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[ombranera]

I will write back as soon as possible.

Regards, Zevran

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[ombranera]

I speak the truth. No one else makes quite so fine a bedwarmer.

[ Lightly, gently- and honest. He's had enough partners in bed to know one from another- all save perhaps a Qunari fall short of Alistair's comforting sprawl. It is not so much the heat as the constant reminder that he is not alone, and that he is safe. Anyone that wished to come for him must first go through Alistair.

And now, Doghren.

His hand is light as it scritches at Alistair's nape, idl tracing the hair there. He's due a trim. ]

She is going to forget herself, eat something she shouldn't, and die.

[disgracedchampion]

He certainly would hear no complaints from Michel either, such luxury was seldom sought and it was even rarer to come across, for whatever reason the elf might have for doing this at least the Chevalier was grateful, if not in body than in other ways. It was easy to allow himself to relax, to give his muscles a break from the usual training, he had to consciously work at being limber and loose...while this? Took about as much effort as wading into a warm bath. He closed his eyes for a moment and stifled his urges and all of that Chevalier discipline to simply allow himself to enjoy the things he normally couldn't while he thought of ways he might return the favor. Not that thinking was easy with all of the heaviness in his limbs and his clouded thoughts.

It didn't help that Zevran's kneading and caressing was becoming more sensual, he knew that it would given the insistence upon his nakedness. Michel knew little about massages, but he knew enough to know that one could have one while still wearing one's trousers and that it predominately involved the use of one's hands over one's mouth. Those soft, open-mouthed kisses that he worked along the Chevalier's legs, wet, warm, and just shy of where his body ached for him, drew proper groans from the warrior's lips. His legs were accommodating, shifting apart instinctively to give Zevran more room to work with.

He watched his companion as best as he could through the dark fringe of his lashes, eyes little more than slivers of winter blue as Zevran finally settled between his thighs, marking his flesh in a way that would stand out against that fair Orlesian skin. Just the sound of the assassin's lips and mouth working his skin worked him up nicely. This, combined with his skilled touch and the scent of oil textured leather drew heat to his loins and he could feel his cock responding without any direct provocation at all, half-hard already against his stomach. The heat also began to crawl its way over his skin and he found it difficult to suppress.

[ombranera]

One of the many fine things of knights and other warriors was how thoroughly and artfully muscled they were- honestly so. Not something done to achieve a certain stature to be appealing, not at all, but through genuine work that layered on flesh over bone in broad, sturdy lines. It left an edge of power to them, of danger- and Zevran ever fancied those that were on his side of dangerous. Equally broad and handsome nobles with no skill at blades did not attract his eyes, his hands, his mouth quite so easily. But Michel? Was all tightly trained capability wrapped in scarred white silk. Perhaps he ought to write a poem- or sketch him in sultry repose for his own memory later.

For now he worked his way higher, hands skimming over his hips, lips tracing along the line of his cock in a long sweep of soft lips and broad strokes of his tongue. A swirling suck at the head before he kissed his way from navel to sternum. All this side worked over and worked over well; there was but one thing that yet needed doing. "Roll over, Soleil, so I might work on your back.

[disgracedchampion]

Michel rarely kept tabs on his body only knowing that there was a significant difference between it now from when he was younger, a scrappy thing that lacked any sort of definition and grace. Arguably, when there were a set of hands and lips working over each plane and plateau, each well turned muscle, it was difficult not to be aware of one's body just a bit or rather, more aware of where he was being touched. For whatever reason there would be no fussing from him considering how much he was enjoying those fingers, stretching and twisting under Zevran luxuriously for when would something like this happen again?

His breath caught in his chest, eyes sliding open again, as the mouth that had moments before left a bruise on the inside of each thigh in turn greeted his neglected cock. Partially aroused from the indirect stimulation of fingers and a very gifted tongue until now, the direct stimulation had him tightening to full hardness against the stroke of his tongue and the heat of his mouth. A soft moan rumbled up from the depths of him as Zevran merely greeted that part of him before diverting his attentions elsewhere and then withdrawing from him altogether.

