This one-shot came to me in the middle of Alistair Appreciation Week on Tumblr. My own prompt, which is as follows:
Duran Aeducan is the ideal Warden; he will do literally anything to end the Blight. He’s aggressive, ruthless, and without a conscience. He has sided with the werewolves and killed an entire clan of Dalish elves; sided with Branka and allowed her to begin making golems; allowed blood mages and demons to go free if they had anything to offer in return; allowed Jowan to kill Arlessa Isolde to save her son. He tainted the Sacred Ashes - and had to kill two of his companions when they object - and then lied to the rest of the group about what had happened. He put his equally ruthless brother on the throne in Orzammar, after securing a deal to be made Paragon. He had casual flings with both Leliana and Zevran, ending things with them both cruelly when he decided to pursue Morrigan instead. He made a deal with Anora to allow her to keep her throne in return for the power and influence Duran craves.
Pushed into an unexpected friendship - initially borne out of horror at the Warden’s decisions (and you know you’re in trouble when an Antivan Crow finds your means unpalatable) - Alistair and Zevran begin having deeper feelings for each other, not that either would admit it.
Then just before the Landsmeet, after defeating Taliesen, Duran informs Zevran that he should leave the party because he is now a political liability. Zevran disappears without even saying goodbye to Alistair. And then when Duran recruits Loghain and Alistair is banished, the exiled Warden decides to track down the assassin before leaving Ferelden permanently - only to find him partially undressed at the Pearl with one of Sanga’s finest.
And that’s the last straw.
“Lay down on the fucking bed, Zevran.” Alistair’s tone was hard, unflinching, demanding ... there was simply no way the elf could decline the command.
Zevran had never seen the warrior like this, so serious, so intense. The loveable goof who’d gotten under the skin of even the hardened assassin was nowhere to be seen, replaced by this gorgeous, hard, ominous man – with one hand gripping the hair of a prostitute, holding her at an awkward angle just to clearly demonstrate who was in charge, the other on his hip, posture aggressive as hell.
The kiss Alistair had dropped on Zevran when he’d barged into the room – before he’d noticed the prostitute he was currently holding – had left the elf gasping. Alistair’s brows had furrowed, when he’d noticed the woman who’d straightened her dress and stood carefully, eyes down submissively, and then his eyes had flashed with outrage. Zevran had stepped forward, sure that the warrior wouldn’t hurt her, but unsettled by Alistair’s expression.
The larger man had stopped him with a gesture, before gently putting his hand on the whore’s shoulder, shifting her closer. Zevran shivered at the look in the larger man’s eyes, cock hardening unexpectedly, and scrambled to comply with his instruction. He climbed up onto the massive four-poster, his head propped up on a couple of pillows, arranging his limbs in the most alluring pose he could manage.
He shouldn’t have been surprised he’d been found, he supposed; Zevran’s flight to the Pearl and descent into debauchery was altogether predicable given his background. He’d had little idea what to do with himself, and settling into his old habit of fucking his feelings away, he’d spent more than he could comfortably afford on one of Sanya’s best whores and gotten himself a room. He’d put very little conscious thought into it, simply going on instinct, trying to keep from thinking about...
He was distracted from his thoughts by the former templar at the foot of the bed. A sudden movement bared the breasts of the woman Alistair was still holding, and the Antivan’s eyes widened as a broad, calloused hand reached up to grip one of them, fingers indenting the luscious flesh, thumb teasing across a taut nipple.
“Is this what you want?” The woman gasped as Alistair pinched her nipple, writhing prettily – but Alistair hadn’t taken his eyes off the assassin the entire time, despite having his hands on a partially naked woman for probably the first time. His gaze travelled down from Zevran’s face, flushed with arousal and alcohol, to his hairless chest and flat abdomen, just visible with his shirt unbuttoned casually, to the visible tent straining the front of his trousers. The former templar’s eyes darkened even further, and he released the woman who fell to her knees at his feet, reaching up to fondle him through the fabric of his clothes. “Is this what you were leaving for?”
