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Gale Surana was a man with a mind for logistics and tactics. A scholar before he became a Gray Warden, his mental discipline transferred easily from the science of magic to the science of troop movements, strategy, supply. And so he knew that there was only so far he could push himself, and only so far he could push his companions: they all had limits, and he learned them and kept them in mind. His comrades rarely complained, but he learned to gauge them, measure the hollowness of their eyes and the droop of their shoulders, and he paced them as they would not pace themselves. He knew exactly how vital their task was, having read historic reports of prior Blights, and that was why he refused to push any of them too hard, even himself. He ordered rests when needed, changed who fought beside him regularly. If they fell from exhaustion, who could take their places?
Now they were in Orzammar as honored guests of the King, resting from their long foray into the Deep Roads - a rest that all of them desperately needed. Even Shale was tired, the golem's seemingly indefatigueable nature denied after the confrontation before the Anvil. And yet, Gale wanted nothing more to leave. The mage felt certain that if he had to spend one more day listening to dwarven nobles snipe at each other when there were far more important things at hand, he was going to resort to blood magic, summon as many demons as possible and loose them in the Diamond Quarter.
Which, while potentially satisfying, would rather ruin what he'd gone through so much to build. And so he turned to Zevran. Gale knew he could always count on Zevran to come up with something suitably distracting, when he asked it; the assassin was multitalented, and not just in the ways he so frequently suggested to Gale, which Gale had yet to take him up on. Not that he hadn't thought about it. Zevran made not thinking about it very difficult, in all honesty. But lack of experience and the embarrassment it caused had held him back from that so far, although after all they had been through together, he was glad to call the Antivan a friend.
"My friend, you are not cut out for politics." Zevran's smirk was not exactly sympathetic as he led Gale through the Commons. Of them all, he and Morrigan seemed to have fared the best through the compounded horrors of the previous days. "Ah, were this but Antiva, we could simply have killed one or the other and been done with it. I have rarely felt so homesick."
Gale glanced sideways at his friend, lips twitching upwards in a smile he didn't particularly feel . "I could have used that advice a week ago. Maker, I know there have to be decent dwarves, but I'm beginning to hate them anyways."
Zevran patted his shoulder. "There is that charming and sweet young thing you promised to send to the Circle, no? Think upon her face, her body, and perhaps you will feel something arise besides hate."
Gale caught his meaning and choked. "Zev, you have to be joking. She's hardly more than a child-"
"As are you, no? Ah, you may fool the others, but you cannot fool Zevran. So I suppose it would be a good time to ask, you are allowed to drink, yes? Because that is part of what I have planned, and it would be a shame if I had to drink your share as well." Gale took a breath to snap an angry reply, and then spotted the glint in the other elf's eye. The retort died in his throat, the exhalation becoming an exasperated sigh.
"I'll drink my own share, unless Oghren shows up and takes it."
Zevran laughed. "He would, at that. Except we are not going to Tapsters, and our smelly dwarven friend seems to make that his home away from home."
"Where are we going, then? You've been very mysterious about this." Gale knew asking was a vain endeavour, if Zevran was truly in the mood to be obnoxiously secretive, but he at least needed to try. He didn't want to walk into whatever the Antivan had planned entirely blind; that would just be foolish. It was almost gauranteed to be safe . . . but not guaranteed to be entirely harmless, precisely.
"You will see, my friend. I promise it will be very distracting." Zevran's grin was both evil and charming at the same time, and Gale swallowed around a suddenly thick throat and nodded, not entirely trusting his voice to reply.
On the very edge of the border zone between Dust Town and Orzammar proper, Zevran gestured to a building. Scholar though Gale was, he didn't know the dwarven word on the sign that hung above the door; it certainly wasn't any variant of 'tavern' that the mage knew of. "Weren't we going for drinks?" he asked.
