, strapping. Good. Ish. Goodish. Because, as discussed, crime." He smiled, shy, lopsided, and leaned down still awkwardly turned to kiss Zevran softly on the cheek.

"And I am a murderer," he pointed out, catching Alistair's chin so their eyes were meeting. His expression was serious. "And yet when you see me, you see a person worth caring for, yes? Allow me the same courtesy with you, mi caro."

It was hard to argue with that logic. Zevran was a murderer, and Alistair did care for him. Rather a lot, actually. And even he wasn't stubborn enough to deny that. He looked like he wanted to try though, brow furrowing as he let Zevran hold his chin, mouth opening and then closing again with a snap.

He nodded, slowly, eyes going from glower to thoughtful as it all sank in. Zevran cared, trusted him enough to sleep in his arms, wanted him. And there was the blush.

Zevran's expression softened, and he slid his fingers into Alistair's hair...and slithered gracefully into his lap, straddling his waist. "Thank you," he said simply before leaning in to kiss a very secret, very sensitive spot just beneath Alistair's ear.

His tongue flickered over it knowingly. It paid to have a few months' experience with this man's body under his belt.

Alistair blinked in surprise when Zevran helped himself to his lap, but he didn't try to dissuade him. But the kiss caught him by surprise.

Lips and tongue hitting it just right, in a way no one had ever-- he tilted his head, giving Zevran more room, even as a low groan rumbled in his chest. He gripped at the slim hips atop him, needing something to hold onto and finding Zevran right there.

"Not fair," he muttered, neck arching toward Zevran's mouth.

"No," he agreed with a chuckle, very deliberately rocking his hips forward once, twice--just to test Alistair's reaction to the tease of friction.

He lightly raked his teeth along the arc of Alistair's neck.

Alistair is responsive. The teasing rock, the scrape of teeth, it coils sensation from his neck to his groin and the flush of blood isn't just in his ears, though it's worse when he realizes how swiftly he's getting hard from Zevran's weight in his lap.

His hands move restlessly, circling back and then up, just barely brushing what would be considered ass before settling on Zevran's waist. "I'm not sure--" he broke off, biting his lip, hands squeezing. He would ruin it by talking about how he was going to ruin it if he let himself. He knew he would.

Zevran nuzzled Alistair's neck, kissing softly just beneath his ear. "Then I will not," he promised. He didn't move away, but he didn't continue teasing Alistair either. Instead, he twined his arms around the other man's neck--legs wrapped around his waist--and rested his head on Alistair's shoulder, letting the heat simmer between them without stirring it higher.

Even he could be good with enough provocation.