Alistair allowed the whore to undress him, gaze never leaving the assassin who watched breathlessly, unable to fashion a response. In his wildest dreams, Zevran hadn’t ever imagined this day. He’d been physically attracted to Alistair from the start, of course – who wouldn’t be? – but the man’s innocence and naivety, while making him fun to tease, had been a shield that Zevran hadn’t truly planned to bypass, even as the two had grown closer. I’ve never had a particular fondness for virgins, he thought, but he couldn’t deny that he had developed feelings for the man, at first respect and understanding, and then admiration ... and then perhaps something else, something more – not that he’d ever admit to it. He also couldn’t deny the flash of fierce possessiveness that shocked him when he contemplated being the templar’s first – something he’d never considered before the warrior had barged through his door.
As much as I fantasized about him, I didn’t want him corrupted even more, Zevran mused. Not that he’d had much choice in the matter, with Aeducan making most of the decisions – few of which would allow anyone travelling with them to remain naïve for long. Assuming they survive his company, he thought ruefully, remembering the day In Haven when four people had gone looking for the Urn of Sacred Ashes and only two had returned.
It was odd, Alistair reflected as he helped get himself undressed, that he had managed to develop a friendship with the elf; before the Blight, if someone had told him that he would end up counting an Antivan Crow who’d been contracted to kill him as one of the only friends he’d ever had, he’d have thought they’d been drinking too much. But faced with what they’d been through – not just the darkspawn and the undead and the countless other dangers they’d faced together over the last year, but also the ruthless behaviour and the fallout of the decisions made by the Warden – the two had developed an unlikely camaraderie. And, Alistair had finally admitted to himself only a few days prior, his feelings just might run deeper than companionship, if he was brave enough to embrace them.
Aeducan had forced his hand, though; Alistair was through with being railroaded, ignored, goaded, disregarded, and bullied. Duran had told him he needed to look out for himself more, and while almost everything else the dwarf had ever said had been complete crap, it was one piece of advice Alistair intended to take. And the last betrayal – Isolde dying had been bad; massacring a clan of defenseless elves had been worse; saving Branka after she’d allowed her relatives to be made into Broodmothers to supply more darkspawn for the gauntlet had nearly made him sick; but taking mercy on Loghain, and recruiting the man who’d left his king, his brother, to die, who’d hired assassins to kill them, who’d sold elves into slavery and poisoned Arl Eamon, was the final straw – had made it clear that he truly was the only one who would be looking out for his own well-being. And if that was true, if he was no longer to be a Warden, not a King, not a hero, then he might as well get started at taking what he wanted. And I’ll start with this. With him.
Alistair pushed the woman away once he stood completely nude; his body could have made the Maker jealous, Zevran decided, taking in the physique of the man who’d come to find him after the Warden had informed him his services would no longer be needed – that he was now a liability, a witness against Loghain, someone the queen would want removed before he could implicate her father further. He shook his head, pushing aside his bitter thoughts about the warden he’d fought for, fallen for, only to be abandoned when he became inconvenient ... What mattered now was what came next, and given the naked man in his room, what came next was sure to be amply distracting.
His gaze triggered a deep flush in the man standing at the foot of the bed, but Alistair didn’t move, didn’t try to cover himself or hide; instead, his grin grew naughtier even as his cock hardened further.
“So, a woman, a prostitute – is that what piques your interest, then?” Alistair gestured the woman to the bed, and confused, she crawled onto it and began undressing the reclining elf as she had for the standing human. “Not even a goodbye – just a quick relocation to the nearest brothel, and a meaningless romp in the sheets?”
And then Zevran could see what was really happening – the insecurity, the vulnerability of the warrior who was suddenly uncertain whether Zevran’s incessant flirting had been misconstrued, whether it was just for fun or actually signalled some deeper connection.