"Did I not say that drinking was a part of what I had in mind? Trust me, Warden. You will find many things to distract you here." Zevran winked at him. Winked. Gale felt a sudden blast of what might almost have been horror, realizing suddenly what the word was. It was a form he hadn't see before, but the conjugation (and what a loaded word that suddenly became, he thought in a corner of his mind) implied it was a potential future act, and it was very close to-
-well, the word for the act of sex. "This is a brothel, isn't it?" Gale raised a hand to rub one temple slightly. "Zevran, I'm not sure I-"
"Then you need only enjoy some ale and admire the whores from afar," Zevran said firmly, pushing him towards the door. "Though there are some truly beautiful women working here, I promise you. You may yet change your mind once you see them."
Gale allowed the assassin to open the door and push him through; he heard dim whispers behind them, shocked tones. Hardly surprising, that. Outsiders were rare in Orzammar, and two elven men entering a dwarven brothel was surely worthy of any amount of whispering. Inside, the lighting was dimmer, and it took Gale a few moments to adjust. Once his eyes focused in the soft glow, he felt the tips of his ears flush hotly, and knew his cheeks must match. Zevran's low chuckle beside him told him that his embarrassment had not escaped notice.
The low-ceilinged room was appointed with slightly threadbare grace; the hangings and cushions had seen better days, but were well distributed and showed good taste in color and decoration. A bar and seating area were adjoined by a raised stage; on the stage, two dwarven women danced to music from a hidden source, and that was what had brought a betraying flush to Gale's fair skin. The two ladies - dubiously as the term might be applied to them - could scarcely have been wearing more than a handkerchief between the pair of them, and Gale had to admit that they were appealing, their broad curves both lush and sinuous at the same time.
"Let us find a seat and have some ale, no?" There was an arch tone to Zevran's voice, and Gale looked away from the women on stage with a cough. He quickly realized that all the seats had a good view of the stage, placed in half-circles around well-spaced round tables. There went one idea to preserve his dignity. He selected a table near the back of the room, held his robes carefully as he sat. Dwarven chairs were shorter, naturally, and the first time he'd attempted to sit on one, he'd neglected to be cautious of his robes and almost choked himself as the act of sitting, so much lower than he was used to, pulled his robe backwards under himself. To make matters worse, it had been during an audience with then-Prince Bhelen, and he'd feared that standing again to readjust himself would have been rude. Thus, he'd suffered silently while the Prince oiled his way around the topic at hand. By the time the dwarf was finished, Gale could scarcely croak a brief agreement, much less ask the pointed questions he'd been intending. Leliana had giggled for what seemed like forever as he slumped against the wall outside the royal chamber, trying to catch his breath.
No, he would not repeat that incident. He spared a moment to envy Zevran's easy grace - and pants-- as the assassin sat beside him, and then a dwarven woman with a tray was upon them. She was dressed fully, though in clothing somewhat more provocative than Gale had seen on the women of the Commons, but by comparison, she seemed positively prudish, and Gale was grateful for something to look at that was safe. Thoroughly professional, she took their orders for a round of ale - the prices seemed steep to Gale until he realized that the 'entertainment' was included in the cost of the drinks - and continued her round of the tables, dropping off drinks and picking up empty mugs on her way back to the bar.
"How did you know about this place?" Gale asked Zevran quietly.
"There are some things that are universal, my friend," the assassin said with a sly smile, "among which are places like this one. Of course, I could also tell you the words for a brothel in five different languages. As it happens, I merely read the sign as we passed by several days ago, and investigated it myself earlier today."
"Oh. And here I thought you might have some sort of extra sense for these things," Gale decided it was his turn to tease. "A keen nose for the seedy underbelly of a city. I'm disappointed, Zevran."
Zevran heaved a dramatic sigh. "Alas. And so the air of mystery is lost." He leaned forward onto his elbows and glanced at the stage; Gale followed his look automatically, and nearly swallowed his own tongue. He had not thought the women would remove what little they had been wearing, but evidently, he was wrong. And yet it was somehow not as intriguing as before, and he suddenly wondered if Zevran had been answering his jibe, or commenting on the dancers. Or, not inconceivably, both.
