Cyril smiles at that, though the grin has taken on a more boyish tone now. Less all about the seduction and more about being excited.
"There aren't many heroic elves in stories," he points out after a moment. He came a little closer then, worried that talking about 'growing up' with stories of the Fifth Blight might make him seem too young. He was just barely a teenager when the Fifth Blight took place.
Instead of talking about that, though, he puts his arm around Zevran and nuzzles his neck again. "You can tell me all about it later, after we've had our fill of each other."
Ah, a fan. It's been some time since he's seduced a fan- of course ten years ago all he need do is smile and he had his lap filled with lovely, grateful women and handsome, strapping men. A hero's touch, they'd said. He'd wondered if they cared that his hands were more stained with blood than gilded with gold.
Which of course brings to mind the mental image of Cyril in all his fair, vain glory arching whilst painted with red or gold. With skin as pale as his? it would stand out. Would that he had the time...well. They do have plenty of time and he did have that one salve to soften scars that went on crimson. What to do about the gold, though... "And I do mean to have my fill of you, Tesoro. Someone so fine and so fair deserves a proper ravishing."
Were his arm not in such a state- this is where he would sweep Cyril off his feet and up onto the nearest ledge. As his arm IS in a delicate state- he settles for sweeping him low by tugging him close and bearing down to the soft nest of pillows he may or may not have set up earlier with the intent of sleeping here after he'd set his traps.
Cyril helps by angling his legs and body weight to make it easier for Zevran to move him around. He doesn't make a big show of it or bring much attention to the injury. The point is to make things as seamless and painless as possible.
He settles on the pillows and grins up at Zevran. "Promises, promises," he teases a bit. He likes the idea of a proper ravishing and really is just teasing Zevran as a casual way of making sure he knows there are no protests to that idea.
"Are meant to be kept, yes?" And he means to keep this one, lips already pressing to Cyril's curve of a smile. It is rare for him to find a Dalish elf so game- rarer still that he finds some of their bravado and desire for contact almost familiar. There's a comfort in that- and a new weight of expectation. Apparently he was some manner of hero.
It would not do for him to disappoint.
Limited as he might be, never let it be said he was anything but a thorough and attentive lover. As such he spends a moment trailing his hands along the fine shape of Cyril's body, tracing the softness of his skin, adding the press of his nails here and there to see how he responded. Perhaps the slow drag of his teeth against Cyril's bottom lip as he pulled away to breathe, considering his next move.
It's very easy for Cyril to be responsive to Zevran's attention. He's careful to bite his lip to stop him from making noises that are too loud. He doesn't want to attract attention from anyone who happens to be passing by. Still, he groans softly any time that Zevran scratches or bites him lightly. That sort of claiming only makes things more memorable for him.
He also openly touches Zevran. He's still careful to avoid the injury, but he lets his hands trail over Zevran's good arm, back, and his face. His fingers eventually end up touching Zevran's hair.
Marks are welcome- excellent. At every reassurance it's enjoyed it makes the grazes of his nails and teeth happen more often as he works his way from Cyril's lips to his angle of his jaw, the curve of his throat. Fitting his lips over the fluttering of his pulse satisfies some visceral urge in him that he squashes for now.
Treasuring. Ravishing and treasuring. A tender love bite, not a mauling.
He does grin at the hand in his hair, pausing long enough to reach back and unfasten the braid, letting the long blond strands fall about them. Cyril is free to play with it as he wishes while Zevran busies himself with working thin red lines along his ribs with his nails and a bruise upon his throat.
Cyril's fingers do move through Zevran's hair, enjoying the feel of it as he enjoys playing with and untangling it from the lingering bit of the braid.
His body squirms into Zevran's touches and the scratches. He really has to keep his teeth pressed into his lower lip to stop himself from crying out too much. He's going to enjoy looking at any lingering marks later. For now, all he can do is happily respond by arching his back and giving Zevran as much access to his skin as he can.
It will be the first of many, Zevran intends to leave quite the mark on Cyril. Something about skin so fair begs to be bruised and with how he arches into every touch? Zevran is fairly certain he could have Cyril begging for more soon enough.
Throat to chest and he's biting his way lower, pausing to lave his tongue over bruised or reddened skin to soothe the sting. "How may I have you, Tesoro? Like this, spread beneath me as you attempt to muffle your cries? Perhaps against the wall, pinned between me and the unyielding stone?"
Cyril is almost begging now if not for the fact that he's enjoying the teasing and marking a little too much.
"Why must me choose?" he asks. "Can't we start with one and move to the other?" He's smirking as if it's just a joke but there's something in his eyes that shows he would gladly follow through.
"Mmm. Now there's a thought. I have one as well, though it is more of a question." He pulls away enough to take Cyril's wrists in his hands and tug them up, resting them against the cushions above his head. The grip is gentle, easy enough for Cyril to break if he so desires "And this? Yes or no?"
"Yes," Cyril responded with such breathy enthusiasm that it's impossible to mistake it for anything other than total consent. If anything he just seems all the most excited.
"Your word?" He held Cy's wrists as he pulled a length of rope from his belt, doubling it for a stable knot that he begins one handed. He would need that word before he actually bound any part of Cy.
"Word?" Cyril asked, which was a sign that he was more new to this than he let on. He knew he enjoyed things, but he hadn't been in any sort of relationship that had brought watch words in.
"Something you will say should you need me to stop. If it is said I untie you, rub ointment onto your wrists should there be chafing, and we end this with no judgement or questions asked. A safety precaution." He drops a kiss to Cy's collar, waiting for the aforementioned word. "Something you will not say on accident."