If one could be drunk on desire Michel certainly looked the part, barely registering what it was Zevran was asking him, staring for a moment or so before responding to the command. Backs were usually central to massages, he was aware of this, but this was the first time Zevran would have him on his stomach and it gave him a brief pause. Exposing his back so carelessly was certainly an act of trust on his part and after a moment he decided to turn over another low moan smothered by the sheets this time as his erection found itself caught between the mattress and his stomach.

[ombranera]

"No one else has seen you like this, have they?" Far from teasing, the words were soft, edged with proud affection and faint wonder. No one else had had Michel so willingly at their mercy, strung out on sensation and desire. Zevran was, at his core, a quietly selfish creature and to know no one had seen this, touched Michel quite like this, led him down sultry, sordid paths into all manner of sinful indulgence and likely none he would meet in the future could do it half so well or leave him half so distracted? Pleased him in a way no hand or mouth ever could. For however long they continue their dalliance- Michel like this, stripped of mask and sense and duty, was his.

Zevran meant to make the most of every lingering moment. Fresh oil applied to his hands he slid up to straddle the distracting, perfect curve of Michel's ass, pausing to grind his hips down so he might feel the leather and, in turn, be ground against the silken sheets. Hard and straining against the laces he indulged himself a moment with that friction, shuddering from the tips of his ears to the base of his spine before he recalled the purpose of this position.

First his hands, then his mouth- working out every knot of tension, every coiled muscle that he had been unable to reach while Michel lay on his back. Broad shoulders and firm muscle, the almost delicate curves of his spine, the soft nape of his neck- Zevran bent to his task to nip and nuzzle, kissing with gentle adoration along Michel's shoulders, following the long path down his spine from nape to base even as his hands worked out the tension he could find. The lower he went the further he had to slide down the backs of Michel's thighs, before he nudged them apart to settle there once again, biting a bruise into the small of his back.

[justice_is_blond]

He hesitates for just a moment before starting to strip down as well. The first time someone sees his body is always a little nerve-wracking, but Zevran's an assassin. He'll have seen far worse than the scars around Anders' wrists and covering his back, so Anders kicks off his boots and tugs his tunic off over his head.

"You mean they're not all part and parcel of the same?" He flashes Zevran a smile that he actually mostly feels for once. "I was under the impression you were more talented than that."

Socks next, teasing buying him time for choosing. With his hands in the waistband of his pants he shrugs. "Soak and shave first, then seduction. Though I don't see how you shaving me isn't seduction. I've not had someone else shave me before." Plus he'd have a gorgeous elf absolutely, intently focused on him. Maybe Anders is just too easy. His pants and smalls are pushed down and folded before he's stepping into the water, sparing a mischievous glance over at Zevran to see if he's looking.

[ombranera]

"It is a question of comfort. Some would rather be clean and comfortable before they are seduced." For his part Zevran strips off his shirt and vest without thought, back turned while Anders slips into the water. Scars being what they are and privacy being a rare thing in circles, it is a courtesy. A token one as he turns to admire the lean line of his back as he slips into the water, the breadth of his shoulders. This is a fine man indeed and he can certainly see what, exactly, Isabela saw in him.

He pours a measure of liquid soap into his hands and slips into the water after Anders, reaching out to scrub a lather into the skin of his shoulders and nape of his neck. Scars are scars and he has his own carefully hidden- but they do not make Anders less. He has endured much. If anything that makes him more careful, more gentle in his approach.

NSFW - Polishing a Precious Stone

[ombranera]

[ Continued from here ]

Zevran strips without any preamble and no real intent to tease, more focused on doing something for Cyril than he is any great show. With a basket of oils and soaps with which to pamper him- there is no need of a slow seduction.

[samahl]

Cyril takes a moment to enjoy watching Zevran undress before he joins in taking off his own clothing. As he pulls off his shirt, he considers the suggestion. He saves the whole 'the language isn't Dalish it's Elvhen and therefore your language too' conversation for someone who actually cares to force all elves to think the same.

"Fenor would be close to what you're saying. It means 'someone precious'." Then, after a moment, he adds. "Ara haurasha would work too."

[ombranera]

"And do you find me to be someone precious?" He snorts a laugh, derisive. He is many things, skilled, beautiful, desirable- but precious? Hardly. He slips into the water and extends a hand to Cyril. "What does this 'Aara Haurasha' mean, mm?"

