Is This What You Want?

Alistair waited until the assassin stilled, not having the leverage he needed to grind himself against the cock in his ass or the mouth that had gone still around his length. Just as he was prepared to beg, Alistair's grip on the woman's hair tightened, and he pressed down and then lifted her up, bobbing her head on the elf's cock while Zevran panted. He stopped her after two thrusts.

"Is that what you want, Crow?" There was mischief on his face, no real cruelty, and Zevran relaxed, willing to play this game if it meant seeing that expression on Alistair's face for longer. He didn't respond, and the warrior moved his arm again, three slow bobs this time, stopping when Zevran whined with need. I may be playing the game, but he's winning, the assassin realised with surprise. "Is it?"

"Yes," hissed the elf, and he was rewarded by a few more sucks.

Then Alistair, pausing the prostitute's fellatio once more, shifted his hips and thrust firmly into the assassin's ass, once, twice, and again. Zevran cried out, his body rocking with the force of the thrusts - so good, but not enough, and he thought he might go mad if Alistair didn't keep going.

"Or is this what you want?" He thrust again, and Zevran's ass fluttered around him desperately. "Which is it, Zevran? Her mouth? Or me?" He alternated, then, one bob of the prostitute's talented mouth, one thrust of his ample cock, neither enough to make the elf come, but both so much more than pleasurable.

Zevran's first instinct was to lie - to claim he was equally as affected by the head in his lap and the cock in his ass, but as bursts of pleasure sizzled down his nerve endings and he glanced between the two people in question, he couldn't deny the truth - and poised on the brink of the abyss, as he was, he couldn't moderate what came pouring out of his mouth as he began to beg.

"You, Alistair, please more, yes..." He'd have been embarrassed at his own babbling, if he'd had enough presence of mind to notice, but with every ounce of attention focused on his ass and cock, he just continued, endearments alternating with cries for more.

Finally overcome, Alistair began thrusting more rhythmically, shuddering as his cock was clenched in the elf's back passage. Showing the whore what he wanted, his fingers tangled in her hair, he synchronized her movements with the snap of his hips, and then released her to continue her own. He released Zevran's wrists too, instead twining his fingers through the elf's, holding on for dear life as the overwhelming sensations finally took over.

It was a close call, who came first, but in the end, the combined onslaught of mouth and cock pushed Zevran over the edge, and the fluttering of his ass combined with the erotic picture he painted as he laid there, back arched, face contorted with ecstasy, drove Alistair over immediately after. The two called out together, voices blending as they shuddered again and again. The whore rode it out, swallowing down Zevran's seed before pulling back to get out of the way. Alistair collapsed, barely managing to roll to the side without crushing the elf underneath him, his cock shrinking and slipping out of the rogue's ass. After a few minutes of catching his breath, Zevran stirred when the prostitute approached with a damp cloth, efficiently cleaning both men up as they rested.

Afterwards, she gave the two a saucy grin. "That was fun, boys. Feel free to ask for me again if you'd like to try something else." She winked at them, adjusted her dress to cover her breasts, and sauntered out, closing the door behind her.

Zevran watched her go before returning his consideration to the enormous warrior who was now spooned around him, with Zevran almost cradled against his chest. It frightened Zevran how comfortable it was, how secure he felt, and he had to concentrate to keep his voice even when he finally spoke.

"Now that, I did not expect."

Alistair snorted, the sound amused but also somehow insecure. When Zevran met his gaze, there were a million questions there that he knew he couldn't answer - he wouldn't - but he also couldn't leave it like that, leave the Chantry boy hanging. "You have surprisingly hidden depths to you, amico. Not that I'm averse to trying again later, just to make sure it wasn't an accident."

Alistair's breath caught. "Was that...I mean, you know I've never...I didn't mean to..."

Zevran took pity on him with a grin. "You're clearly a fast learner."

Alistair's chuckle was more genuine this time, though he still looked pensive - something that made the elf nervous. "Zevran?"

"Mmm?"

"What does 'te amo' mean?"

Zevran froze, and his breath abandoned him in a rush, leaving him feeling nauseous and disoriented. Te amo? How had Alistair ever come across that particular piece of Antivan? And then it came back to him - the babbling, the begging...the raw feelings he couldn't deny as Alistair took him, ravaging both his body and his soul somehow. Surely I didn't say such a thing, not I, the cold-hearted assassin who watched as someone I...cared for was murdered. I neither need nor deserve love, especially his love.

"I, uh..." He flushed, too torn by his own emotions to admit them to the larger man beside him. "Just something we say in Antiva during sex," he finished lamely, chastising himself for the least convincing lie of his life.

"Oh. Really?" Alistair's smile morphed into a skeptical smirk, and Zevran's heart stuttered. "Fine, fine, don't tell me - but keep in mind you're not the only person in Thedas who speaks Antivan. I'll figure it out eventually."