"I wouldn't say 'stop' by accident," Cyril points out, amused. He would never, ever want to say stop while Zevran was kissing him that way. "But let's use Dirthamen."
"Some enjoy pretending to struggle." He shrugs- it is not what he enjoys himself but hey. You do you. "Alright. Cross your wrists? I shall bind you, blow you, and if you are still up for it afterward, take you against the wall. Agreeable, yes?"
It will take some of the surprise out of it- but whenever ropes and words become involved and he is with a new partner he makes a point of outlining what he intends. It's not quite a full negotiation but a more acceptable shorthand for flings.
"So you say now." Zevran murmurs, nipping at the underside of Cy's jaw. Binding his wrist did not take long at all, if anything it's done quickly, simply. Several rounds of rope around each wrist and bound together, loops that he might hold onto pressed into his palms for leverage or comfort. Now, though, he sits back on his heels, hands dragging from shoulder to thigh. Admiring all that pale, bruised skin.
Cyril shifts a bit to test the bonds but not too hard. He can't help the smirk that stays on his lips as he tied up. His hips move up into the touch, enjoying the way that Zevran seems so please to touch him.
"You must tell me what you use for your skin once we are finished. I do not think I've ever met an elf with skin so soft, so fair." Let alone a Dalish elf. Surely there is some trick to this- but after. For now he draws his hands along thigh and hip, pinching at Cyril's nipples, along his ribs, creating little bruises he means to follow with his mouth.
He moans very softly as Zevran teases his body. "Mm. I'll share my secrets if you make it worth my while," he replies. He doesn't mean all of his secrets, of course, but the skin care ones are up for grabs if Zevran keeps up those touches with his hands and mouth.
Cyril's arms tighten a bit, tugging softly against the binds, as he resists the urge to grasp at Zevran to encourage him to touch his mouth to every inch of his skin.
"I accept your challenge, Tesoro." So responsive- Zevran's bone deep need to find lovely things and hoard them isn't entirely appropriate here- but the one to find lovely things and ruin them? Leave the gold a little tarnished, put a crack in a fine mirror? That he looses on Cyril's skin with bitten bruises and sucked love bites down the length of his torso- hands parting Cyril's thighs to make room for him as he drags his teeth ever downward.
The curve of his hip, the divot between thigh and groin- there he stops to suck in a deep, purple bruise. It takes less work than it would for most.
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"There aren't many heroic elves in stories," he points out after a moment. He came a little closer then, worried that talking about 'growing up' with stories of the Fifth Blight might make him seem too young. He was just barely a teenager when the Fifth Blight took place.
Instead of talking about that, though, he puts his arm around Zevran and nuzzles his neck again. "You can tell me all about it later, after we've had our fill of each other."
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Which of course brings to mind the mental image of Cyril in all his fair, vain glory arching whilst painted with red or gold. With skin as pale as his? it would stand out. Would that he had the time...well. They do have plenty of time and he did have that one salve to soften scars that went on crimson. What to do about the gold, though... "And I do mean to have my fill of you, Tesoro. Someone so fine and so fair deserves a proper ravishing."
Were his arm not in such a state- this is where he would sweep Cyril off his feet and up onto the nearest ledge. As his arm IS in a delicate state- he settles for sweeping him low by tugging him close and bearing down to the soft nest of pillows he may or may not have set up earlier with the intent of sleeping here after he'd set his traps.
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He settles on the pillows and grins up at Zevran. "Promises, promises," he teases a bit. He likes the idea of a proper ravishing and really is just teasing Zevran as a casual way of making sure he knows there are no protests to that idea.
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It would not do for him to disappoint.
Limited as he might be, never let it be said he was anything but a thorough and attentive lover. As such he spends a moment trailing his hands along the fine shape of Cyril's body, tracing the softness of his skin, adding the press of his nails here and there to see how he responded. Perhaps the slow drag of his teeth against Cyril's bottom lip as he pulled away to breathe, considering his next move.
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He also openly touches Zevran. He's still careful to avoid the injury, but he lets his hands trail over Zevran's good arm, back, and his face. His fingers eventually end up touching Zevran's hair.
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Treasuring. Ravishing and treasuring. A tender love bite, not a mauling.
He does grin at the hand in his hair, pausing long enough to reach back and unfasten the braid, letting the long blond strands fall about them. Cyril is free to play with it as he wishes while Zevran busies himself with working thin red lines along his ribs with his nails and a bruise upon his throat.
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His body squirms into Zevran's touches and the scratches. He really has to keep his teeth pressed into his lower lip to stop himself from crying out too much. He's going to enjoy looking at any lingering marks later. For now, all he can do is happily respond by arching his back and giving Zevran as much access to his skin as he can.
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Throat to chest and he's biting his way lower, pausing to lave his tongue over bruised or reddened skin to soothe the sting. "How may I have you, Tesoro? Like this, spread beneath me as you attempt to muffle your cries? Perhaps against the wall, pinned between me and the unyielding stone?"
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"Why must me choose?" he asks. "Can't we start with one and move to the other?" He's smirking as if it's just a joke but there's something in his eyes that shows he would gladly follow through.
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It will take some of the surprise out of it- but whenever ropes and words become involved and he is with a new partner he makes a point of outlining what he intends. It's not quite a full negotiation but a more acceptable shorthand for flings.
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i'm so sorry this is so late
Cyril's arms tighten a bit, tugging softly against the binds, as he resists the urge to grasp at Zevran to encourage him to touch his mouth to every inch of his skin.
s'awright!
The curve of his hip, the divot between thigh and groin- there he stops to suck in a deep, purple bruise. It takes less work than it would for most.