It sounded weighty and complicated.

[samahl]

Cyril doesn't answer right away. He comes closer to Zevran and puts his hands on his hips. He enjoys just touching him for now, and the way that his own body responds being so close to Zevran. "It means that the thought of you makes my cock hard," he says finally before leaning in a bit to kiss Zevran. The kiss is gentle for now, a small sign of affection.

[ombranera]

Now that is an endearment he can get behind- straightforward and without sentiment. He crackles a soft laugh, leaning into the kiss, his hands skimming along Cyril's sides in a long drag from hip to shoulder. He truly must ask what he uses to moisturize, he's never been able to render his scars so soft. But this? Having him here, having him close, is distraction enough.

[samahl]

Cyril adores the sound of that laugh. He wants to make Zevran sound like that more often. He has this proud little smirk on his face when he pulls back to look at Zevran.

"Ironically, though, Fenor is easier to scream out when you come."

[ombranera]

"So is 'Zevran', but you do not hear me complaining." He tugs Cyril close, tugging one of his hands up to press a kiss to the skin of his wrist, nipping at the flutter of his pulse there. "You know, an orgasm is an excellent way to loosen the muscles before a massage. It is better than a good soak some say."

[samahl]

"You are right on both points," Cyril replies. He feels his breath catch a bit at the nip. "I've certainly enjoyed moaning you're name. We needn't stop a good thing."

[ombranera]

"If you feel particularly inspired, I won't stop you." It's almost easy to pull Cy close, to heft him up in his arms. Even without the water it isn't that difficult to cart him over to the nearest ledge and set him there. His lips make a slow trail from the side of Cy's neck to the center of his chest, dragging down with little blooming love bites.

5th of Guardian, NSFW, A birthday treat

[ombranera]

[ Continued from here ]

Cyril is not insubstantial, but Zevran is practiced- carrying him out to the stables and up to the hayloft is easily done. In fact he keeps the slim Dalish darling in his arms until he finds the nearest stack of hay covered with a thick woolen cloak that he may or may not have set here for this purpose some time ago. "Now...about that taste."

[samahl]

Cyril doesn't protest being picked up. If anything, he fully enjoys it. He steadies himself on the ledge. He moves his arms behind him to support himself and to give Zevran more of his skin to work him. He hums happily at the attention, enjoying the little nibbles. "Mm, Zevran," he moans.

[samahl]

Cyril wraps his arm around Zevran to keep them both stead as he is carried. When he's lowered to the hay stack he pulls Zevran closer again and kisses him. He doesn't waste a lot of time, while he's kissing Zevran his hands lower to unfasten his trousers.

[ombranera]

"See? Sounds just as well as it is. But I am curious how the others would sound." Or anything that springs to mind. He nudges Cy's thighs apart, licking the skin under his navel, deft fingers curled around the base of his cock. He takes his time stroking Cy into full hardness, watching him through every shiver and sigh.

[ombranera]

The laces of this set are worn soft and pliable by use and oiling, they come undone under Cyril's fingers easily enough. Zevran himself works at rucking up Cyril's shirt and unfastening his belt, quick to reach for a bottle of oil he's had in his pocket all day.

Just in case.

[disgracedchampion]

"No..." Michel confirmed simply, his face feeling all the warmer for the admission, like a man confessing that he was a virgin or never having swung a sword in his life. Fighting and having skill in the bedroom seemed to be a prerequisite for having pride in one's self for some reason. Michel thought it was strange and often kept his personal business to himself, then there were others who were quite loud about their conquests or their experiences and it only made him question whether it was true or just a show. He could only be honest about such things. He'd been trained never to present his back in any situation, though that was specifically in the case of battles and not in the case of massages. How often did a Chevalier get a massage? Perhaps some frequented such places of accommodation, but with his own life forfeit to the Empress he could not afford to be caught with his pants down both as a means to preserve her honor and his, but also his responsibilities dictated that he be available at a moment's notice.