Their drinks arrived before Gale could find his voice again, and he was grateful for the distraction. As he watched the stage, flushed face buried in his mug, the two women finished their routine and were replaced by another woman, alone and fully dressed. Gale was relieved for a moment, until he realized that the others had likely started that way as well. Zevran seemed leave Gale to his thoughts in peace, though he betrayed that his attention was more on his leader than the dwarven beauty, for as soon as Gale's mug began to run low, the other elf signaled for another round.
Halfway through the second mug and the new dancer's clothing, Gale realized the elf was openly watching him, rather than the well-built woman on stage. "Zev?"
"You were entranced," the Antivan said, a touch smug. "I would wager that she's available once she comes off her set. Would you like to hire her for the night?"
Gale choked on his ale, unprepared for the suggestion - though he really should have been, a clinical corner of his mind noted. He shook his head, knowing his flush was renewed, and he hoped it could be chalked up to the drink rather than nervousness. "Maker's breath, Zevran, is that all you think about? When I asked you for a distraction, I was hoping for- for another new card game, or-" His voice gave him away, he knew it. High and almost scared, even to his own ears. The other elf gave him a long look, and then-
"Warden, are you a virgin?" Zevran asked bluntly, and Gale hid his face against his cup. Oh, Maker.
He must have been tipsy, because he found himself answering honestly, though even the alcohol couldn't stop his nervous stutter. "Y-yes."
Zevran leaned close, putting fingers under the mage's chin and tilting his face up, forcing him to look Zevran in the eyes. "Is that why you say things that drive me wild, and then retreat when I return the same? And I thought you were simply a tease, perhaps one of those men that only beds women but will flirt with anyone."
Gale felt hot, then cold, and then hot again. Zevran's eyes were intense, he noticed, and while he could have leaned back and taken his face out of Zevran's hand, he was too distracted by those eyes, staring into his with something like hunger behind them. "M-maybe? I didn't know that I was . . . doing that. Saying things that made you-" He couldn't continue, too flustered by the fingers on his skin and the eyes boring into his.
A slow, predatory grin slid across Zevran's face, and his eyelids drooped, eyelashes nearly brushing his cheekbones. "And now it all makes sense. Do you still desire a distraction, my Warden?" The quiet, clinical part of Gale's mind noticed the possessive, and had little to say about it; the larger, hazier part of Gale's mind was occupied with Zevran's sensual look. He tried to nod, realized that wouldn't work, not with the Antivan's fingers holding his head in place, and quietly stammered his assent.
Despite everything, he was unprepared for the kiss. This, at least, wasn't entirely new to him; he'd stolen a few hurried kisses with other apprentices, in the corners of the tower, but that was as far as his experience went - and those furtive, unpracticed kisses were to this one what Oghren in a 'the sodding dog stole my pants' moment was to the woman currently on stage. Laughable and seemingly entirely unrelated, other than in the most general form. He felt hot breath on his lips, and then Zevran's own mouth, surprisingly soft, sealed over his. The Antivan's fingers slid from Gale's jaw to the back of his head, fingers threading through long, dark hair to hold him in place, and Gale's eyes slipped shut. It was pleasant, and more than pleasant, and when Zevran's tongue teased along his lower lip, Gale parted his lips willingly. This, now, was completely new, and he felt unspeakably awkward, not sure what to do with his own tongue. He decided to take his cues from what Zevran was doing, and when the other elf's hand tightened in his hair, it gave him a small measure of confidence.
After what seemed both too long and too soon, Zevran drew back a scant inch, hand still laced with Gale's hair. "You are a quick learner, mi amora," he said with a quirked smile. "If you will have it, there are many things I would enjoy teaching you. Perhaps you thought that I would not find an inexperienced lover suitable?"
"The thought had occurred to me," Gale admitted, and was surprised to hear his own voice, deeper and huskier than normal.
Zevran chuckled, and loosed his grip on Gale's head. "Do not move. I will arrange a room for us, where there will be no prying ears. These places usually sell a companion to go with the room, but they are glad enough for the coin even if the companion is not desired."
