Work Text:
The first time Alistair saw Zevran without his clothes on was entirely unexpected. He'd just returned to camp from washing up in the nearby stream after beating a hasty retreat when Leliana and Elissa had shown up and began pulling their armor off. His face was still flaming from Leliana's peel of laughter as he'd tripped over his own feet in his hurry to get away. Because he wasn't thinking about what that flash of Elissa's bare shoulder he'd glimpsed might -- or what they might -- No. Not at all.
Alistair kept his head down and avoided looking at Morrigan who he was sure knew all about it already as he passed her little fire and the concerned frown on Sten's face when he reached the tents. Thank the Maker Sten didn't like him enough to ask. He dumped his armor under an oil cloth and clambered through the tent flap.
Where he was greeted by a very naked elf stretched out on his bedroll with one hand around a very stiff cock.
"Aaah!" Alistair lost his balance and fell on his ass. He didn't think he could blush any harder but there it was, and there it was, and worse than all his embarrassment of the last twenty minutes was the fact that he couldn't look away.
Zevran was one long line of light brown skin and willowy tattoos along his sides. His head had been thrown back when Alistair had come in, but now it was canted toward him, and Zevran's eyes were slitted and heavy, his lips parted as he panted for breath, the barest curl at the corners as his hand kept moving. Alistair had never noticed how long his fingers were before, how his hands flexed with strength as he pumped the length of his cock, which was flush red and straining.
Alistair's prick had been half-hard already and now it positively ached in his pants. He was too stunned to move. His mouth was dry. His thoughts were blank.
Zevran made a sound deep in his chest, and his eyes fluttered closed. A moment later he arched, his body curling forward and his hand frantic as he spurted white come onto his belly. Alistair held his breath. Zevran was beautiful.
A heartbeat, a minute, Alistair's thoughts were still spinning when Zevran lazily opened his eyes and stretched. He wiped his hand on a handy handkerchief but did nothing about his spilled seed. Alistair blushed again and finally managed to tear his eyes away.
"So, my good friend. Did you enjoy the show?" Zevran's voice was loose and without a trace of shame.
Alistair fled.
The problem with fleeing, Alistair discovered five minutes later, was that when you were a small rag-tag group in a small camp, there was really nowhere to run to. Worse, there was no one to talk to who wouldn't laugh at him. Even the dog, who he'd finally sat beside as far away from everyone else as possible, was laughing at him. That big lolling tongue and doggy grin was fooling nobody.
And the worst part, the very worst part of it all, was that as much as he told himself he really wanted to burn the image of Zevran laid out in their tent pleasuring himself out of his memory, his mind's eye kept playing it over and over again and his cock was fully hard and desperate for the moment Zevran came all over himself.
Putting his face in his hands, he finally gave in to desire burning through him, shifting his hips where he sat to increase the pressure on his cock from the fabric of his trousers and when that wasn't enough, pressing with the heel of his hand. He wanted to open the laces and touch himself so badly because, yes, Alistair had enjoyed the show very much, thank you.
It didn't take much more than that, and after, both he and his clothes were sticky and he needed to visit the stream again. The Maker could open up a hole in the ground to swallow him, any time now.
The second time Alistair saw Zevran naked was a few agonizing and embarrassing days later. Alistair was inexperienced and awkward and he knew this and he didn't need Leliana and Elissa whispering to each other or Zevran's sly innuendo while they walked along the road toward Denerim. When he was finding Morrigan's cutting remarks preferable, Alistair dropped back to walk with Sten who thankfully still didn't like him and thus didn't talk to him or throw him knowing looks.
They made camp, and after supper it started raining, which just made everything muddy and terrible, and ruined the possibility of sleeping under the stars again. With a resigned sigh, Alistair hauled his gear into the tent he shared with Zevran, already blushing even though the elf wasn't there yet.
He didn't have long to wait. Zevran pushed his own gear ahead of him, the leather pieces of his armor damp. Zevran's hair was wet and frizzing a little, and after he flopped onto his half of the tent, Zevran plucked at his wet undershirt with a moue of disgust on his face.
"Hey!" Alistair protested when Zevran began pulling off his shirt. His shirt was sticking uncomfortably to his skin too, and you didn't see him stripping it off.
"I am not wearing this a moment longer," Zevran declared, rolling his eyes at Alistair. "What is it that you fear? That you'll admire my perfection when I am bared before you? I do not blame you, but you will just have to suffer it."
Alistair averted his eyes and harrumphed. Running back out into the rain seemed like a better and better idea. "It's indecent," he grumbled.
"I would have thought a soldier's barracks would have inured you to nudity," Zevran said, and now his pants and smalls were following his shirt. Alistair caught his ass in his peripheral vision as Zevran wiggled around to get them off and then his bedroll set up.
