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Tannusen smiled, running his hands down the insides of the Antivan's raised and bound thighs, watching Zevran's breathing increase in speed. He was blindfolded; bound; cradled in a supple black leather sling that held him from the back of the head to just above his ass. The bindings of his ankles held his slightly-bent legs up and apart, attached to the rope that held the sling's four corners to the rafters above. His arms were pulled sharply back, wrists bound beneath the sling that the entirety of his weight rested on.

"How do you like it?" Tannusen purred, leaning down onto his willing captive, pressing Zevran's hardness between their bodies as he ran his hands up and down the other man's back through the taut leather. There was nothing that he couldn't reach of the other man, right now. "You can't even brace yourself against my whims, like this, can you? The best you can do is pull at the ropes with your legs to move a little... but that's not very helpful against the disorientation, is it? The utter vulnerability..."

"Y-you really do like to set me on edge, my Warden," Zevran gasped out as Tannusen's wandering hands came over the edge of the leather to caress his bare sides, exposed with his arms pulled back as they were, "...ahh, don't you?"

Tannusen paused for a moment, and then straightened up, leaving the assassin bereft of contact as he stepped away. The room was warm, and yet he watched the rogue shiver a little at the sudden abandonment. "That wasn't an answer," Tannu noted mildly, stepping further away to go to his pack, watching as Zevran's blindfolded head turned a little to track him by sound.

He had thought it many times before, but there was no helping thinking it again: black leather and scarlet rope both really suited Zevran's straw-colored hair and tattooed bronze skin. The Antivan was truly just as enticing as he claimed, and perhaps more-so when he was like this... to a certain type of viewer. A certain type of man, perhaps, who thoroughly enjoyed wielding such power over another.

"...And still no answer," Tannusen purred dangerously, laying the contents of one particular bag out on the bed, knowing that the other elf could hear him unpacking but not see what he had in store for him. "Perhaps you wish to pose a challenge? Do you think you are exercising some form of control, this way? While you are so helpless?"

The total silence from the other elf was answer in itself.

Tannusen's chuckle was a deep, softly-menacing rumble in his chest more than anything, and he lifted an item from the bed.

"Do you remember your word?" the mage asked, sliding his fingers through the soft leather strips of the flog in his hand. Zevran liked to playfully claim to have no idea where Tannusen kept finding leather-crafters willing to make and sell such items, but it was Zevran himself who often took Tannusen to those very shops for one excuse or another. A new vial of oil for his armor, or a minor repair to a scabbard or belt. The Antivan had a knack for finding the most creative leather-crafters in all of Denerim for his tiny little errands...

"It is silver, my Warden," Zevran's richly-accented voice was a little deeper than earlier, matching the visible hardness of his flesh. Just the act of rebelling, and the immediate receipt of threat -- no, of promise -- was enough to make him rise a little into the air from the smooth skin of his stomach.

"Open your mouth," Tannusen purred, stepping around the sling to Zevran's head, stroking one hand over the assassin's hair. The mage had loosened it from its usual twin braids just after securing Zevran to the sling and just prior to blindfolding him, establishing even more subtle control of the other elf. He was Tannusen's tonight to arrange, and pet, and stroke, and punish, and small details like undoing the Antivan's usual hair style on a whim only drove that point home further to both of them.

Obedient enough at least for this, Zevran's lips and teeth parted, the blindfolded man having no way of knowing what Tannusen intended. "Lips back," Tannusen added softly, still petting soft, straw-colored hair with his free hand, the other holding the heavy leather-wrapped handle of the flog.

Zevran obeyed, and Tannusen set the heavy handle of the flog into place. "Close, gently. You will hold this for me without clenching your teeth more than you must. You are to leave no marks on the leather. Is this understood?"

The Antivan nodded imperceptibly, holding the implement with obvious care. The weight of it, combined with knowing intimately just how well Tannusen could wield such a tool, made the rise of Zevran's exposed sex twitch beneath Tannusen's gaze.

