Trapped in a closet would have been preferable to pinned up against a wall by an Antivan Assassin who had only just recently revoked his status as “out for your blood, specifically”, while in a seedy tavern somewhere near the docks of Denerim, Aislinn decided as Zevran covered her body with his, the hilt of his dagger digging painfully into her side.
She hissed at him, her eyes narrow green chips of emerald beneath a low-worn bandana. She had forgone her Warden armor and her own swords because they were, ostensibly, there for reasons that were not combat. Information gathering and pulse-taking and all the planning they could possibly manage before the Landsmeet, and then Loghain’s men had sauntered in, ones of rank enough to immediately peg the once-heiress Cousland if they saw her.
Zevran hadn’t hesitated, picking her up out of her seat and pinning her against a wall, a hand caging her dominate wrist, his mouth slanting across hers for a moment to cover the shocked sound of protest.
“Hush, dearest, they haven’t seen you, play along,” he breathed softly, his words just barely audible, dipping his head to nuzzle her neck. His mouth worked sinful patterns against her flesh and Aislinn forgot herself for a short moment.
Aislinn chanced a quick glance to Loghain’s men, who were contenting themselves with finding a pretty lapwarmer to entertain them while they diced and drank. None of them even seemed to give a barest thought to the two of them, but the door was fucking far away and there was no way to get there from where she was pressed up against the wall. There were stairs up to the rooms over the main tavern, where one could pay for the pleasure of a few hours with whoever had caught your attention far closer, but they’d still have to find another way out.
“How do you expect to –ah! Zev!-” she gasped as he bit her neck just a touch too hard. Her breath caught in her throat long enough for Zevran to whisper “Your voice carries, amore, please, silence.”
Aislinn opened her mouth to rebut his statement, quick to find her words despite the tingling heat that radiated from where he had bit her. But Zevran was faster, and his mouth was on hers again before she could say anything. She froze, but he didn’t, his mouth working across her lips, her chin, her jaw, not-at-all muted sounds of pleasure spilling from his mouth as he rolled his body against hers, pulling her hips along in time with his. She blinked, turning towards Zevran, her mouth falling open.
He took it as an invitation, his lips coming back to hers, his hand sliding up her waist, the other cupping the back of her neck, pulling her closer to him. His tongue…he had bragged about it at length, and Aislinn had never really taken any of it seriously, but now it was dancing sin against her own and it was really really hard to remember just what it was she was trying to do because…dang.
She wrapped an arm around his waist, and the dagger hilt jabbing her in the side did not matter nearly as much as figuring out just what Zevran’s dastardly mouth could really do. And then he pulled away and she was breathlessly chasing his mouth until she collected herself. Aislinn leaned her head back on the wall behind her, trying to catch her breath and her thoughts.
“…Ash?” Zevran offered quietly, tilting her chin up so he could look at her better.
“Zev, I uh, I…”
There was movement from the table that Loghain’s men were at, and Aislinn’s eyes darted to follow their movements. Zevran’s reaction was quick, immediate, and Aislinn had started to expect it.
He kissed her again, pulling her along as he turned so that his back was pressed up against the wall instead. Aislinn took initiative, her hand reaching for the dagger. She pulled it free, and before Zevran could pull away from her mouth to ask her what the fuck it was that she was doing, she slammed the blade of the knife into the wall above Zevran’s head. The sharp thud drew attention, but she was tearing the bandana off her head and looping it around his wrists as he tried to stop her.
Zevran gave a single, soft, surprised “fuck” under his breath as she pulled his bound hands up to the hilt of his dagger, draping her bandana over the hilt, leaving Zevran standing there with his hands over his head. Easy enough for him to get out of if he tried to, but instead he looked at her, pupils blown out black, his lips reddened and spit-slick, and kept his hands there.
“Amore, I don’t know if this is-”
This time Aislinn kissed him, a hand tangled in his hair, pulling him back against the wall as her other tugged his tunic free of his belt. Zevran’s breath hitched when she bit his lip, and one of his fine boot-heels smacked into the wall with a loud thunk. He gave a nervous, high laugh as her hand pressed against the skin of his hip that devolved into a shocked hiccup when her fingers tightened in his hair, pulling his head back so she could bite his neck.
Zevran tried to form another sentence, but all that came out was a slur of Antivan that made one of the passing wenches go red all the way down to her ankles and turn away quickly. Aislinn bit his neck harder, sucking a wine-dark bruise into his skin as he helplessly jerked his hips against hers.
“Now that doesn’t feel like a dagger, Zev, darling,” she purred in his ear.
He gave a helpless little theatrical laugh at that, one of his arms flexing in a futile effort. Aislinn drew back just far enough to press a kiss to the muscle of his warm. He shuddered, his mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out. She leaned back into him, kissing him gently and sweetly.
Zevran moaned lowly, trembling artfully against her every touch. Her hands skated up his chest, under his tunic, her fingers digging into his skin, nails skipping over his ribs. His eyes fluttered closed and he leaned his head back against the wall, gasping some Antivan curse or another. Aislinn clucked her tongue at him, digging her fingers into the soft flesh just over his hip bones, gripping him hard. He whimpered when she reached up to grab him by the chin and pulled his mouth back to hers.
She bit his lip and growled “Hush” at him.
“Then stop doing that with your hands,” he griped, pressing his hips against her offending palms. “You’re going to drive a poor man to madness and distraction.”