"I am! I was!" Alistair protested, jerking his eyes away. He'd seen plenty of hairy men naked before. Some elves alongside the humans even. "But that was different! That was . . . It wasn't . . ." He waved his hands trying to explain, and when he looked over, Zevran was stretched out on his bedroll like a courtesan again, one arm tucked under his head and a teasing smile on his face. His other arm rested on his belly. It should have been innocent, but Alistair was blushing again, and desperately looked anywhere else in the tent. It was quite a small tent.
Zevran laughed. "None of them appealed to your inner desire, no?" he said.
Alistair grumbled, but his tongue was tied now too, and really the rain was a better option. Maybe he could share Morrigan's tent. He made half a move toward the flap, but Zevran caught his arm.
"Ano, you don't need to leave. There is no need for shame about your desires." His grip was loose on Alistair's forearm and dropped entirely when Alistair turned and caught his surprisingly serious expression. "I was only surprised because you did not strike me as one to favor men."
"I don't favor you," Alistair said mulishly with more heat flooding his cheeks. It was a lie. He was certain from the grin on Zevran's face that he knew it was a lie, too.
"Then, you will not mind my being out of those wet clothes and airing my finer attributes."
Groaning, Alistair buried his face in his hands. Ground-swallowing would be very nice about now.
After that, it seemed Alistair couldn't go into their tent without seeing Zevran naked. To be fair, Zevran never touched Alistair, or himself for that matter, while they were alone. He carried on as if things were normal, which still included plenty of innuendo, but thanks to the cold and damp, he was covered up more often than not. Alistair wasn't sure if that made things better or worse. On the one hand, after a week of this, he was getting used to the sight of Zevran's nude body tucked into his bedroll in the evenings before he stubbornly rolled over to face the tent wall. On the other, every other waking moment Alistair had visions of Zevran's nude body tucked into his bedroll. His traitorous thoughts would helpfully remind him that he was naked under that blanket and that hand under there could be touching anything.
Alistair was nearly ready to die of frustration.
At least there were darkspawn to kill and soldiers to evade. In Denerim, he had a reprieve thanks to rooms with beds which meant enough space to share with Sten. In Denerim he also finally figured out that Elissa and Leliana were whispering to each other because they were doing some sort of courtship dance around each other. He found this out by accidentally walking in on them at the inn, which, Andraste's tits, made things even worse because Alistair's new appreciation for naked Zevran had done nothing to quell his appreciation for naked women. Together. Doing things. He wanted to die.
Once they were back on the road, in more rain, with more mud, and a nude elf beside him every night, Alistair's conversations with Zevran devolved to:
"My fingers are quite nimble, my dear Warden. They are very good at buckles."
"I hate you."
"You love me."
"I don't."
"You're eyes on me are like caresses to my skin."
"Arrrrhg! I hate you!"
The latest iteration of this ended with Zevran laughing and dancing out of Alistair's reach. Morrigan, looking over her shoulder at the commotion, arched an eyebrow at Alistair who scowled. His scowl got worse when Elissa tried to make him feel better. Everyone knew Zevran had upped his game of the double entendre to make him blush, although Alistair hoped they hadn't seen the full picture, as it were. When Elissa finally gave up and went back to Leliana's side, Alistair scowled at the happy couple they made.
"Why are you torturing yourself?"
Alistair did a double take out of his dark thoughts because Sten -- Sten! -- had spoken to him. "What?"
"I said, why are you torturing yourself?" Sten repeated with irritation. "The solution is obvious."
"It is?" Alistair wasn't sure he was tracking what the problem was exactly. He was still trying to wrap his head around Sten acknowledging his existence.
"It is."
"Er . . ."
Sten huffed, his huge shoulders heaving with the sigh. "You are sexually frustrated and the elf is goading that frustration. The solution is to have sex with him."
"What?" Alistair's voice came out in a very unmanly squeak, but at the moment he didn't care. "I don't want to sleep with him!" he said in a fierce whisper. It was a lie. The flat look Sten sent his way said he knew it was a lie, too. "Oh Maker's balls." Alistair buried his head in his hands, and since they were walking, promptly tripped over a rock and onto the ground with a clatter of his armor.
Sten stopped and stared down at him, his head at an angle, partially blocking the sun. Alistair was sure everyone else was staring too, but Sten was frowning at him like he was an idiot. He said in his very precise way, in a voice that was not a whisper. "If you do not wish to relieve your sexual frustration with Zevran, I will service you."
Which was about the most terrifying thing Alistair had ever heard in his entire life.
