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ombranera

I will write back as soon as possible.

Regards, Zevran

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From:

ombranera

(ooc: continued from here)

"I mean to be very," He let his fingers drift back enough to brush against Cyril's earlobe, voice dropping lower still, all velvety promise. "...distracting."

Now it was safe enough to slip his other hand to the small of Cyril's back and pull him in, not so much to be obscene, more to tease. To promise. "Where do you have in mind, Tesoro?"

Edited Date: 2015-10-17 05:58 am (UTC)

From:

ombranera

(ooc: continued from here.

Following was easy as the view? Immaculate. Gavin may not be the most graceful at times but there was something endearing about it; Zevran couldn't put his finger on why but he did not spare much time mulling it over. Not when he could admire his ass the entire walk to- wherever it was they were going.

Closing the door gave Zev the perfect opportunity to lean in, resting his hand against the wood alongside Gavin's face, thumb trailing against the tip of his ear- his bad arm he moved enough to curl his other hand around his hip. Very much in Gavin's space and more than happy to take point. "I was thinking, perhaps, of coaxing out a song, Bello."

From:

mythalenaste

Pel is coming off a day of doctor-mandated rest and decided that taking it easy was so nice that she's going to do a little of that today. After a proper day of work, she took a long, hot soak in the hot spring and added a little of Zevran's oil to her hair. It's dry now, and soft and shiny and fragrant. She patted the oil on her skin as well, and wrapped up in some of her warmer clothes--a long grey wool tunic with a finger-woven sash, dark blue leggings, and hair braided back. She heads into the Herald's Rest now and finds the man she was looking for.

She approaches Zevran with a shy smile, fingering the bottle he gave her.

"I used a little, like I said." She reaches out to hand the bottle back to him.

From:

samahl

Cyril seeks out Zevran after he's sure that Merrick is calm. His body language is much tighter than it had been before. While before, he had been relaxed and easy going, now his shoulders are tense. He seems like he's ready to fight, but not an aggressive sort of way. Much more like he's getting ready to bolt.

"Zevran?" he asks once he sees the blond.

From:

byblow

Zevran. Have you been encouraging people to have their mothers killed so they don't have to get married?

From:

byblow

[ Alistair never gave back the key, but he doesn't use it; he doesn't entirely trust Zevran not to have put up additional traps since they last talked, even if they would be relatively harmless ones. He also doesn't entirely trust him not to be naked and alone. Naked is fine; not alone is also fine. Both at once--ehhhh.

So he knocks, and presses his face against the wooden door to say, ] Zeeevran. It's me.

[ Him and everything he owns. Fortunately it isn't much. Warden mail thrown on over his clothes but not buckled or fastened, because that's easier than carrying it. A bag of things. He brought a bed roll. If this turns out awkward, he's blaming Gavin. ]

From:

qunari

[ When Bull makes his way up from the tavern proper, it's about ten minutes short of an hour. But really, it's been a day. It's been a month, all told, and he's ready to shed it and enjoy himself.

Of course, part of that is pretty simple. Bodies work a certain way with reliability. But this isn't just a case of needing to get off. The elf's interested him, has a story written into him that Bull can read in portions, enough to know that Zevran probably needs a little more than an in-and-out fix. Luckily, he's good at sorting out exactly what that entails, what both of them are going to want out of this.

There's no latch on the door. People know better than to come up here unannounced. Most of the time. The door makes a Hell of a creaking sound when it opens, however, and Bull's frame appears in the doorway. Upon spotting Zevran leaned against the wall, he chuckles, and lets the door fall shut behind him. ]

Here this whole time, huh?

From:

ombranera

Stumbling into the room was easy enough. Zevran took a moment to grab something, a sock, a scarf, something to hook it on the outer knob of the door so Alistair would not wander in while he was otherwise occupied- and made good on his promise to strip. With some it is a seduction. With Taas? It's done quickly, shrugging out of his vest and shirt, tossing aside his daggers and sheathes, toeing off his boots. The bed was- well. It was large enough for a man and an elf to share comfortably when the man tended to sprawl. Large enough for Taas and, perhaps, an elf draped upon him.

