Years. We worked as a trio for some time before Fereldan. It was a slow fall; neither of us truly understood what was happening. Sex is sex. Sentiment is- everything we had been told, everything we were said it was wrong. That it was unwise. Finding time to be away from Taliesin became difficult the longer we were together, he likely suspected something but we would sneak away. Not even to make love but to simply be. To talk. To hold one another.
[ Without the flirting or the groping or the kissing. It'd been baffling and strange and wonderful to him then- so young and so enthralled with the newness, the depth of this emotion. The fragility and secret of it. He closes his eyes and listens to the steady thrum of Alistair's heart. ]
She would have left with me if I'd asked- if I'd thought to ask. We would have been killed in short order but for a day, perhaps a week? We might have been free. [ a beat. ] She would have liked you. Not even to bed you but- to tease you. Be friendly. I do not know what makes me say that but- she would have.
You're biased, [ Alistair says, quite serious, and then shifts to less serious sing-songing: ] because you love me.
[ He'll be cooler about that someday. In his defense, no one's ever told him so before. At least not anyone who meant it. Also in his defense, he returns to seriousness immediately, arm wrapping firm around Zevran's ribs. ] I'd have liked her, too. Or. Well. I'd probably have been afraid of her. But after that.
[ It is enough, that little twist of sing-song, that little lilt to the word that lifts some of the weight. That gives way to some of the sentiment that terrifies him almost as much as the thought of losing Alistair before he was ready.
It will always be terrifying, he will never be ready. ]
[ Still light, however seriously he means it; he'll save the serious tones and solemn puppy eyes for when one or both of them is dying instead of maybe-probably-living. ]
What? You were terrifying. [ False. ] Still are. [ Less false. But Alistair isn't terrified, no. Alistair is drumming his fingers cheerfully on Zevran's bare shoulder blade. ] I'll be sleeping with one eye open.
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[ Without the flirting or the groping or the kissing. It'd been baffling and strange and wonderful to him then- so young and so enthralled with the newness, the depth of this emotion. The fragility and secret of it. He closes his eyes and listens to the steady thrum of Alistair's heart. ]
She would have left with me if I'd asked- if I'd thought to ask. We would have been killed in short order but for a day, perhaps a week? We might have been free. [ a beat. ] She would have liked you. Not even to bed you but- to tease you. Be friendly. I do not know what makes me say that but- she would have.
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[ He'll be cooler about that someday. In his defense, no one's ever told him so before. At least not anyone who meant it. Also in his defense, he returns to seriousness immediately, arm wrapping firm around Zevran's ribs. ] I'd have liked her, too. Or. Well. I'd probably have been afraid of her. But after that.
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[ It is enough, that little twist of sing-song, that little lilt to the word that lifts some of the weight. That gives way to some of the sentiment that terrifies him almost as much as the thought of losing Alistair before he was ready.
It will always be terrifying, he will never be ready. ]
As you were so afraid of me?
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[ Still light, however seriously he means it; he'll save the serious tones and solemn puppy eyes for when one or both of them is dying instead of maybe-probably-living. ]
What? You were terrifying. [ False. ] Still are. [ Less false. But Alistair isn't terrified, no. Alistair is drumming his fingers cheerfully on Zevran's bare shoulder blade. ] I'll be sleeping with one eye open.
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[ He snorts, peeling himself away enough to fetch his needle and resume his work on that last line of his ribs- while still in Alistair's lap.
No homo. ]
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