Gale swallowed, wondering if perhaps he had in fact gone mad as he watched the assassin approach the bartender, speaking with him in quiet tones. The dwarf cast him a glance, then said something to Zevran. Gale could not hear him, but the expression was unmistakably sly. Zevran shook his head, and the bartender laughed and clapped Zevran on the arm. Coin changed hands, and then Zevran was returning and Gale could feel butterflies fluttering under his ribcage.
"We have a room, my Warden," Zevran said, and Gale nodded and stood, not quite certain he could trust himself to speak just yet. He thought he might be ill if he opened his mouth. Something of that must have shown on his face, for Zevran reached out and touched his cheek, tracing the tattoo there with callused fingertips. "I intend to drive you out of your mind with pleasure tonight, amora. If that does not suit you, you may walk away now and there will be no hard feelings."
Gale stood still for a moment, an inner war raging between his nerves and his desire. Finally, he tilted his head into Zevran's touch and reached out to mirror the gesture. "It does suit me," he confessed, "and I think if I were to try to walk away, my feet would mutiny and bring me back in a circle until I was again before you. But they're also unsure of where to go, so- if you would direct them?"
Zevran turned his head so that Gale's fingers traced across his lips; his tongue darted out to taste the mage's fingertips, making him gasp. "Then follow my lead," he murmured, and backed towards a small hallway, drawing Gale with him. In the hallway, he opened the second door they came to and gestured inside.
Gale stepped into the small room, space dominated by a large bed, and heard the door click shut behind him. Carved patterns in the stone walls provided a welcome distraction from the flustering, almost unbelievable reality at hand, until Zevran's arms slid around him from behind, and he felt the assassin's lean, strong body pressed against his back. He closed his eyes, leaned his head backwards against Zevran's shoulder. This was out of his area of control. There was no logic to be found here, with Zevran's mouth pressed to the curve of his neck and strong hands finding the shape of his body beneath his complex, weighty robes. If he surrendered himself to Zevran, perhaps the other elf could teach him the science of bodies, a discipline that still eluded his grasp. Books weren't sufficient teachers in this quarter, but Zevran . . .
Zevran's teeth grazed Gale's earlobe, startling the mage with a jolt of white-hot pleasure. The Antivan must have noted the way Gale's breath hitched, because his attention turned to Gale's ears, tongue and teeth producing sensations Gale would never have thought possible from such an innocuous part of his body. Little nips and soft, tender licks, breath hot and cold at once against wet, sensitive skin, and in very little time at all, he was panting, surprised and needy whimpers with each breath. He could feel Zevran's hardness against his ass, and it both frightened Gale and turned him on, the way Zevran's hips ground forward, rubbing his cock against the mage through leather and cloth. He felt impossibly hard, painfully needy, and when Zevran's deft fingers began to flick open ties, unwound the belts that held his robes closed, he thought he might come right then, imagining Zevran's hands against his skin.
And then he did not need to imagine, as his robes fell open and Zevran purred against his ear, one clever, delightful hand finding Gale's aching cock and stroking it. Gale arched forward, eyes snapping open as he gave a strangled moan. Of course he'd touched himself before, plenty of times, but Zevran's hand was warmer, rougher, and above all, not attached to himself. It was entirely different feeling and Gale knew he wasn't going to last at all if Zevran didn't stop right then.
"Zev! I'm-" The mage could barely speak, traitor body thrusting into Zevran's hand, beyond Gale's ability to control it. His efforts were rewarded by nip to the point of his ear and a low chuckle.
"That is the point, dear Warden," Zevran said, breath tantalizingly cool against wet, sensitive skin. "This is your first time, no? The edge must first be taken off your desire, if you are to last through what I long to do to you." His expert hand stroked in time with Gale's inexpert, instictive thrusts, other arm supporting the mage as his knees began to fail him. Gale felt the pressure building, burning at the base of his spine and in his head, and his back arched. He was helpless under the onslaught of drowning need, and his breath caught, stopped, then was exhaled in a long groan as he came in Zevran's hand, seed splattering the other elf's fingers, his own robes, dripping to the floor. He was suspended by Zevran's arm clasped about his chest, knees too weak to support himself as he shuddered in the aftermath of an orgasm more intense than anything he'd ever managed on his own. He slowly collected the scattered pieces of his fragmented mind, eventually found his feet again, and Zevran released him, turned and pushed him, unresisting, down onto the edge of the bed.