Tannusen smiled, even though Zevran couldn't see it through the blindfold, and stroked his hair once more before stepping away again. "You are about to have hot wax dripped onto you," his velvet purr caressed the words, and he watched Zevran's throat as the assassin swallowed visibly at the statement. "Be mindful of the flog in your teeth, pet, if you wish to find release at all tonight."

It was the first time he'd called Zevran that. Though the word slipped from his tongue easily, he paused to watch Zevran's reaction, weighing the ramifications of the name in his own mind even as he watched Zevran swallow visibly again. Pet. It was something he himself had been called in the past, by a man with an insidious voice and hard, uncaring hands... was it in the least bit right for him to use it on someone else?

It probably wasn't. But it was done, and the soft shudder that went through the bound assassin looked like... acceptance, and the flex of bronze-skinned legs that lifted his hips a little in the sling seemed like agreement.

Pet.

Perhaps the word was redeemable, after all.

"You truly are a remarkable man," Tannusen murmured, carefully lifting a lit candle in his hands and stepping close again, "to bear that name so bravely. Now... careful," he purred, sliding a hand up Zevran's stomach, the other holding the candle carefully level, "you have more yet to bear for me. Are you ready?"

The small nod from the blindfolded man was cue enough, and Tannusen lowered the candle, reaching across Zevran's form to his chest, knowing that he would have little way of knowing where the wax would hit. He watched intently as he lowered the candle nearer to that waiting skin, and tipped it slowly to one side.

Beneath his hand, Zevran tensed as the thick wax dripped onto his skin, searingly hot but fast to cool. Tannusen slid his hand back down the assassin's toned stomach to take his hardness in hand, slowly stroking, the mage murmuring soft encouragements as he allowed more wax to melt. He lowered the candle again several moments later, allowing an even hotter batch to drip across one nipple...

Zevran strained beneath the candle, his every flinch echoed through the sling, amplified and impossible to hide. Tannusen allowed it; he hadn't told the other man to hold still, after all; only to not bite down on the heavy leather-wrapped handle in his teeth. Which, despite the difficulty of such a charge, it seemed that Zevran was managing to obey. His control over himself was impressive indeed.

But the hard flesh in his hand didn't lessen, and if anything the torture only made it swell thicker, hotter. Tannusen straightened the candle and leaned close, lapping delicately at the moisture at Zevran's tip with his tongue. That made the Antivan gasp around the flogger and jerk hard in the sling's embrace, and Tannusen chuckled deeply as he straightened again.

"One more round of wax," he mused aloud, stroking slowly again, "and then you will have another chance to answer my questions."

Zevran shuddered a little as that slowly-stroking hand went still, gripping him at the base. It was quite obvious where that last round of wax was intended to go.

"I want you to hold as still as you can for this," Tannusen purred softly, "because if the wax doesn't go where I want it to, then I will have no choice but to re-apply it from the start," he rotated the candle in his hand, briefly watching the flame dance over the molten wax. "...Tell me, Zevran. Do you suppose I should make this hurt a little, or a lot? Nod once for a little, and twice for a lot."

He already knew what Zevran's choice would be, but forcing him to ask to be tormented made it just a bit hotter than the molten wax of the candle in his hand. And, just as predicted, Zevran nodded once... and then, clearly and very deliberately, a second time.

"...Very good," Tannusen breathed, and lowered the candle close enough to Zevran's cock for him to feel the heat, even with the candle upright. "I think your cooperation deserves a reward, don't you?"

He didn't wait for a reply. Holding the other man's sex in one hand, angled up toward Zevran's stomach, he slowly tipped the candle forward, carefully pouring a thin stream of hot wax the short distance from the candle to sensitive, swollen flesh.

Zevran made a peculiar noise around the flog in his teeth, and his bare feet curled above Tannusen's bent head, every muscle in the assassin's body tense and rigid, shaking just faintly with the effort of not moving. Merciless, Tannusen guided the molten wax to ring partially beneath the head of Zevran's cock, moving the candle along his length to trace a particularly sensitive vein down the underside of his shaft...