“Ah, amico, only you prudish Fereldans care so much about the details of the body with whom you share pleasure,” Zevran scoffed. He wracked his mind to think of some way to reassure the human that his presence was more than welcome, but was interrupted from saying anything further by the prostitute who, finished with his clothes, licked his cock, her tongue travelling from base to tip, teasing into the slit at the end before repeating the same action again. The Antivan groaned; between the anticipation – what exactly did the stunning, naked human intend, anyway? – and the physical stimulation, he shuddered and thrust his hips involuntarily into the pretty mouth of the redhead currently servicing him. He pulled himself together to continue, “You could come over here and learn that for yourself, though, no? What do you want, Alistair?”
The human, eyes glued to where the prostitute he’d stumbled across in Zevran’s room was bobbing on and off of the elf’s erection, startled when he heard his name, and with a guilty expression, he met Zevran’s eyes. Their gaze was charged, both of them understanding that things between them would never be the same if they went any further.
Alistair licked his lips and took a step closer to the bed. “This. I want this ... you. But I...” He hesitated, then took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and tried again. “I don’t know...”
Zevran smiled, not smug or amused, but understanding – and yet lascivious. “Then come here. Show me.” He held his breath as the warrior hesitated, finally letting it out with a pleased hum as the warrior took another step toward him.
“Some oil, Alistair, yes?” He gestured towards a small bedside table where a handful of small bottles waited. Alistair nodded dumbly, before approaching the table nervously and selecting a bottle more-or-less at random, having difficulty tearing his gaze away from the gorgeous elf who moaned again, weaving his fingers into the hair of the woman now devouring his cock, slowing her movements to his satisfaction.
Zevran patted the bed, and Alistair moved as though in a trance, climbing up to kneel beside the elf, bottle of oil still in hand. The elf, using one hand to guide the speed of the woman sucking him, held out the other hand expectantly.
“Care to do the honours?”
Alistair gulped, and then, using his teeth to uncork the bottle he held, poured a generous amount of sweet-smelling oil into Zevran’s open hand. And then he was the one to groan when those slick fingers closed around his length, smearing the oil and stroking him gently. And it felt nothing like his own hand, he thought, the assassin’s touch firm and yet gentle, so much more than when he touched himself.
Alistair cursed and thrust awkwardly into his hand, and Zevran had to close his eyes and concentrate to avoid spilling his seed then and there. Between the excellent work of the prostitute – who was an unsurprisingly skilled cock-sucker – and the fantasy coming true right beside him, he was precariously balanced on a knife’s edge ... but he wanted more before he gave in to the rising pressure in his groin.
Opening his eyes once he’d managed to suppress the urge to rut into the woman’s mouth and end the fun before it got started, he reluctantly pulled said warm orifice off his cock, and, plucking the bottle of oil from out of Alistair’s insensate fingers, he handed it to her and then lifted his legs, making it clear what he wanted her to do next.
And then it was Alistair’s turn to close his eyes and frantically think about anything else to keep from coming prematurely as he watched the whore spread oil around Zevran’s rear passage and then proceed to insert first one, then two long manicured fingers into the puckered hole, spreading the oil further inside. The assassin, aroused by Alistair’s honest reaction and still stroking the warrior’s cock softly, was sure to moan and writhe against the intruding fingers, putting on a show for Alistair’s benefit.
Truthfully, Zevran didn’t need much help in being prepared – in his time as a Crow, he’d bedded enough men to be confident in his ability to take Alistair, regardless of how well-endowed the man was. But he was also aware enough to realise both that Alistair would enjoy watching – but also that if he was too worried about hurting him, they’d never get through this. So he allowed copious amounts of oil to be massaged into him, frankly enjoying the sensation – and watching as Alistair’s control eroded by the minute.