"Undress- I will ready the oil." More than the sheets- he truly meant to spoil Taas in return for all the times he had done so for Zevran. "You, my friend, are going to get an Antivan massage."

From:

ombranera

The walk to his room had been rife with the odd snort of laughter at the image they might make- and with mischievous lips and licks- pressed this close to Michel's everfine skin, well. It was a temptation Zevran couldn't resist. Bundled as he was in the cloak he could also allow his hands to wander in decidedly indecent directions. Without the armor finding the thrum of his pulse, the peaks of his nipples, the curved expanse of his ribs was easy enough.

Easier still was it to roll their hips together when there weren't too many people minding them- so that should Michel stumble he would not drop Zevran, nor startle so much that he'd abandon the course before they ever arrived. But to be held like this, to be tucked close and to be able to feel how it was he enthralled Michel? How could he not take advantage of the position?

Alistair away meant taking a moment to hang a sock or a scarf on the outer doorknob before locking it- twisting to do so while not forcing Michel to set him down took a bit of twisting- but he managed. "You are going to have to strip down entirely for this Soleil."

From:

byblow

[ This isn't out of nowhere, exactly. It's still fairly recently a new year, which prompts these sorts of questions. And at the moment, in the middle of the night, wide awake from the lingering creepiness of an unsettling-but-not-terrifying dream, Alistair is trying to think happy thoughts, like: if they stop Corypheus and Alistair gets to live his whole thirty-ish years, he might live to be older than his rotten philandering vanishing-into-nothing father was when he vanished into nothing, rottenly, probably while philandering. Take that.

That's not actually relevant. It's just what gets him thinking and makes him shift to prod Zevran with his knee. Hopefully he hasn't fallen back asleep. If he has, too bad. This is important. ]

Zev. How old are you?

[ In his defense, being a little uncertain of how old one's siblings are is a common occurrence even among Actual Siblings who were Actually Raised Together. ]

From:

ombranera

It is not so long a walk from the stables to the hotsprings- normally he'd wish to duck into his room to get his box of oils and soaps for washing but that hallway was dangerous and he more or less had everything he would need for Anders on his person. Scrubbing his hands up after the powder traps seems to have worked in his favor, and any assassin worth their salt can shave with a dagger. Zevran never had to shave himself but-

Taliesin favored such treatment. It made him happy, Zevran did so and bought himself some peace or a shade of gentleness for the night.

Such thoughts are far from his mind as he leads Anders down, unbuckling his leathers as soon as they hit the steamy air- they are indeed alone here. Delightfully, deliciously alone. "What would you like to start, mm? The shave and soak or the seduction?"

From:

byblow

[ Do not look at the small, barely-weaned, hideous dog tucked into the crook of Alistair's arm. Don't do it. Look at his face, which is a little grumbly-looking around the edges and a little suspicious around the eye; look, and fall for this totally effective attempt at distraction from the fact that he is putting that small, barely-weaned, hideous dog that does not warrant attention down on the bed. ]

Did you have Michel de Chevin in here earlier?

From:

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.

From:

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."

From:

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.

From:

liberalum

That can't be comfortable.

[ Which, to be fair, Dorian's own outfit can't be all the way comfortable either, even when compared to an elven man dressing as the fairer sex enough to be convincing. He makes himself comfortable, anyway, lounging in place, returned from a late evening to a parlour of the Thevenet estate. He is dressed in deep blacks with touches of shining goldens, robes in the Tevinter style, and if anyone had imagined he took too much care with his appearance in Skyhold, it's nothing when he has access to a proper tailor, some necessary cosmetics, and jewellery. He sports the black wooden ring that Benevenuta had given him, but gold hooks into previously hidden holes in his ears, and black pencil upticks the corners of his eyes.