"Shh, shh, almost done," Tannusen murmured encouragingly, tipping more wax onto Zevran's trembling skin, letting the remainder of the melted substance spread out over flushed skin, pooling against the sensitive sac beneath. The searing wax cooled quickly, but it made that sound come from the Antivan again in the process.

The mage snuffed the candle out with a touch of frost-tipped fingers to its flame, and then tossed it aside, not letting go of Zevran's cock in his other hand. "Beautiful, Zevran," he purred, reaching over the assassin's body to gently take the flog from his teeth. "Release."

Zevran let go of the flog on command, and shuddered hard beneath the caress of leather as Tannusen slid the tips of the flog over his skin, primed for any touch; any contact. His breathing sounded suspiciously close to sobbing as the blindfolded man struggled for air, his chest heaving.

"Absolutely beautiful," Tannusen murmured, giving the flesh in his hand a slow, deliberate stroke. The cooled wax flexed against Zevran's skin, the texture of it against Tannu's fingers cool and hard in sharp contrast to the hot velvet of the rest of the man's sex. Zevran bucked weakly in the sling's hold at the stimulation, the movement causing him to sway a little in place.

"Now, Zevran," the mage ordered quietly, "tell me how you feel. The more descriptive you are, the more likely I am to let you come," and he thumbed Zevran's tip, spreading the drops of fluid he found there. His willing captive was definitely getting off on this ruthlessness, and Tannusen certainly enjoyed letting this part of himself loose on the other man. He bore it so perfectly...

"...D-defenseless," Zevran's accent was thick and heavy, his voice raspy as though he had been screaming his throat raw. "Powerless, completely at your mercy, my Warden. I..." he swallowed, and hesitated, but Tannusen remained silent in waiting, slowly stroking. "May I... make a request? Please?"

"You may," the mage allowed, privately curious.

"A kiss?" Zevran whispered, almost too quietly to be heard.

Tannusen considered him for a moment, tracing the butt of the flog's handle over Zevran's cheek. The Antivan leaned into the caress, and passively offered the tip of his tongue when the leather moved over his lips. Deciding to indulge the other man, Tannusen abruptly slid the hand holding the flog behind Zevran's blindfolded head and pulled as he leaned over his form, sealing their lips together in a hard, bruising kiss.

And even beneath this assault, Zevran was gently passive, all soft lips and the teasing brush of a tongue. Tannusen chuckled softly as he pulled back some time later, sliding the leather in his hand down Zevran's body.

"So compliant now," he purred, stroking the cock still in his other hand, "tell me what you want now, Zevran. To come?"

"P-please..." Zevran arched into the touch, the movement amplified by the sling he was bound to, the ropes holding the leather in the air creaking a little. The hard flesh in Tannusen's hand pulsed at the very mention of that eventual reward, and Tannusen chuckled darkly.

He stepped away, the flog's tails trailing between Zevran's thighs as he did so, making the other elf visibly twitch.

Tannu gave the sling a little push, making the bound Antivan sway in mid-air, and went to the room's small table. "How far do you think you are off the ground?" he asked casually, sliding the handle of the flog -- remarkably unmarred by teeth-marks -- into his belt. His robes had been long since cast aside, as usual, but he remained half-dressed, the simple tail of his long hair brushing against the length of his spine.

"Waist height," Zevran replied without hesitation.

"But how high is that, exactly?" Tannusen purred, reaching to pour water from a clay pitcher into a cup. "If I untied your hands, could you reach the floor if you stretched? What about one leg, at the angle your hips are at?"

"I... I don't know," the gently-swaying man whispered, disoriented all over again, and Tannusen turned to watch him for a moment, cup in hand. That nervous swallow was exactly what the mage had been looking for; reason and logic dictated that his back couldn't be more than three or so feet off the ground, but in the depths of his blindfold...

