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@kniight-errant from here.

Watching Alistair fall apart when Zevran has barely touched more than his hand is thrilling. Some people have a preference for fucking virgins, and while Zevran doesn't have a preference for anyone or anything in particular, he can understand the appeal after seeing Alistair so desperate for him.

"Hm?" He almost doesn't understand the question, but then realizes, and he wraps a leg around Alistair's hip to draw him closer. "Because it feels good." Zevran encourages that press, that gentle grind, by shifting his hips against the sensation; as he presses down against Alistair's fingers, the toes of one foot curl slightly and he shudders an excited breath.

He doesn't want to scare him off; that would rather defeat the purpose. But he also sees the untapped, pent-up desire in Alistair, the hunger in his eyes -- things he's been trained to look for -- and he wants it as badly as it seems Alistair wants him, too.

"Would you like a taste, Alistair?" There's the cat-with-the-cream expression, unable to hold back the quirk of his lips even as they part around another soft moan. Alistair has a nice face, handsome. He would love to see those big, beautiful eyes blinking at him from between his legs.

Some men don't like putting their mouths there, something he'll work with but doesn't understand. Given the way Alistair has been staring at him, he doubts that would be the case here.

Zevran reaches his free hand toward him and barely brushes his fingers over Alistair's cock -- thick, and it'll feel wonderful if he can get Alistair to put it inside of him. It makes him clench around nothing to think about it, another shuddery breath. His thumb scrapes across the head as he uses Alistair's thumb to press more firmly against his clit, to grind against him, eventually sliding it a little lower so it slips between his folds.

"This could be your tongue. Tasting me. Fucking me." Despite the words, his tone remains composed, if a little breathy.

#tee hee #nsft #kniighterrant

❛ i don't care if someone sees us. i need you, now. ❜ ( @kniight-errant 💀)

Zevran will never get over just how cold it can get in Ferelden, especially in the evenings, but he hardly cares right now as Alistair pins him between his broad body and an alleyway wall.

“If a little flirting with a stranger was all it took to get you to this state, perhaps I should— ah—“

Alistair uses the strength in those biceps that Zevran is always admiring to lift him up, and heat floods south immediately as he wraps his legs around Alistair’s hips. Those hands hold him, grasp him, tug his clothing out of the way, and Zevran slithers his hands between their bodies, trusting Alistair’s strength and balance to keep him up off the ground as he unlaces the trousers beneath his heavy armor.

“Oh— That really did get you going, didn’t it? You truly hated seeing me with him that much? Here, let me—“

Zevran grasps his cock once the laces are loose enough, and Alistair is hot, hard as a stone in his palm. With his free hand, he directs Alistair’s mouth toward his own, and he kisses him with tongue as he shifts his hips and guides that cock to where he is wet and needy for him. Two false starts, the head nudging and sliding against his folds, but then he finds purchase and sinks home, sheathed all the way inside.

It’s good. It flushes him warm and achey in the best way, the stretch making his toes curl a little in his boots, and he gasps loudly against Alistair’s lips, squeezing his eyes closed.

“Hold on, hold on,” he whispers, clamping his legs around Alistair’s hips. He lets himself adjust to the feeling for a second, just taking in the sensation of being full, stretched wide with no fingers to prepare him first, but he hardly needs it, when the slight ache and burn are so delightful. Finally he sighs and says, “Okay, okay, now,” and one hand clutches Alistair’s shoulder, another sinking into his short hair, as they start to move.

The bricks against his back are uncomfortable, the scrape of them painful against the back of his head especially as the rough texture catches his hair and pulls, but he can’t even are. Not when Alistair takes him like he’s furious that anyone else got to touch him, like he’s laying claim to him. Zevran whines at a particularly rough thrust and grips him harder.

“Yes,” he gasps, yanking him in as best he can with his legs. He has little control in this position, held against the wall with his legs splayed, but it’s so good, he isn’t willing to sacrifice the pleasure of being immobile for the ability to control the pace. “Yes, harder,” he whimpers, “hard, yes, like that.”

He just hopes Alistair doesn’t come to his senses in the next few minutes about his volume, because stopping now may actually kill him. Under his gasps, the wet sounds and shuffle of clothes and skin could easily give them away to passersby. Zevran doesn’t care. He grips onto him and moans encouragement into Alistair’s mouth to fuck him harder, to claim him. He wants to be so sore he has trouble walking after.

