If he’d known the Seeker was capable of tricks, perhaps a rogue such as himself might have caught her intentions before suddenly losing balance. Surely, he would have tumbled to the floor had it not been for the firm palm of the shieldmaiden upon the crook of his back. Nevertheless, the Antivan was confident he could redeem any faux pas in the bedroom. All it required was a change in perspective, really.
“My, my. I am not accustomed to being swept up by beautiful women….” The elf drawled with a lackadaisical smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Truly, Cassandra was full of surprises. “It is something I can get used to, however.”
Two steps back and privacy was theirs for the taking. The door closed with a solid thud behind them, muffling the echoes of chatter through the halls. Immediately, Cassandra reached for the strapping of her armor, disposing of the protective guard as they clattered to the floor with a ringing sound. She stood before him at her most vulnerable, having abandoned the glinting armor that seemed to be a physical manifestation of her emotional walls.
Words did not seem to be capable of spilling from his lips, a surprise to be sure for a man known for his incessant commentary. His usual demeanor was thwarted by Cassandra’s forward gesture, the way she stood before him simultaneously inviting him and warning the elf to keep his distance. Perhaps she expected Zevran to look at her as a beast would observe their prey–something to be conquered and maimed. Perhaps she expected him to mock her–as if his intentions all along were to exploit the sincerity of a woman who gave too much and received little in return. If he were all the things people first presumed him to be, perhaps that might be so. Perhaps he would look at her that way.
Yet if she could only see through the eyes of the Crow. He’d sensed that she would be nothing like previous bedmates, yet, alas, the Seeker seemed intent on bringing forth a side to him he hadn’t known existed. Why was it that, even after inviting him to her room, Cassandra seemed to test him, as if daring the elven charmer to prove her suspicions right?
And why was it that he found himself ever more determined to earn her trust?
He closed the distance between them with, slow and measured steps until he stood but a breath’s distance from the Nevarran beauty. His slender digits would follow the sharp line of her collarbone with the same devotion of a Qunari convert, fingertips hooking onto the collar of her tunic and tugging it away from satin skin. Lips descended to press fondly upon her clavicle, peppering kisses upon her skin and inching closer and closer to the elegant slope of her neck. In between kisses he could not resist the soft hiss of air between his teeth from their proximity, his desire a boundless wildfire catching onto whatever part of the Lady Seeker he could claim.
His free hand lingered upon the swell of her hip before cupping her outer thigh, fingertips indenting in the smooth skin. He drew her leg up to wrap around his waist, making the effort of lifting her seamless. While it had been he who was pinned against the door previously, the Seeker would find herself caged between the Antivan and her bedroom door. His lips were ravenous, nipping at the tender skin of her neck before soothing away the bites with a sprinkle of kisses, akin to the dapple of summer rain on scorched earth.
With his shirt abandoned and her armor resting on the marble floor, his senses seemed to crackle like a lightning storm. Without the armor he could admire the lean muscles blanketed by soft flesh, their intertwined hips divided only by clothing. He pressed himself harder against her frame, starved for more, yet restraining from taking whatever she did not wish to offer.
Tilting his head back, he met the burnt umber hues of the Seeker Pentaghast. The lantern light cast her gaze with a flickering gold palette, and the mere sight of her in the warm light ceased his breathing. His tongue desired to tell Cassandra how her beauty was incomparable, yet his lips could not find words. His forehead grazed hers, gently, as his palm pressed flat against the wall. The other hand tugged at the hem of her tunic, curiosity sparking in honeyed eyes. His gaze fixated upon her features as his hand slipped under the fabric, keeping an eye lest she showed some subtle hint of displeasure.
“I am completely at your whim, Cassandra,” the elf murmured with a soft purr. “Though you are certainly making it hard for me to maintain my gentlemanly reputation.”
If she did not protest, he would roam the flat surface of her stomach with fleeting touches, fingertips inching ever upwards. Forehead still pressed upon hers, he would steal another kiss, sucking upon the padded crescent of her bottom lip, his breathing labored as every second beside Cassandra left him unraveled.
Much to her own surprise, there was no protest from the Seeker, not in words nor actions, and not in the secure confines of her own mind, either. She wanted this, him, despite the protestations she had made during their earlier encounters. Thinking back, she realised that they were a natural defense that she had built up over years upon years of trauma and loss of almost everyone she had held dear in the past, a defense that was, perhaps, no longer necessary, that held her back in this instance. And if there was one promise she had made to herself after the smoldering remnants of the Conclave had been extinguished, it was to learn from the past, but never look back upon happy times with remorse, nor let it slow her progress for the future. She had prevailed, and she would continue to do so.