Had this been for torture, or had Tannusen been another Crow, he had no doubts that Zevran would hide his uncertainty to a fault. Allowing vulnerability was, in many ways, sheer trust when it came to Zevran Arainai. More than any knife to his throat, to be sure. Everything about the man's past, and his usual demeanor as a result, prohibited this very thing; this very moment.

That he broke his facade anyway, solely in Tannusen's presence... it made the mage pause for a moment with the cup of water in his hands, turning it this way and that in his fingers as he regarded the other elf. It still surprised him, every single time he realized exactly what Zevran placed at the feet of 'his Warden'. The more he'd gotten to know the assassin, the more striking these moments had become.

"...I am going to untie your hands," he murmured, stepping close again, "but you are not to test the distance, nor reach for the blindfold or yourself. Simply fold your hands on your stomach for now. Understood?"

"Yes, my Warden," Zevran visibly relaxed as Tannusen stopped the sling's gentle sway with one hand on the ropes. He transferred the cup to his raised hand and bent to undo the simple slipknot around Zevran's wrists beneath the sling. The Crow obediently brought his arms back up onto himself, lacing his shaking fingers together across his stomach, just out of reach of the tip of his straining sex.

Wordlessly, Tannusen stepped around to Zevran's head again, running his fingers over his loosened hair. The Antivan was visibly on the edge of climax, the head of his cock leaking the occasional drop of thick fluid, pulsing softly in place in time with his heartbeat. Any less-disciplined man would have been begging pitifully for release by now, and the half-ring of cooled wax strategically applied to his flesh couldn't have been helping against the sensation of riding right on the edge... the slight constriction trapping just a little extra pressure inside...

"Up," the mage purred, sliding his hand beneath Zevran's neck, and then beneath his shoulders, and pushing Zevran to half-rise, helping to hold him up with his own body behind him. It wasn't perfect leverage, and if Zevran relaxed his stomach the sling would simply sway forward and away from Tannusen's support, but it was a little help anyway.

Tannusen held the cup in his other hand to Zevran's lips. "Drink," he ordered softly, and the assassin obeyed without hesitation, swallowing the contents as Tannu gently tipped the cup to allow. He was undoubtedly checking it for poisons in his mind -- an automatic thing, with Zevran -- but he showed no hesitation to drink before that process could be completed.

The light tremors going through Zevran's entire body had lessened a little by the time Tannusen lowered him back onto the sling proper, the distraction of the water and his precarious balance enough to help take the edge off. For the moment.

"When I tell you to, I want you to shield yourself with one hand and stroke yourself with the other. Slowly," Tannusen murmured his orders, setting the cup aside and taking the flogger back up from his belt. The mage caressed the backs of Zevran's raised thighs with the leather, reminding the blindfolded man of its presence. "One full stroke is allowed per strike, and only one full stroke. If you are going to come, you are to tell me before it is too late. Understood?"

The soft, velvet-over-steel cruelty of his tone had the desired effect, making Zevran's skin visibly heat all over again beneath the blindfold. Tannusen watched as Zevran licked his lips as though they were suddenly dry, and he thrilled privately at the choked quality of Zevran's voice as the assassin rasped, "...Yes, ser."

"You may position your hands now," Tannusen purred, taking a step back. He tested the distance with the handle of the flog, not quite touching that exposed, bronze skin with it, while Zevran did as ordered, placing one hand as a barrier against any stray leather strips -- unlikely, but the precaution set Tannusen himself at ease -- and wrapping the fingers of his other hand around himself.

"Are you ready?" The mage asked softly, and waited only for Zevran to part his lips to reply before swinging his arm almost lazily forward and down, the impact light but startling. Zevran's 'yes ser' was choked out in a startled moan, and trembling fingers gave one slow stroke of his cock from root to tip and back down again.

Obediently, only once.

His control of himself was delightful, even if -- just like Tannusen himself -- the source was less-so.