The look of panic must have shown on Zevran's face, because Alistair's smile faded, and he reached down to run one finger along the tattoo on Zevran's cheek before pulling his hand away and rolling onto his back. "I'm sorry," he almost whispered. "I won't pry."

Disappointed in himself, and missing the warmth of the other man's body against his, Zevran turned to plaster himself along Alistair's side, leaning up on one elbow to look down at the human's face. "One day," he promised, while kicking himself for making a vow he didn't deserve to keep - assuming he ever even saw the man again.

Alistair's heart was pounding; he was pretty sure he knew exactly what 'te amo' meant, and as much as he wanted it, wanted to hear the assassin say it again, he couldn't help but worry that the Antivan was telling the truth, and it meant less to those of his nationality or upbringing. "One day," he echoed, and couldn't help the smile that broke out on his face. "I'll hold you to that."

Uncertain what to say in response without making it worse - either saying something hurtful and driving the warrior away, or worse, admitting his feelings in a giant messy rush that would make everything even more awkward - Zevran sighed and laid back on the bed, close enough that he touched Alistair all along one side, shoulders and hips and legs resting against each other lightly, but far enough away to not be invading the larger man's space.

The two of them stayed there, perfectly still, both minds reeling - with unspoken words, fears, and expectations swirling between them heavily. The silence grew, ominous and foreboding, as each man frantically considered and rejected overtures to breach the gap.

Finally, Alistair could take it no more. He rolled to his side so he could see the assassin.

"Zevran?"

"Yes, Alistair?"

"What are you going to do now? I don't mean right now, obviously, I mean this is your room and I interrupted you, I assume you'll want to sleep at some point..." He cleared his throat when he saw the assassin raise one amused eyebrow. "But I mean, big-picture-wise, what are you going to do?"

Zevran flushed at how much the awkward, nervous, insecure babbling of the former warden appealed to him. He'd always thought it cute and desirable, but if anything, it had gotten worse since he'd seen the man's other side - the dominant, sexual, demanding side that had taken him with such confidence and reduced him to a whimpering pile of mush.

"I have not made any plans, as yet. I must leave Ferelden - the Warden's orders - and I will probably have Crows looking for me before long, yes?"

Alistair nodded, thinking furiously, hoping he wasn't about to make an enormous fool out of himself. "I've been exiled," he admitted, "so I have to leave Ferelden too. I was thinking about going to Kirkwall - lots of refugees to lose myself in, no warden presence to speak of, and not especially close ties with Anora, in case she changes her mind and tries to have me killed."

"Sound logic, my friend."

Alistair cleared his throat nervously. "And I was thinking, well, there probably aren't a lot of Crows in Kirkwall..."

"There are bound to be some, but not high ranking ones, I'll grant you. None that would pose a threat to me."

"So perhaps it would be a good place for you to hide out, too?"

The assassin met his eyes then, smile growing along with the warm feeling in his belly that he was determined to ignore. "And why would you want to travel with me, especially when I'm likely to be pursued? It strikes me that you'd be safer alone, no?"

Alistair blushed, the flush starting at his face before spreading down his neck, to his chest and then his abdomen, and Zevran followed it with his gaze - until he was distracted by something else, a different sign that Alistair's mind wasn't focusing much on safety at the moment.

"Well," he paused, swallowing heavily before continuing, "you did say you wanted to try again later, just to be sure it wasn't an accident."

Zevran peeled his eyes from Alistair's growing arousal to look the handsome enigma of a man - who could bumble through the worst proposition in history, immediately after having had a naughty threesome where he dominated both of his partners for his pleasure, and theirs - in the face. "So I did." He shifted, leaning very slightly closer to the warrior, a bemused grin creeping its way onto his face when he considered that while he very much wanted to try again, apparently unlike the man in front of him, it was going to take a while longer before he would be able to try again.

Alistair's face was nearly purple, but he continued on bravely. "And it would be rather," hard, don't say hard, "difficult to do so if we parted ways here, don't you think?"

"You may have a point." He suppressed his grin, though he could feel a smirk he couldn't quite control lingering on his face. "And for the sake of research, I suppose, we may need to try a number of times to be certain it wasn't a fluke, no?"

Zevran rolled toward the human, then, one hand reaching out to touch his chest, realising with a chuckle that perhaps it wouldn't take quite as long as expected before he was ready to see that aroused, domineering expression again. Alistair gasped at the contact, body tense with renewed desire - and Maker, that had never happened so fast before, he was sure - but instead of shying away, he reached out with his own hand to trace the elegant lines of the tattoo that he was so familiar with, all the way from the elf's cheek, to his shoulder, to his stomach, before disappearing just before reaching anywhere too sensitive.

"Research," Alistair agreed. "Lots of research." As he leaned in to kiss the elf, his hand closed around the evidence that the assassin's interest was real - and he resolved to wait as long as needed, to do as much 'research' as required, until he learned whether 'te amo' meant what he thought it did and to show Zevran that the feeling was mutual.