Finally sure they were both as ready as they could be, certain that Alistair’s arousal would overcome his nerves, he tugged on the warrior’s cock to coax him to shuffle down until he knelt between Zevran’s thighs. He was gorgeous, Zevran couldn’t help but admit, with his stubble and his perfectly mussed hair and his rippling muscles, and the assassin couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted someone so much. I might be the much more experienced of us, but the Chantry virgin’s got me all but begging him.
Alistair was practically panting – both from arousal and from panic – and he jumped when the prostitute’s hand took over for the rogue’s, then tugged forward.
Alistair leaned over the slighter elf, poised above him nervously. The elf looked divine from that angle, all bronze skin and hard planes, and Alistair’s cock twitched. “I ... Are you...”
“Please, Alistair.” Zevran knew how to look irresistible, and he used it, tilting his head coyly and allowing himself to blush. He wiggled his hips, dragging the head of Alistair’s cock against his skin, and they both gasped at the contact.
Reassured, with the help of the skilled whore – and how had having her stay even happened? She was remarkably inobtrusive, really – he lined himself up, uttered a brief, probably blasphemous prayer, and then pressed forward.
Both men groaned, nearly overcome – Zevran from the pressure, being stretched and filled until pain blended with pleasure, and Alistair from the tight, slick heat around the head of his cock. And if he’d thought Zevran’s hand felt good, it was nothing compared to the grasping, fluttering sensation in Zevran’s ass as the elf adjusted to the invasion. He held still for a moment, at the prostitute’s urging – she stroked his hair soothingly, murmuring praise to help him stay in control.
Finally, the elf nodded, adjusting his legs to wrap around Alistair’s hips and using his heels to spur the bigger man on. Surprisingly gently, Alistair thrust forward, his eyes closed in bliss as he sank into the elf’s depths. It took a few moments, but eventually Alistair was fully inside him, and he opened his eyes, making eye contact with the slight elf underneath him even as he shuddered in pleasure.
“Oh, Maker, Zev—” He couldn’t help himself, leaning down to kiss the former Crow, more enthusiasm than skill involved, his lips devouring Zevran’s.
And enthusiasm had much to recommend it, Zevran reflected, teasing Alistair’s lips with his tongue and enjoying the inadvertent thrust of Alistair’s hips as he swept his tongue into the warden’s mouth. Alistair struggled to stay still and let the elf accommodate him, but Zevran – powerfully aroused and more than ready – bit the warrior’s lip sharply and pulled with his legs. And then they were moving together, instinct taking precedence over experience to establish a rhythm they both enjoyed. Alistair’s length speared into Zevran again and again, the head of his cock riding up against the elf’s prostate. The two were briefly able to forget everything but the sensations they created for each other – forget the cruel warden whose actions had driven them together, the queen who wanted them dead, the baggage from their pasts, and the prostitute who watched them couple with knowing eyes.
Alistair could feel his peak coming soon, his cock tingling, his abdominal muscles quivering as he tried to hold back. “Zev, I can’t ... I’m gonna...”
The elf, gasping and trembling in desire but not yet close enough to orgasm, could see the torment on the human’s face – the pleasure was too much to bear, but he didn’t want to come and leave Zevran hanging. And there was nothing more destructive to a man’s ego than feeling like he hadn’t performed well in bed, Zevran knew – if he didn’t want to see that look on Alistair’s face, he was going to have to take matters into his own hands.
He pushed on Alistair’s shoulders until the man knelt upright, Zevran’s pelvis in his lap, watching his cock slide in and out through the assassin’s tight opening. “Not helping,” he growled, gritting his teeth and forcing himself to look away from the erotic sight.
Zevran chuckled, the sound as much moan as laugh. “Ah, my friend, you just lack imagination.” He reached out and put his hand on the back of the nearby prostitute’s head, pulling her closer; she licked her lips with a smile and dove in. Alistair’s groan was feral as he watched the whore swallow the elf’s cock, Zevran’s eyes rolling up and his back arching in pleasure.