"So pretty, tied up like this for me," Tannusen chuckled, bringing his arm up... "your skin is so warm-looking, Zevran. It suits a good whipping," and down, at an outward angle, the tongues of the flog stinging across the skin of Zevran's other cheek on their way to the end of the swing. Tannusen was no amateur, to stop his arm at the moment of impact; no... he carried it through completely and then drew back.

Zevran shuddered a little beneath Tannusen's hand as he smoothed his palm over barely-warmed skin, the mage watching intently as Zevran's fingers squeezed up his shaft... paused, and a tiny drop of precum slipped free... and then slid back down again.

This was a torture that Tannusen was quite familiar with, and he was happy enough to share it.

"Speak, if there is anything on your mind," he gathered the drop from Zevran's stomach, onto one fingertip, and leaned over to feed it to the blindfolded killer. Soft lips sucked eagerly at his finger, the swipe of a hot tongue... Tannusen drew back after a long, lingering moment of this, and brought the flog in his hand across Zevran's ass with an audible snap, right to left across both cheeks.

Zevran flinched in the sling, the motion obvious, but the flesh in his fingers gave a visible twitch even before he stroked. One stroke, barely completed, and then Tannusen brought the flog down again, this time across only one side, suddenly doubling the pace, and an odd, strangled sound came from Zevran's parted lips as he obediently stroked.

Another strike, and another, giving just enough time for that slow stroke in between, the blows evenly-placed and steadily increasing in strength. A few more, and Zevran jerked in place and gasped out an urgent "I'm going to--"

"Stop," Tannusen purred, a little breathless from exertion.

He tucked the handle of the flog into his belt again and stepped away, watching Zevran's shaking, straining form, the way his fingers tightened convulsively but did not move... and Tannusen sat down at the table, pulling the cup from earlier closer, and poured more water. The healer could have sworn that Zevran nearly whimpered. "Something else to say?" he asked, leaning back in his chair and sipping at the water, watching as the slightly-swaying man trembled all over, from his blindfold to his feet.

"P...please," Zevran whispered, "don't leave me like this..."

"I am a cruel man, Zevran," Tannusen chuckled darkly, reminded of darker times, spent at the feet of an even crueler man. A man he worried privately that he was turning into. "You may wish to be more persuasive."

Silence. Tannusen watched as the other man trembled lightly in place, the light sheen of sweat on his bronzed skin catching the warm light in the room, the color rich and beautiful cradled in the darker leather of the sling. He finished his cup of water, and dropped his feet back to the floor with a loud thump! that made the blindfolded man jump a little in place.

"Clearly, I have not pushed you hard enough, just yet," the mage purred as he stood back up. He once again went to his pack, the flog still tucked into his belt, and produced a new item. It was quick work to unwrap the metal rod from the cloth protecting it, to light it on fire with his magic for a few moments to sterilize it... and a brief hit of frost to cool it once more. He didn't have the patience, today, to let it cool back down on its own.

"I have a new present for you," Tannusen commented, stepping close as he dripped oil down the metal's considerable length. This was far longer and heavier than he'd used on the other man in the past, and the two ends of the slender rod were identical. "Though I don't know if you have earned it yet. Perhaps just a sample, hm?"

Zevran shuddered silently beneath his unseen stare, and Tannusen chuckled softly. "Hold yourself still, pet," he purred, and lowered the smooth, tapered end of the room-temperature metal to the tip of Zevran's cock. The Antivan hissed in a startled breath, but held completely still, holding his straining flesh perfectly still and upright for the slow invasion as Tannu gently lowered the sounding rod. It was heavy enough to slide in on its own, but he held it in check, giving Zevran only a finger's length before drawing it back.

He could have sworn he heard the softest of whimpers from the other man as he held the rod just barely inside. His hips twitched upwards involuntarily, but quickly stilled again with visible effort.