His hands melted barriers of which she had previously been unaware existed, fingertips drawing circles around her mental walls until the sensation managed to spiral its way into her core to lower the drawbridge from the inside. Quite the accomplishment for someone she’d previously considered a threat to her life and perhaps someone to toy with her emotions, if she were to show him anything besides bitterness or even anger. He was still in the position to do so, but the part of her mind that was not yet parched for a taste of him, hoped furiously that he would not take advantage of her emotions after she had given him permission to do as he pleased----as they both pleased, with her physique. For someone as guarded as Cassandra, emotionally as well as physically, the two were unequivocally connected, and one could not exist without the other. She had no doubt the Elf would be able to fulfill his physical urges without any emotional attachment, but, well---she would have to deal with the emotions in the aftermath. There was something of a connection, but she was no fool; to think that there was something more between them than a need for physical satisfaction would be entirely too naïve.
With that in mind, she mused a moment longer and came to the conclusion that she still wanted this with every fibre of her being. His touch would seem bold at first glance, but there was still something tentative about it, eyes searching hers for any confirmation of consent, and she respected him so incredibly much for it. Perhaps there was more honour in the Antivan than she’d initially gauged, and even the Seeker had to admit that she was not flawless in her assessment of strangers. She could only hope that before long, he would no longer be a stranger to her. Having found no words to accurately describe just how intense her craving for him was and how much she wanted him to continue every single thing he was doing at that moment, she did something that would initially seem contradictory to her feelings about the situation; she broke contact, all of it. Within moments, she had broken free from his grip, not one to be pinned down easily after all, and she stood a foot’s length away from him, spun around so her back was turned towards him. Confusing as that action may have been, she spared no seconds to make it very clear that she was all in for this.
As she’d spun around and away from him, her fingers had found the laces that held her tunic together at the same time, and the exact moment when she’d fully turned away from him, also happened to be the moment she had undone the lacing far enough for the fabric to naturally fall away from her skin. As slowly as hot wax dripping down the candle that was lit in the corner of her room, gravity tugged at her tunic, and ultimately, fell to the floor. Her thumb hooked underneath the bindings that wrapped around her chest and flicked the end of the cloth outward, creating enough space between the bound layers for them to unravel from their previous position, and join the tunic in a puddle on the floor, around her feet. Turning the slightest bit, she now let her arms hang loosely around her body, which in turn caused the candlelight to momentarily give him a perfectly light-framed side-view of her posture, bare from the waist up. The glance she flashed him from over her shoulder was unmistakable; I want this. I want you.
Her words held a double meaning, both beckoning him to the bed at the other side of the room, but at the same time, her gaze crept over his body as though she expected to peel off the layers of clothes he was still wearing with a simple glance. Needless to say, consent was given, and the night would prove to have so much more to give for the both of them.
Leaning back against one of the pillows that had been discarded during their intimacy but that was now propped up against the corner of the bed’s headboard, Cassandra had gathered the sheets between her fingers and drawn them back over her body, not specifically for warmth, but more so because she felt...exposed. Vulnerable, perhaps. A faint hint of moonlight fell through the window and caught her attention, or rather, she let it draw her attention away from the scenario she’d found herself in at that moment. It had been pleasant, no, much more than that, but now that silence had engulfed the room once more, her thoughts were flooded with memories, worries, and perhaps if she was honest with herself, insecurities. This situation had her at a bit of a loss, and with no clue how to move forward from it, avoidance was always her best option. She would pretend to be capable of these things without any further ado, as many free spirits seemed to be, but in the back of her mind there would always be that little glimmer of hope that this she had not just become a notch in someone’s notebook. His experience had been beneficial for the both of them, but in afterthoughts, it made her incredibly uneasy for her own dynamics with him.
Part of her hoped he would simply get up, get dressed and leave before her mind spiraled into further suspicion, part of her longed for...something she wasn’t even quite certain of, herself. He had given her many a thing she hadn’t realised she’d been sorely lacking while she had been consumed with grief and dutiful labour, perhaps he could continue the trend a little bit longer.
No. She reminded herself that he was an assassin, and with the amount of parties that still disapproved of the Inquisition and its co-founders, this...thing between them had simply sprung from a mutual frustration and should evolve no further.
Her gaze remained averted from him and his perfectly sculpted forms for a little while longer as she mulled over the options of what to do or say next. Whatever the case, she would make sure to come out on top. As in any and all situations.
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