#( response. )#nsft #kniighterrant #:)

❛ i'll take good care of you, i promise. ❜ ( @kniight-errant )

It immediately pulls Zevran out of the moment, every sultry comment he could make flying out of his head. Alistair blinks up at him from between his legs and, ridiculously, Zevran feels like shying away from his gaze. Zevran has never been shy in bed, but the soft, gentle way Alistair speaks to him, like he's something to be treasured, something worth caring for, makes every instinct scream at him to run.

Alistair's large hands cup his hips, his handsome face framed by Zevran's thighs. The words settle warm, uncomfortable, in his chest.

I'll take good care of you.

Maybe he meant sexually, but Zevran doesn't think so.

"You--" Zevran starts, voice stalling. Not only an offer, but a promise.

He doesn't know how to act when he is not being objectified. The flower was one thing, the gifts -- Antivan leather boots, Dalish gloves, because Alistair listens, he pays attention despite Morrigan's constant jokes about his intelligence. But this is more. It's too much, his heart swelling, his face overly warm, and he runs his fingers through Alistair's short hair, tries to push aside the absolutely horrible feeling that he's going to hurt him.

"Yes," he says instead, too softly, his voice uncharacteristically vulnerable. "I know you will."

His heart thunders. He feels like a teenager, lovestruck, bizarrely shy. Zevran wants to chase him away, wants to curl up somewhere dark inside of himself to hide. But all he can do is guide Alistair's mouth back to himself, try to focus on the hot, slick laps of his tongue and not the conflicting emotions strangling him as he stares up at the ceiling.

#:( aaaaaa #kniighterrant #( response. )#nsft #like. barely

❛ there are some secrets i will take to my grave, but i don’t want loving you to be one of them. ❜ ( @kniight-errant )

The words are too sweet, too earnest, to be aimed at someone like Zevran. He remembers Alistair giving him that stupid rose, the way Zevran had reacted to it with trepidation and even slight mockery, thinking Alistair had to be putting on an act -- no one in this world can go through what Alistair has and come out of it genuinely thinking the way he does.

He's since learned that Alistair is just like that. He can be quick with mockery of his own when he dislikes someone, is even capable of being cruel, but more often than not, he truly is the sweet Chantry boy that he presents himself as. There are no underlying motives. He says he loves Zevran and he means it.

The last time someone told him they loved him, it had been Rinna. Tears pouring down her face as Taliesen held her by the hair, wrenching her head back to expose her throat, right before he killed her. Zevran had watched her bleed out on the tavern floor.

They are both fully dressed, in sleep wear this late into the evening, yet Zevran feels stripped bare, feels raw, uncomfortable with this level of emotional intimacy. He has been draped on Alistair's chest for the past few minutes, tracing idle patterns in his shirt with his fingertips, and really, sex is so much easier than whatever this is.

"If our relationship were more public," he says carefully, "your throne would be at risk. I am a man, but more importantly, I am an elf. Not to mention a failed assassin who tried to take your life."

Not very hard -- he had essentially lowered his daggers the second Tabris drew hers -- but the point stands.

He cups Alistair's face, scrapes his thumb against the stubble on his jaw. Then he shifts upwards to kiss him, tender.

"You are a ridiculous romantic, you know," he whispers against his lips.

He does not tell him how afraid this all makes him; Alistair is tender-hearted, and Zevran does not want to break him, despite everything. Not when loving Zevran has thus far appeared to be a death sentence.

"--I love you, as well. I don't know if I make that clear enough."

#( response. )#kniighterrant #raaaaaah

“This is an offer, not an order.” (from Alistair)

It’s similar to something Tabris had told him, when he’d asked what she’d planned to do with him after the archdemon was defeated. Because Zevran did not expect to come out of this whole thing alive — it was why he’d taken the contract on the Wardens to begin with — but she is a formidable woman, as good a master as any guildmaster. And rather than placate him with orders to follow, she instead had let him go, metaphorically cut the rope tying him to her and their bizarre little party of adventurers. She did not want to make him beholden to her.