"Good boy," Tannu praised, and allowed the rod to sink back down again -- only half as far as before before raising it. This time there was a whimper. "Beg to have your cock fucked from the inside, sweet pet," the mage's voice was dark, the velvet purr almost menacing, "or I will put this very long, very heavy toy back where it came from. I will tie your hands beneath you again, and then... perhaps I will simply go to bed. Alone. And we can try again in the morning, hm?"

"Y-you are a cruel man," Zevran said with a shudder. His voice was completely hoarse.

"I could be crueler," Tannusen noted softly, "I have many worse cruelties at my disposal. Now," his voice hardened, "beg."

"P-please," Zevran was barely audible, his voice was so choked, "please fuck me with that rod, p-please... Master..." That word made something inside of Tannusen clench darkly. He felt a shudder go through himself, and took a moment to analyze it... it was a very dark part of him that reveled in the sound of that word.

"Say that again," he barely recognized his own voice, his tone was so menacing and soft.

"...Master..." Zevran was clever enough to know what part he meant. Tannusen took a deep breath, let it out. He allowed the rod in this fingers to sink down slowly under its own weight, the oiled length sliding easily down, and down, and down. The Antivan shuddered beneath the metal and both of their hands, biting his lower lip hard enough to bleed.

"That makes me want to do such terrible things to you," the mage whispered, holding very still as he watched, "terrible things, Zevran. Don't..." it took every ounce of willpower he had to make the order, "don't call me that ever again."

Zevran's only reply was an incoherent sound as the rod slid deeper into him than ever before, and his hips slowly rose from the sling before he forced them back down again. Tannusen watched, tugging the rod upwards and letting it sink back down once more. Zevran visibly squeezed the sensitive flesh in his other hand, obviously back to being right on the edge.

"You must hold yourself upright like this," Tannusen instructed, some time later, as he stepped back from the display and pulled the flog from his belt, "if you let yourself drop you will injure yourself. Understood?"

"Y-yes Ser," 

Tannusen regarded the other elf for a moment, watching the gleam of firelight upon the rod. He opened his mouth slowly, considering his orders, and then spoke in a soft voice, "Hold yourself," he murmured, "do not stroke at all until you are about to come. You have my permission, then, to remove the rod and fuck your hands, but you must hold out as long as you can first. Understood, my pet?"

"S-ser," Zevran nearly croaked the word out, but it was confirmation, and Tannusen stroked his fingers through the tails of the flog in his hand once before hauling back and lashing down, hard across Zevran's exposed ass. The assassin cried out sharply in surprise, his hips lifting from the sling, but his hands obediently remained perfectly still upon his swollen sex.

"I am going to whip you raw," Tannusen whispered, and Zevran's answering throaty moan inspired him to bring the flog down again, crossing the faint lines left from his last strike. Again, and again, progressively more and more cruel, until faint lines became dark red and his ass flushed a beautiful scarlet. Two more strikes, one on top of the other, and Zevran jerked in place so hard that the sling swung freely for a moment, precum dampening his tip, and a suspisious moisture dampening the cloth of his blindfold.

"Please, my Warden," Zevran sounded beyond the brink of control, his voice cracking though his hands still refused to move, the slickened rod shifting slowly within him. "Please take me! I don't want -- I want you, please!"

"...Zevan," Tannusen swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, his arm poised for another strike, high over his shoulder.

"Please!" the Crow's accent was thick and heavy, he tossed his head, hair sticking to sweat-dampened skin, "I--! I just want -- please--!"

The flog thumped to the floor, Tannusen reaching to remove the rod from inside Zevran, the Antivan's hips riding upward at the sensation, the sheer amount of will it took to not come obvious in every clenching muscle; Zevran's teeth clenched and bared and his blindfold soaked through.

Tannusen oiled his fingers and thrust them hard into Zevran's waiting entrance, the Crow throwing his head back and sobbing with need, toes curled, fingers so tight around himself it had to hurt.

The intrusion of his slickened cock was much slower and gentler, the slow pace one last cruelty that Tannusen could not help but inflict. His trousers were only barely unlaced enough to allow this slow impalement, and the cloth scraped against whipped skin as Tannusen sank to the root in one slow, long thrust. Zevran was searing, clenching, slick heat around him, trembling even at his core, and Tannusen bowed his head with a shaking moan at the feeling.