Gale wondered how he must look to Zevran, sitting there with robes in open disarray, come smearing his belly and his cock, not completely soft yet, lying against his leg.
Judging by the expression on the Antivan's face, it was a sight to behold. He dropped to his knees between Gale's legs, and, looking up at the mage's eyes, leaned forward and lapped up the come from Gale's pale stomach in short, lazy licks. The mage felt himself stirring again, the view unbelievably erotic - a view that, if pressed, he might admit he'd seen the likes of before in some of his better dreams. But now, it was happening while he was awake, truly happening, and he suddenly realized that Zevran was wearing far too much clothing, too much armor. His hands came up to tug at the boiled leather, inexperience with the straps and buckles making his efforts ineffectual.
"Zev, I want-" Gale paused, not certain exactly how to say what he wanted. "I want to touch you," he finally said, with some frustration, and the other elf laughed.
"In time," Zevran said, voice full of promise. "I am not finished with distracting you, yet." His tongue traced a line down the soft skin of Gale's stomach, dipped into the hollow of the mage's hip, and Gale clutched at him, fingers sliding on rough leather. The Antivan's hands spread his knees further, exposing the mage completely to Zevran's searching mouth. Gale gave up on trying to find a purchase on Zevran's armor and leaned back on his elbows, watching down the length of his body as Zevran's clever mouth, hot mouth found his hardness. The mage threw his head back, a strangled cry, half shout half moan, working out of his throat. It was far too soon when that mouth and the amazing feelings it brought abandoned his hardness, and he glanced down again, unable to stop a wordless whimper of protest at the loss.
But Zevran hadn't abandoned him, exactly; the Antivan's head moved lower, fingers spreading Gale, and the mage's eyes widened in shock as he felt the first touch of Zevran's tongue against his centre, wet and hot, tracing the ring of muscle there and it felt so good. Gale had never imagined this, and his eyes slid shut, hands fisting in the sheets. He felt dizzy, overheated, as Zevran relentlessly tongued him, gave him something he didn't even realize he'd been craving but that he knew now he needed like he needed air.
Gale didn't know when the first slickened finger slid inside of him, but he noticed it when the wicked tongue drew away and a second finger joined the first, pushing in and twisting, crooking, like Zevran was searching for something. And then he found it, a spot that made Gale arch and push down, another incoherent cry wrung out of him. He heard Zevran's chuckle, and the fingers withdrew, leaving him wanting.
It was the sound of leather hitting the floor that prompted Gale to open his eyes. Zevran's cuirass was gone, and the shirt the assassin wore under it was quickly pulled over his head, leaving his golden chest bare save for the tattoos that made Gale long to trace them. In little more time, Zevran was entirely bare, and Gale's eyes drifted to the Antivan's cock, hard and surprisingly thick, given the leanness of the Antivan's frame. Gale swallowed as Zevran stood before him, a knowing smirk adorning his lips.
"Maker, you're amazing," the mage whispered, and the Antivan's smirk widened.
"No more than you, amora," Zevran said, and with his hands on Gale's hips, encouraged the mage to slide fully onto the bed, off his robes. The assassin tossed those carelessly to the floor and joined the mage on the bed, crawling up the length of Gale's body until they pressed together full length. Nearly a height with each other, it made for delicious contact, Zevran's heated eyes staring half-lidded into Gale's. "You ignite flames within me, my Warden. Every look from those veiled eyes of yours, the sounds that you make - ah, you are cruel to have held me off from you for this long."