He hasn’t really known what to do since that moment. The Crows are still after him, and may be after him forever. Taliesen may be dead — something that plagues his dreams — but there will always be more. He’s considered going back to Antiva to meet them head-on instead of waiting for the inevitable. Staying in one place is dangerous, and the longer he's here, the more he will be looking over his shoulder. He never should have stayed this long.

“I would only bring the Crows to your doorstep if I were to stay." He finds himself looking for an excuse to reject him, even when everything in his soul is screaming at him to accept. "And I am a terrible housemate. You would be forced to kick me out after a single week to spare your own sanity."

The temptation is there. He's already stayed for the coronation, the royal wedding. What is another week, month, year?

What is a lifetime?

He considers that. Would it be truly so bad to have somewhere safe to sleep, someone kind to wake up to? Zevran cannot have Alistair completely, not when Alistair has a country to rule, but he can have the moments in between, if that's what Alistair wants. Or perhaps he only wants Zevran because Zevran is familiar and the rest of this is so frighteningly new.

He steps in close to Alistair and reaches up on his toes to brush his lips over Alistair's. It's chaste and brief, but makes his heart flutter all the same.

"I want so badly to tell you yes, you understand. I have never... had anything like this. Like you. Not really."

@kniight-errant

#kniighterrant #( response. )#i die

"You're mine tonight. Say it." ( @kniight-errant )

The words take too long to register, long enough for Alistair's hand to stop moving under his leathers, fingers stopping in their rough piston in and out of him.

"M-my king," he gasps, and Zevran can't stop from holding onto Alistair's arm like a lifeline, and Alistair isn't even moving, but the words are enough to make Zevran's entire body flush with sudden, intense heat, a lightning bolt straight to where his clit throbs against the heel of Alistair's palm.

"Oh, mierda," and this should be embarrassing, how fast the words got him here. "Yes. Yes, yours, I'm yours, I'm--"

It is embarrassing, actually, but there's nothing he can do about it but take it as orgasm hits him like a kick from a horse. Usually, when he's alone, he tries to make himself come like it's a gradual thing, a rising crest. Now, he rides Alistair's still fingers and comes and comes, hearing himself gasping for air, hearing every "yes" and "yours" tumble in a desperate ramble from his lips, the heat in his gut unraveling and his brain with it. Like every orgasm he's ever had funneled into one.

It doesn't even stop when he's done. He twitches, trembling and a little overwhelmed, Alistair's fingers still inside of him.

Panting, Zevran holds onto his shoulders. His head tips forward to press his forehead to Alistair's chest. Ridiculously, they are both still mostly fully dressed, though he's sure he's ruined the inside of these trousers by now.

"That... does not usually happen," he says, laughing. He clenches around his fingers, whimpers. "If you don't put your cock in me right this minute I think I might die." He is overstimulated, a bit, but that hardly matters. His hands fly to Alistair's trousers and immediately start unbuckling. "Show me how badly you want me to be yours, my liege."

#had this thought stuck in my head #kniighterrant #( response. )#nsft

"touch me." ( @kniight-errant )

"See, was that so difficult?"

#nsft #kniighterrant

'you're... really flexible.' ( @kniight-errant )

Zevran has been trying for ages to get Alistair to this point, and still the man talks instead of getting to what they both clearly want. He doesn't necessarily mind it; Zevran knows he can be a talker, too, but it is particularly amusing when Zevran is spread out naked below him and his entire body throbs with want want want. Currently, he has his legs hiked up high against Alistair's ribs, knees practically in his armpits.

"Yes," he agrees, "it can be useful for many things. Slipping through narrow windows, for instance, or to reduce risk of injury. Also for this."

With a swivel of his hips, he swings one leg up and around so his ankle is on Alistair's shoulder, foot tucked behind his neck, and the other leg quickly follows. It leaves him bent in half under him, flushed with arousal and grinning with amusement from between his own legs. His hands grip Alistair's hips as best he can and tug him closer.

"Push my legs down." It isn't a request, but his tone is sweet, sultry. "Toward my chest. Go on."

He looks Alistair right in the eye and licks his lips. The way they're positioned, he imagines it would be quite easy for Alistair to simply grab him and push his cock inside of him, but Zevran doesn't want to ask for that directly. He's hoping that with enough teasing, Alistair will be a big boy and do it on his own, if only to shut him up.

#nsft #kniighterrant #( response. )#he is a menace to society. rip to the future king