Alistair was not ashamed to admit it: he was hiding. Unfortunately, the only place he had to hide was his tent since Bodahn had found him in the cart and no way was he going anywhere near Sten's tent. He lay on his bedroll clutching the front plate of his cuirass over his head. Sten's pronouncement had killed any hard-on he might have been harboring. In fact it had killed any and all desire for the rest of his life.
When the tent flap shuffled open, Alistair groaned. Even though it was inevitable, the last thing he wanted was for Zevran to come in and heap even more humiliation upon him. That was the problem with hiding in a tent you shared with the person you regularly thought about naked.
"Alistair, my darling Warden, I think you have the wrong part of your armor on your head." Zevran's tone was light, and Alistair listened to him settle in on his side of the tent. He waited for the telltale whisper of cloth on skin as Zevran disrobed, but for once it didn't seem to come. He cracked up the corner of his cuirass and found Zevran leaning back on his hands watching him, fully clothed.
"Go away."
"If I go away Sten will frown at me and you will still be wallowing in self-pity. Come, there is no need for that."
"There's every need!" Alistair let the cuirass fall back over his flaming face. The metal had warmed from his skin and the dark was comforting and close. "You've been laughing at me for weeks."
"Only because you blush so prettily." Zevran's voice was closer and a moment later he was lifting the chest plate away and pushing it aside. Alistair glared at him. Zevran's eyes crinkled but he wasn't smiling now. "I am sorry it has gone on this long. I thought your resistance would crumble before we left Denerim."
"My resistance?"
"Yes. I'm honestly impressed you've lasted this long against my charm. Usually, I have at least been kissed by this point."
"Kissed?" Alistair's voice squeaked. He wasn't sure how they had gotten here, but he was decidedly out of his depth, even if the unhelpful corner of his mind pointed out that kissing wasn't that hard.
"Yes." The easy expression on Zevran's face grew furrowed. "Don't you want to kiss me?"
"Yes! I mean, no! I mean, you've been saying all ---" Alistair waved his hand, "and taking off your ---" he waved some more, "because you want me to kiss you?"
"I want you to do more than kiss me, my dear Warden." Zevran's voice turned sly.
Alistair nearly swallowed his own tongue, the image of Zevran stretched out and touching himself the evening that started all this coming to the fore. He may or may not have made an inarticulate sound, before he burst out with, "How was I supposed to know that!? You never said!"
Zevran laughed, disbelief coloring his tone. "I should have thought my taking off my clothes and inviting you to me ravish me everyday would make it obvious." His eyes narrowed. "I may have underestimated the number of blows to the head you've taken."
"I haven't-- I'm not--" Alistair let his head fall back with a thump. He stared at the slant of the tent wall above him feeling like the world was spinning. Zevran remained beside him, a wash of golden hair out of the corner of his eye.
"Hmm. Perhaps I should go get Sten."
Alistair's hand immediately shot out to stop him. "Don't you dare."
"No?" The teasing in his voice finally penetrated, and maybe Alistair had hit his head one too many times. Zevran's grin curled around his mouth and his hair swayed into his face as he leaned in above him. Maker, he was beautiful.
Alistair swallowed hard. He was blushing again, but this time he didn't try to hide his face away. Under his hand, Zevran's arm muscles flexed, and Alistair let him go. "You want me to kiss you," he said.
"Perhaps I should be the one kissing you, no?" Zevran's eyes darted to Alistair's lips, and Alistair felt his mouth go dry. "To avoid any more confusion?"
Alistair was definitely out of his depth, and had Zevran's eyes always been that warm, honey brown. He dared not look away. After the silence drew taut between them, he realized that Zevran's eyebrow had lifted in a question. That Alistair hadn't answered yet.
"Ye-yes," he managed. His heart was beating too fast, but the delight he saw reflected in Zevran's smile made his breath catch as the elf swooped in.
The press of his lips against Alistair's was soft, Zevran's hand cupping his cheek and those long fingers slipping into his hair. Alistair clutched back, hand to leather-covered shoulder, holding on for dear life when Zevran parted his lips, urging him to follow, and then Alistair was lost, all thought fled when their tongues met and warmth suffused him from his lips to his toes.
Swooping. He gasped for breath when they finally broke apart. Zevran didn't go far. A few inches as they breathed each other's air. Swooping was good.
The next time Alistair saw Zevran naked he still blushed and he still felt shy and awkward and inexperienced. But he was naked too.
Zevran had said like a caress, "Everyone is inexperienced at one point. Let me show you," as he'd slid his hands under Alistair's shirt and skinned it off. Then he hadn't given Alistair a chance to do anything else but feel all the blood in his body rush to his cock as he'd licked the flat of his tongue over Alistair's nipple and sent lightening scattering all the way down to his toes.