Gale flushed, ran his hands along Zevran's arms, his sides, tracing the tattoos there. "You should be one to talk-" he retorted, but the assassin caught his lips before he could begin the accusation he was about to make. The kiss was rougher than their first one, as much a claiming as a caress, and Gale surrendered to it with good grace. His length rubbed slowly, unconciously, against Zevran's hip, and the assassin thrust back, the slide and catch of the Antivan's cock against Gale's belly something delicious and wonderful in its simplicity.
"I want to take you," Zevran murmured when their lips parted, and Gale barely stifled a moan. The thought was almost sobering, but the mage was so far gone now it seemed just one more thing, and he trusted Zevran, wanted Zevran, so he nodded, choked out a reply.
"Yes. Please, Zev."
Zevran pushed himself away and reached for the vial he'd brought into the bed, presumably the one he'd used to slick his fingers. "Then hold out your hand, my Warden," the assassin purred, and when Gale did, he poured a small pool of oil into the mage's hand. "Now, touch me. Ready me to enter you."
Gale's breath caught as Zevran guided his hand to the Antivan's waiting length. After a stunned second, though, he took the initiative, grasping it and stroking, twisting his hand lightly, spreading the oil over soft skin. Zevran's face was unreadable over the mage, lower lip caught in his teeth and his eyes filled with concentration. Touching Zevran was pleasing, and watching the assassins' eyelids flutter as he worked his hand gave the mage some clue how Zevran was so excited by just touching his body. He found himself achingly hard, just gazing at his friend - no, his lover.
One the oil was well-distributed, Zevran pulled back, leaving Gale somewhat disappointed. But the other elf knelt between the mage's legs, pushing them, spreading Gale again, his fingers tracing the already-slick hole as he lined himself up. Gale watched him, repeated, "Please," and Zevran gave a small moan, pushed forward. Gale felt pressure, wider than the fingers that had opened him before; it hurt, but it felt good - and then the head was in and Zevran stopped as Gale bit his lip, thumped his head back into the pillow and waited for the pain to fade.
As the tension left the mage's shoulders, Zevran pressed forward, bit by bit, watching Gale's face for cues. When the Antivan's cock hit that place inside, the slimmer elf's back arched, and Zevran smiled, pushed himself home. He held steady there for a moment, bowed over the mage's body. "Amora, sei la mia aria-"
Gale knew only the tiniest bit of Antivan, and that was beyond him. Something about air- but then he was past thought as Zevran slid out, thrust back in, hitting the place that put stars behind his eyes and electric need in his veins. For a moment it was almost awkward as he tried to push back, but soon they found a rhythm, Gale rocking his hips to meet Zevran's thrust the best he could, one hand twined into the bedclothes, the other grasping for Zevran's knee, needing to touch even as the Antivan filled him, over and over, slow and inexorable and so, so good.
It was over for Gale the moment Zevran freed a hand to stroke his hardness, bringing the mage over the edge again, spending himself over his chest and stomach with a cry. The assassin stared down at him and his thrusts grew erratic as Gale stilled, shuddering, clenching around the Antivan's cock. Two more thrusts, three, and the Zevran drove himself in hard and came, and Gale was dimly aware of the warmth inside of him as Zevran lowered himself down in a controlled collapse, still joined with the mage.
It took them a minute to recover enough to separate, and Zevran rolled over, off of Gale, with a pleased sigh. "You see? I know what I speak of. We should have done this ages ago."
Gale knew that they would need to get up fairly soon, re-clothe themselves and return to the palace, but right now, he really didn't care. Let the dwarven nobles snipe; he would be gone soon enough, and until then . . . maybe it wouldn't be so difficult to bear now. "You're right," he conceded. "At least in this."
Zevran chuckled. "Of course, of course," he said, warm amusement in his voice, and when Gale rolled over and put and arm around him, pressed his lips to the Antivan's cheek, brushing over the lines of the tattoo, the assassin turned his head, met the mage's lips in a lazy, lengthy kiss.
It would be some time before anyone bothered to look for them, Gale realized, and the thought made him smile against Zevran's lips before being pulled back into the kiss. Yes, perhaps the remainder of this rest stop wouldn't be so bad after all.