Such thoughts were banished the moment Zevran began rolling his hips causing Michel's own to undulate, actively surging up to meet the delicious thrusting and moaning softly against the sheets every time his hips jerked forward. The pressure was building slowly, his sex swelling with ever pass of silk and the pressure that accompanied being crushed into the mattress. He thought he might find it uncomfortable at the very least....uncomfortable in an unpleasant way. Any discomfort he felt came from that building mantra screaming "more," forcing his body to twist restlessly until the grinding stopped with a sigh from the Chevalier.

Closing his eyes again he tried to keep his mind off the pulsing heat between his stomach and the sheets, instead focusing on the path of those hands and lips. It was so easy to melt under the attention of Zevran's fingers, his body bending to his companion's purpose, drawing the occasional sigh and delicate shudder from him as the assassin nipped and nuzzled his way lower and lower, toes curling as he felt his companion settle between his legs again, teeth and lips against his skin making his back arch under the attention. Would he be able to find any sensation that compared to this if he looked for it? How far would he have to go? Would a chevalier be welcome in Antiva...why think of such things?

[ombranera]

"Marvelous." He murmured, that same, possessive thing coiled in his voice as it had sat behind his eyes their first night together. This- all of this was truly his. It should not coil like a pleasing wine in his gut, that thought, and yet it did. With every nipped bruise and pass of his hands the massage became less about tension and more about appraisal. More about marking what was his. It was a risky mindset to slip into with one so unaccustomed to the game and yet Michel let himself so well to it's nuances. Somehow his relative innocence (inexperience was not purity) made it all the more desirable. Less in words; for he had no right to them; and more in touch did every press and glide say the same thing.

Mine.

Something he would not dare speak but something he could entertain for the brief hours they would spend with one another. Back, arms, legs seen to Zevran let his hands slide over the curve of Michel's ass, mouth dropping to the back of his thigh where the two met, and bit gently; working a new bruise into being there. Another and another on one leg, then the other, before he leaned back. "I am going to try something else that is new to you, I think- tell me if you find it permissible and pleasurable."

The almost chaste, gallant kiss he pressed to Michel's tailbone ought to be hint enough as to where this was going- and offer time enough for him to decide yes or no.

[disgracedchampion]

Michel could feel the tone of the massage change after his confession, like vines creeping over his skin, tendrils twisting and winding around each limb. It was a sensation he'd felt once before, one that filled him with a rush he couldn't quite explain, it momentarily trapped the air in his lungs, forcing him to remember that he had to, in fact, breathe. Last time he encountered this sensation he'd seen it behind Zevran's eyes, it was no different now other than the form it took. The sound of his voice, the way those hands smoothed over him, the intent behind the massage all but replaced with this new thing he could barely perceive, but he knew it was there. It caused the heat to rise in him once again, but the sheets were cool against his face and only his shoulders betrayed that suffusion of warmth

He yielded to it, though he would yield to nothing else and might not even remember this as yielding as boneless as he was. His fingers bunched into those sheets, flexing, twisting, anchoring himself to the bed as Zevran continued his attentions lower, more bruises following in the wake of that generous mouth. It was fortunate that Michel did not get dressed in a room shared with others, he would have a difficult time explaining away so many bruises that were obviously not the product of being clumsy--too small and too intimate were their placements.

Another soft moan followed by a visible shudder like a chill ripped up his spine as the assassin fixed his attention on his ass. It was curious, though he wasn't exactly new to some of Zevran's attentions down in the...southern regions...he still had to wonder a little at what his companion wanted to do. So, pushing himself up onto his forearms, Michel looked over his shoulder, his eyes unfixed as he watched Zevran kiss his tailbone...gallant and lewd...he was still attempting to find a word for it. It took a moment to dawn on him that the elf wanted to, well he could speculate on it, but even he had to confess that he did not believe the elf was so daring.

"I..." he blinked a few times so that his eyes might adjust enabling him to look at Zevran properly, or as properly as he could manage, "...if you are certain, if it is what you want to do, bel homme..."

He was not opposed, but he wanted to be just as certain that this was what Zevran wanted to do an not for the sake of completion

NSFW: Chivalrous Desire OR Hayloft Hookups ( Wintermarch )

[ombranera]

[ Continued from here. ]

"How would you have me?" Breathless and ragged, hands curled fast in Michel's hair to steady himself more than anything else- Zevran for the first time let the Chevalier dictate the terms.

Gave up control, willingly.