This was what abject surrender felt like from the other side.

That darkness inside of him clenched, coiling around his heart, and Tannusen pulled back; thrust in, finding the control to stay slow and gentle in the face of Zevran's sobbing need for "H-harder, please, faster! P-please! More!" He hadn't lied when he'd said that he was a cruel man, the trick was always in keeping his cruelty in check.

Zevran released himself under the slow assault, pulling hard at his own hair, clawing at his face, his mouth open wide for panting breaths and desperate pleas. He didn't touch his blindfold, and when Tannusen thrust home a bit harder and then stayed there, slowly grinding his cloth-covered hips against Zevran's ass, the assassin truly cried beneath him.

Too incoherent to beg anymore, two more repetitions of this later, Zevran reached blindly for Tannusen's face, and hesitated with his hands halfway there. The mage paused entirely, feeling disconnected for a moment from his body as he stared at those desperate hands, remembering reaching upward for a beloved, cruel face above him, the sting of the punch to his mouth for the insolence, the sneered words about his worth as anything but a toy to be used... how even that had made his heart sing with the need to serve better...

Tannusen jerked back, almost leaving Zevran's body entirely, reeling in shock, and then he shoved the memories aside and bent low over the Antivan, pressing their bodies close and sealing their lips together in a hard kiss as his hips suddenly couldn't stop moving, hard and fast and yes.

Neither lasted long. They couldn't. Zevran came with a sobbing mess of incoherent words against Tannusen's lips, his body clenching and spasming around Tannusen, and the mage cried out sharply as the sensation pulled him down shortly after, draining him utterly.

Neither said a word, they only panted for air, Tannusen slumped over the assassin, still buried within.

He withdrew as soon as he felt he could stand, slid the blindfold off of Zevran's head, and kissed him again, this time in silent apology. The Antivan curled his fingers in Tannusen's hair and kept him close, his body still shaking in the hold of the sling.

"There is nothing to apologize for, my dearest friend," Zevran's warm voice was hoarse and breathless when Tannu eventually extracted himself from the other man's hold. "That was amazing."

Tannusen was silent, taking a knife from his belt and slitting the ropes that held Zevran's legs up in the sling rather than taking the time to untie them. He massaged each leg in turn until the warmth had fully returned, and then boldly bent to wrap his arms around Zevran's waist within the sling, hiding his face against Zevran's neck. The assassin allowed the odd gesture, holding very still.

"...I can't trust myself like this anymore," Tannusen said eventually, when he felt he could pull away. He absently wiped his eyes with his palm, and went to heat the waiting bathwater with his magic. Even if he was... too cruel, and too tainted, he had always taken the aftercare part of this very seriously, and pampered the other man as best he could after their games. He'd even taken to learning massage from the antivan, specifically for these nights.

"I... what do you mean?" The creak of the leather sling signaled that Zevran was attempting to sit up within its confines, a difficult task when ones limbs were still wobbly. Tannusen didn't turn to look, kneeling down with his arm in the stone basin of water, a slowly-channeled fire spell gradually turning the liquid... pleasant.

"My Warden?" Zevran had managed to get out of the sling after-all, his hand gingerly touching the top of Tannusen's bowed head.

"I think the water is almost hot enough for you," Tannusen murmured, trusting the Antivan to drop the subject. He could feel Zevran's stare boring into the back of his skull, waited for the silence to break...

"Very well," Zevran sighed, climbing obediently into the hot bathwater and laying back so that he could try to catch Tannusen's eye, "but do not think I will let this go unspoken of forever, my dear. Some things are far too important to go unsaid, yes?"

Tannusen didn't reply, instead he merely took up the folded washrag from the edge of the stone tub, and the gentle soap that Zevran preferred, and set quietly to work. He had a lot to think about.