In a way, this is Dorian's version of comfort. He's working on a glass of wine, which he'd managed not to spill upon flopping onto the nearest empty lounge, only to twist a look backwards at the sound of Zevran entering, likely passing through. His costume gets a critical up and down from Dorian, not for the first time. ]

But I suppose we make our own fun.

From:

byblow

[ It's late when he gets around to it, and later than he could have chosen to get around to it, but he does. ]

Zevran? How are the children? [ The Crowlings. ] Still behaving?

From:

byblow

Zevran? I know I said I was coming back this week.

[ But. ]

I have to go West with some of the Wardens.

From:

arcaneadvisor

Do not speak to, come near, or look at my son again.

From:

byblow

[ Alistair is packing and sulking. Unfortunately, it is not the AU where they kiss come to pass. It's the OU where the Wardens are shielding an abomination from justice (or whatever), where they could become unwitting Corypheus-drones if he happens to swing too close to Skyhold, and where they have to go sleep outside now. Also where Leliana and Morrigan are angry with him and he's not allowed to talk to Kieran and he already knows, even while he's packing up her things, that he probably shouldn't take Doghren, who is chasing his hands every time he puts something in a sack and trying to drag it back out.

But when Zevran comes in he looks up and sulks slightly less in lieu of smiling sheepishly, hands spreading in a shrug. He wasn't planning to sneak away. ]

I'm going to start keeping a list of castles I'm not allowed to sleep in.

From:

arlathvhen

Zevran, I'm going to do something uncool. It's not illegal, technically, but it is a dick move.

[ He's the only one getting a warning about this. ]

From:

arlathvhen

[ Beleth's voice is unsure as she speaks into the crystal--still entirely unsure if she should talk about this, or if it's just a terrible idea that she should put out of her mind. But the thoughts continue to swirl, continue to well up, and Beleth is afraid that if she doesn't talk to someone, someone she can trust, they'll roll around in her head enough that they'll spill out on her tongue, in front of someone regretful.

Just talking about it will be fine. Just get it out of her head. ]

Zevran...? Are you, ah--available, tonight? If not, that's perfectly fine, I just figures, um. That I'd ask.

From:

justice_is_blond

[He hasn't seen Zevran in a few days. He doesn't know if that's because the elf had been sick and simply hid himself away, or because he'd been healthy and had avoided where the sick people were gathered together. It doesn't really matter now that the disease has passed. What matters is that he's missing seeing the elf, and so he heads to Zevran's room.

Thankful that there's nothing on the door so he knows he's not interrupting, Anders knocks.]

From:

disgracedchampion

It wasn't going to be the easiest conversation, Michel knew this, but he also knew it had to happen and that doing it b sending crystal would not be enough. It had to be face-to-face, where he could see, and at least try to get a good read on Zevran. So there he stood, standing at his door, an oddly intimidating sight and that stymied him, he'd never been opposed to doors prior to this.

For several moments he stood there the fingers of his right hand tapping at his side, impatiently, anxiously, well there was nothing for it. After checking his nerves he knocked on the door, quietly rebuking himself. What was it about this situation that had him off center? Every single aspect of it.

From:

hlif

[Word has likely reached Zevran once he returns from Antiva, though perhaps not from his kestrel. After all, what does one make of it to see the face of a twin strolling through camp to deliver a message to a Warden. Not merely a similar face but a true twin, identical in every way that laughs, and shrugs, and strolls away wrapped in a thick bear pelt they tug low over their head when the wind whips the snow into their eyes, flanked by a mabari that's more scar tissue than anything else?

What does one make when their eyes meet though, a horrible moment when things thought forgotten come rushing back, threads thought hastily cut, hacked off, frayed and at least knotted threatening to unravel again?

Asher's not going to come to the camp. Honestly when he's still healing it's too long a trek for him plus the healers worked far too hard to keep Anders from his sight, as did the augur at the hold to banish him from his mind to have a scene be caused by a glimpse but he can't let this go unsaid.]

Zevran? S'Asher, the Boneflayers captain, Christine recommended me to you.

[Best to jog the memory before he just comes out with 'why do you have the other half of my scout'.]