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Vigil’s Keep was quiet tonight, a strange occurrence for the fortress that housed the legendary order of the Grey Wardens. Warden Commander Merryn Cousland sat at her desk, red hair spilling down her neck and curling over her shoulders, her body covered by a cosy shawl and a short night dress. Ever-constant at her side was the letter from Zevran, crumpled and a little torn.
When I return, not even sharp razors will be enough to keep us apart, it promised, but that had been months ago, and now Merryn, though she had complete faith in the abilities of her elven lover, was beginning to worry that perhaps the numbers had overwhelmed him. She ran her fingers through her hair, sighing heavily. Outside, snow was falling, soft and gentle, carpeting the battlements and the grass. She pitied any watchman out tonight – visibility was sure to be low. Once the snows had cleared somewhat, perhaps she would take Nathaniel, Velanna and Oghren down into a cave to see if there were any more Darkspawn to be pushed back. While her victory and alignment with the Architect had quietened them down some, she refused to take any risks, especially after the way they had besieged Amaranthine only a few months ago.
The tiniest sliver of cold wind wrapped itself around her legs, and with a start Merryn realised someone had opened a door, and nearby. When no feet clumped down the hallway – Oghren’s room was nearest to hers, and the concept of walking silently was as foreign to him as sobriety – her brows lowered. She reached noiselessly for the knife on her desk, just as a precaution. She waited in the dark, stiff and silent. A blast of frigid air hit her back, and as she turned, a warm body pressed itself up against her, a cool blade pressing oh so gently against her neck.
“What sloppy form, Warden Commander,” a voice purred in her ear, a familiar sound that sent shudders of delight through her body. The blade was removed, and the body with it, and he turned, heading back towards the open window and closing it. The cold air stopped. Merryn looked over at him, watching his blond hair gleam in the moonlight.
“Zevran,” she whispered gently, her voice catching in a half-sob which she tried to stifle.
“You were expecting another, my dear?” he murmured, depositing his blades on the bedside table. “I am alive. The Crows no longer hunt me. And here you are, having taken no other to your bed all this time. Did you truly wait for me, my Lady Grey Warden?”
“I thought they’d kill you,” she sobbed, and the elf wrapped his muscled arms around her body, kissing her tears away softly.
“Come, come, my sweet,” he chuckled. “It would take more than a few Crows to take down the famed Zevran Arainai! I have only once been bested, and this by a beautiful Grey Warden, a lady with a heart of pure mercy and kindness! She is the famed daughter of Teyrn Cousland, and yet she loves this foolish assassin with all her good heart.”
Merryn buried her face in his neck, inhaling the leather smell of his armour and the musk that was so authentically Zevran. She wanted to hold him and never let go, but the elf had other ideas, gently pulling the shawl from her shoulders and grasping her waist.
The first touch of his lips against hers was not gentle, it devoured. He pressed himself into her and she willingly gave, hand around the back of his neck and the other buried in his hair. She untied the neat braids either side of his head and the blond strands fell around his face, running her fingers through the loose hair as they kissed deeply. She moved down to unbuckle his armour, and he all but ripped her night dress off in his passion. The leather over his torso was discarded first, and she ran her hands over the warm flesh beneath, pushing the armoured skirt down. Zevran stepped away from it, guiding her towards the bed as he slid out of his boots. Her fingers hurriedly removed the cotton pants covering him, and he sprang free, warm golden length decorated by a base of thick blond hair. She grasped his arms, twisting them around, and pressing him down on the quilts, kissing him ravenously. She bit, and he groaned, grasping her ass in both hands and gripping a little. She kissed down his jawline, liberally applying her teeth and hearing Zevran groan in delight. Her mouth went to his throat, her kisses leaving bruises to form on his neck. He didn’t fight the attention, too happy to be back with her to attempt a rebuttal.
He had been leaning on his elbows and she pushed him back, his head thudding against the pillow as her tongue lapped down his body, stomach muscles writhing beneath the muscle. She reached him, and he stifled a cry as her mouth slid over him, lithe hands tangling into her hair and trying not to push down. Merryn bobbed, lapped a little at the tip, and Zevran bucked in need, shuddering heavily when she sucked. She kissed back up him, mouth latching to his neck as she took him in hand. She pumped at him gently, and the elf shivered as her thumb swiped over the head. She changed her angle, allowing her to move her hand back and forth with greater ease, leaning over him and kissing him headily. Maker, she had missed him, this closeness and contact, had spent months aching, waiting for a return that might never be. And now he was here, returned to her, in one piece, and he still loved her.
She felt him coat her hands as her strokes became quicker and harsher, working him through an orgasm that made him twitch in her hands and cry out into her mouth. Her fingers slowed, rubbed softly until he guided her hands away. It was her turn to be thrown on her back, his movements echoing hers as bruising kisses were bestowed upon her lips. He bit her neck, hard, licking the bites to soothe them, and she moaned in delight, red hair fanning about her face. Maker, yes! His mouth was on her breast, sucking at the nipple, his hands firm on her hips to keep her down. He switched between them, drawing out a litany of moans. This elf spoiled her, it was almost too much, and Merryn could almost feel his desperation to taste every inch of her in case he was forced to leave once more. No, she would not let him even if he had to.
His kisses moved, dipping into her navel and causing her to squirm at the sensation, before he reached her centre, licking a broad stroke upwards and over her nub. She cooed, tangling fingers in blond locks, her back arching as he slid two of his inside her. She needed him, and he needed her to feel him, and as each touch and lick sent sparks through her body, and her eyes rolled into her head, they physically confessed such desires to each other. Her body rolled in delight, legs tensing when his talented fingers plunged into a spot that made her breath stop for a few moments. As the moments passed, he wound her up, tighter and needier every time. Her skin was damp to the touch, not just from within her but her sweat too, and she broke like a dam, riding his hand until she could take no more.
When she had calmed enough, her hands grasped Zevran’s shoulders, and once more she flipped him over, capturing his mouth as she straddled him. She pressed herself against him, inviting warmth coaxing him back to hardness, and he slid inside her. Merryn quaked in desire, moaning softly as he kissed her neck gently. No, there would be time for gentleness later, when she had taken him as she had desired for so many months. She bucked against him, the elf flexing his hips upwards, and he grasped her waist, meeting her rhythm and matching it, a harsh, wonderful exercise filled with lovebites and nail scratches. She never wanted it to end, but she knew it would, and her body surged against his, his face in her hands as lips met and tongues flickered. Lithe fingers rubbed her nub, still so sensitive after his recent ministrations, causing a break in their mouths as she whimpered in pleasure. Her head tilted, inviting his teeth back to her, pressing bites against her jaw, down her neck to her shoulder, the muscle between, one of them hard enough to almost draw blood. It was hard, fast, rough, better than anything before, and Merryn came with a helpless cry, continuing to fuck her elven lover until he spent inside her a few moments later.
They collapsed, getting beneath the soft covers with slight aching joints, and her eyes closed in tranquil delight, breathing deeply. His head rested on the pillow beside hers, an arm around her, his chest glinting with sweat in the moonlight streaming through the window. The quiet, the calm, the soft, un-awkward silence that lay between them sealed his return, not fraught with the sounds of the camp as the post-coital peace had once been. This was stillness, loving and filled with meaning.
Sometimes, the best part was what came after.