Fandom: Dragon Age Origins
Pairing: Zevran Arainai/Alistair Theirin
Rating: Mature
Summary: His mind raced with images of the man before him, and while he didn’t know how to name his feelings, what Alistair did know was that he wanted to kiss Zevran.
Words: 1258
Additional Tags: Dragon Age Kiss Week Day 4: Exploration, First Kiss, Bisexual Awakening, Bisexual Alistair, Developing Relationship, Bathing, Mutual Attraction
Dragon Age Kiss Week Day 4 is for Alistair/Zevran! Decided to use exploration to explore the bisexual awakening of one Alistair Theirin.
Read on AO3
“You seem very tense, my friend.”
Alistair Theirin nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of the thick accent. He took a deep breath, his lungs filling with the cool evening air, before he looked over his shoulder at the Antivan assassin standing on the bank of the stream. Zevran Arainai had his hands tucked in the pockets of his linen pants, eyes watching him through the darkness. From what Alistair could recall of the romance novels that Leliana was fond of, in his current state, Zevran resembled one of their heroes: the relaxed posture, the deep cut neckline of his shirt, the sandy blond hair as it blew in the slight breeze, the piercing eyes that drew the gaze from his handsome face. He almost expected to be swept into Zevran’s waiting arms like the maiden.
Not that Alistair knew anything about romance, novels or otherwise.
He didn’t even know why the thought had even popped into his head.
“I’m fine.” Once the words had left his mouth, Alistair realized how sharp his tone was and how rude he sounded. He’d been raised better than that. Sort of. “Thanks.”
Zevran’s golden eyes trailed from his face down his body, lingering briefly on his chest before continuing to where the water of the stream reached Alistair’s waist. Then he paused.
Confused, Alistair glanced down, concerned about whatever it was Zevran stared at. When all he saw was his naked body below the surface, it took his brain a full minute before it caught on. Then he flushed scarlet, his entire body warming at the implications.
“Is something the matter, warden?” Zevran’s grin could only be described as devilish, and it took Alistair longer than it should have to respond.
Blinking owlishly, his tongue heavy in his mouth, Alistair somehow managed to squeak out an embarrassing “Nope!” before his voice failed him again.
Zevran raised his eyebrows, a hand going to the clasps on his tunic. “Then it will not be a problem if I join you, no?”
Alistair’s mouth went dry, his heart beating hard in his chest, and he wondered where the sudden nervousness came from. He’d never felt like this before, not with a woman or a man. And he had no idea how to proceed. “Uh… I don’t-”
The assassin paused with his fingers suspended in the air, gaze burning in the darkness, like the glow of the camp fire Alistair could still see from where he stood.
Why did he like it when Zevran looked at him like that?
“Um, I mean- you can do whatever you want.” Alistair shrugged, feigning a nonchalance that he didn’t feel at all. He turned slightly, trying to avoid Zevran’s perceptive gaze, but he caught a glimpse of the soft smirk that had replaced the mischief. It did more things to his stomach that he didn’t have an explanation for.
Alistair continued to bathe himself as Zevran undressed, afraid to look and question more about himself than he’d ever had to in his entire life. He heard the water displace a moment later, Zevran carefully wading into the cool stream, his movements slow. Purposeful.
“I miss warm baths at disreputable inns.” Zevran made a show of shivering, rubbing his hands over his bare arms. There were dark tattoos curling across his biceps, working their way over tanned skin in a strange pattern. Somehow, they also extended to his chest, running down to his abdomen and disappearing past where the water churned.
It was only then that Alistair realized he had turned to stare. His brain wasn’t functioning correctly any longer so all he came out with was “Baths are nice.”
Zevran’s gaze lifted to meet his and that attractive smile returned. “Ah, but there are other ways to warm the body.”
Alistair couldn’t swallow around the lump in his throat. Was… Was Zevran flirting with him?
A ridiculous question. Of course he was. Zevran flirted with everyone. Even Wynne, who pretended she was appalled by the thought, but Alistair had seen the twinkle in her eye. The only person who didn’t respond was Sten, but then, he didn’t respond to much at all.
Still, the attention was unexpected, especially in their state of undress, so Alistair flushed again, his face burning from the heat of it. “I’ve never-”
His voice faltered. How did he explain to Zevran that he didn’t know how to do any of this? That his childhood hadn’t involved much in the way of crushes and the Chantry made it nearly impossible to fall in love. It was discouraged so often by the sisters that he just… gave up on ever expecting affection at all.
Zevran’s eyes widened slightly, nearly imperceptibly, but since they were standing so close, with the assassin’s face tilted up to meet his gaze, Alistair had managed to notice the movement.
“I see.” The Antivan shifted closer, the water rippling around him, and some water sloshed against Alistair’s abdomen as he did so. “I will not push if you do not wish for my affections.”
Zevran stood close, so close that Alistair could smell the spiciness of his soap and the fruity wine on his breath. Things that enticed him all the more, and he found himself lost in the molten pools of gold that were his eyes. His mind raced with images of the man before him, and while he didn’t know how to name his feelings, what Alistair did know was that he wanted to kiss Zevran.
With eyes fluttering closed, Alistair leaned forward, unable to resist the pull the assassin had over him. Zevran’s lips met his eagerly, hungrily. The kiss was soft at first, the two of them testing each other to see how they fit together. Then something stirred deep in Alistair’s gut, and his hands reached out, fingertips brushing gently against Zevran’s damp chest, tracing where he’d seen the tattoos.
A laugh rumbled deep in Zevran’s throat, and Alistair blushed all the way to his ears. When he attempted to pull back, the elf demonstrated just how fast his reflexes were. He closed his fingers around Alistair’s wrist, stopping him from running, from dunking himself into the stream to avoid any awkward conversation.
“Your touch tickles.” Zevran explained before he shifted closer, his other hand resting against where Alistair’s heart raced. When he spoke again, his voice cracked slightly, proof of how much Alistair had affected him as well. “Don’t stop.”
It took a breath or two before Alistair’s brain had caught up to the request. “Are you sure I wasn’t terrible?”
Zevran chuckled again, but this time, he shook his head in disbelief. “You cannot get better if you do not practice, my warden.”
My warden. Alistair surprised himself at how much he liked hearing those words.
Pushing away the doubt and hestitation, his arms went around Zevran, the assassin’s chest pressed flush against his, and he leaned forward again, a little more sure of himself as they kissed. He didn’t entirely know what he was doing, but Zevran was patient, showing him how to move his lips, where to put his hands. And eventually, he grew bolder, dipping his tongue into Zevran’s waiting mouth, tasting the wine he’d drank at dinner earlier in the evening.
It was intoxicating, the warmth of Zevran’s mouth, the touch of his wet skin against Alistair’s. Eventually, they’d have to return to reality, but for now, they could get lost in each other’s scent and taste, the horrors they’d face in the morning a distant thought.