They were kneeling in their tent in front of each other, and Alistair had his hands braced on Zevran's shoulders so he wouldn't fall over. He gasped at each flick of his tongue, a little mewling sound escaping that would have been embarrassing if Alistair was capable of embarrassment at the moment. His hips twisted but Zevran's other hand stayed maddeningly where it was, just resting at his waist with the lightest of pressure. Eventually, Zevran took mercy and kissed his way up Alistair's hairy chest, laying a wet strip of small bites up his collar bone to his chin.
"Touch me, Alistair," he whispered before taking his lips in a wet open kiss that was hot and hungry. It took a minute for Alistair to gather his wits enough to hear what he'd said, to flex his finger on Zevran's shoulders, to hesitantly caress down his arms, hyperaware of how big his hands were and not wanting to do it wrong. His fingers brushed Zevran's sides, and Zevran moaned into his mouth. Alistair lost all thought. He wanted to hear that again.
Heart hammering, he let go of Zevran's arms and palmed his ribcage. When he tentatively passed one thumb over the elf's nipple, Zevran surged up against him, his tongue raking over the roof of Alistair's mouth, and then they were tumbling over -- a controlled fall, Alistair realized, feeling the strength in Zevran's wiry muscles as he bore Alistair into their bedrolls.
"Do that again," he demanded, while Alistair was still getting his bearings.
"Do what?" Alistair asked, blushing.
"Touch me," Zevran said with feeling. But his hands were running up and down Alistair's sides, rubbing and --
Alistair flinched away with a startled laugh when Zevran's fingers skimmed over the softness at his side. "Tickles," he said, blushing again. Zevran grinned at him and suddenly Alistair had a very bad feeling, "No!" he said, but when Zevran's hands returned his touch was firm and didn't move. He leaned in and kissed his mouth again, giving Alistair a moment to calm.
"Touch me," he commanded when they broke apart, and this time Alistair obeyed, keeping his own touch firm as his fingers explored Zevran's chest, tracing lines of old scars and the trace of his tattoos, experimentally flicking over the dusky peaks of his nipples again. Zevran's fingers mirrored Alistair's on his body, touching Alistair where Alistair touched him. Feeling daring Alistair traced his fingers down to Zevran's belly button, his own stomach fluttering when the elf's clever fingers did the same.
Zevran grinned down at him. "You wish something, my Warden?"
Alistair felt heat flood his cheeks, his breath coming faster. Then Zevran lifted one leg over his hips and straddled him, his ass coming down to grind against Alistair's cock. Alistair's whole body shuddered, and he bucked, unable to help himself. Zevran threw his head back and laughed, delighted.
"You're mean," Alistair said, but without heat, and then Zevran did it again sending pleasure straight through his cock and, oh Maker, his own hand had never felt that good.
"You like, yes? Not too much? I wouldn't want to bring you to the peak of your pleasure too early," Zervan said.
"Nnng," was all Alistair could manage. Sweat broke out on his upper lip and brow. Zevran was looking at him like he wanted to devour him, and Alistair felt his whole body tingle under that gaze, even as part of him wanted to squirm at the attention. He wanted more. He wanted . . . He wanted . . .
Zevran was kissing him again, his hips driving Alistair mad as they undulated over his throbbing cock. He was graceful, his whole body unified in movement, his cock hard and bobbing with each roll of his hips. Alistair wanted to touch all of him, so he tentatively took Zevran in his hand, matching him in a groan at the feel of that velvety length. Giving a tentative stroke, he was rewarded with a breathless gasp and a sharp grin. "Yes, like that, firmer, oh, that is good," Zevran groaned.
Alistair felt a wash of pride, wanted to kiss him, so he did, but it was too much to keep track of, too much fire building in his loins, too much joy and then his whole body was curling, flooding with pleasure and sending sparks behind his eyelids. Vaguely he felt Zevran's hand wrap around his on his cock, and not long after he flushed again when hot spurts striped his belly as Zevran came tumbling after him.
"Was that good?" Alistair asked a few minutes later, his chest heaving. He felt boneless and sated, wiped but with his skin still pricking with the aftershocks. He cradled Zevran on top of him, reveling in his weight holding him down and the damp between them.
Her heard Zevran chuckle has he slid to Alistair's side and draped himself more comfortably on Alistair's shoulder. He pressed a kiss to Alistair's cheek that was strangely touching. "That was magnificent," he said, his words settling the loose pieces in Alistair's chest. Alistair wrapped an arm around his shoulders and nosed at his hair. They were both too warm, too sticky, but Alistair didn't care.
"And you?" Zevran asked, fingers tracing patterns through his chest hair. "Much better than Sten, yes?"
Alistair couldn't help it. He laughed, giddy and happy and warm, kissing back when Zevran laid his own laughing kiss upon him.