Aislinn winked at him, and watched his eyes track movement behind her. She couldn’t turn her head to look, she had to trust her assassin to – oh, fuck it, it didn’t matter – Aislinn grabbed him by the neck and kissed him again, her mouth demanding and hot against his, teeth clipping his lip until she tasted blood, and this time, Zev’s shocked moan was deeper, throatier and clearly came from some far more genuine place than all his previous noises.
She kissed him hard, consumed with a need to hear more of that delightful sound. Zevran stamped a foot against the ground, a grunt catching in his throat as he tugged on the bandana that had his hands tangled around the dagger’s hilt over his head. Her tongue swept into his mouth and coppery blood accented the mead-sweetened taste of her tongue against his.
Zevran gave himself over to the kiss, caging her in by locking his elbows behind her head as best he could to keep her right where she was. She pressed herself tight against him, one of her hands grabbing him by the waist until her short-kept nails had left tiny crescents in their wake.
There was a polite cough from behind them, and Aislinn moved to lean away, to address whatever it was that was coming up on them, but as she did, Zevran snapped forward, catching her lower lip in his teeth and tugging her back to him. He caged in her legs with one of his, hooking his leg behind hers, holding her in place so she could not get away.
“Zev-” she started, trying to get enough space to speak, but he was having none of it, and leaned forward as best he could to keep his mouth against hers.
It was Aislinn’s turn to make a surprised sound of pleasure as Zevran let his tongue do his dirty diligences. She let herself give in to the pleasure he worked and it was not until she felt Zevran’s arms drop to her shoulder and he pulled away with a punch-drunk “Excuses me?”
One of the proprietors of this particular establishment was standing to the side of them, a smile playing on her face that was equal parts amused and predatory.
“There are rooms upstairs. 10 silver, or the door,” she said with a beautiful Navarran accent dripping off her vowels.
Aislinn was personally rather taken with the archer’s bow shape of her mouth and was halfway into forming some sort of invitation but Zev threw what looked like far more than 10 silver at the woman, turned and pulled his dagger out of the wall. He wrapped an arm around Aislinn’s waist and pulled her upstairs with him.
The proprietor threw a ring of keys at Zevran, who caught it easily behind his head without breaking stride. The pair of them made their way to the room they had been given for the night, with only a short pause when they got to the door, where Zevran pinned her up against the door while he fumbled with keys. She growled at him, biting at his throat, pulling on the laces of his trousers, eager to get at the skin under his clothes.
The door opened, and they stumbled through, clothes mussed, hair everywhere. Zevran kicked the door shut behind them and locked it before throwing the keys to the side and taking a long sidestep away from Aislinn.
She let him have his distance, still trying to catch her breath herself, and took stock of the room. There was a window, poorly bolted and locked that one of them should have no issue getting open, and a bed that looked surprisingly well taken care of for where they were at.
Zevran took a long moment to catch his breath, turning away from Aislinn and trying to readjust his shirt and sagging trousers. Aislinn reached up to wipe the blood from her lip – his blood, hers? – off her face and stayed still.
“Well, I guess we should…” He swallowed heavily, and shook his head. “We should get out of here. No telling what those men saw and if they come this way we’ll, we’ll, uh,” he shook his head and exhaled sharply.
Aislinn watched him carefully, biting her lip.
He moved to the window and started working on opening it, focusing intently on that, to the exclusion of the stinging bruises Aislinn’s mouth had left on his throat, or the remnants of her bandana still wrapped around his wrist.
She took a moment, watching him work, the way the sun played off his blonde hair, the black tattoos on his cheek, his tanned skin. He was painted in tones of gold and honey, and…
“Zev,” she said softly.
They had been dancing around each other for so long. Alistair had been a block between them, an unknown as everyone tried to find their footing in the blight. Aislinn, their leader, drawing their attention in ways none of them had expected. Between the fighting, the solving of intense situations and political allegiances, all of it, they had circled each other.
He turned to look at her, his brows drawn down, eyes still black, and a blush somewhere on his cheek and throat.
“Aislinn, we have to-”
She cut him off with a kiss, closing the distance between the two of them and pushing him back up against the wall. Their knees knocked together, he stumbled and barely caught himself on the windowsill with one of his hands. He moaned softly against her mouth, his free hand wrapping around her waist, crushing her against him with arms that were muscled more than many people ever realized.
Zev pulled back after a moment, a hand on her hip to push her away, his eyes still shut and a frown on his face. Aislinn chased his mouth down, hungrily kissing the corner of his mouth, down his chin, across his throat, her hands grasping at the hem of his pants, pulling him closer.
“You and Alistair – Ash, please I can’t – not like this, it’s not – ah, querida, please - please listen.”
She pulled away reluctantly. Tears spotted the corner of Zevran’s eyes and with a soft cry, Aislinn wiped them away.
“Zev, what’s wrong?”
“You and Alistair, Ash, I can’t do this, it’s not – you don’t know what you mean to me, I can’t do it like this,” he said in a rush.
She moved in to kiss him again, and he pulled away, doing his best to keep his mouth from hers.
“Zev, there’s not…” she paused. What – how was she supposed to explain this? “I want this, Zev. Not Alistair. You.”
Zevran didn’t move, and Aislinn considered what else she could say to convince Zevran that, if nothing else, she and Alistair weren’t a thing. Not anymore, anyway.
“It’s…Zev, please, trust me. There’s nothing between-”
She didn’t get the luxury to finish her thought before Zevran, with a broken moan, was in her space, his mouth seeking out hers, driving her back towards the bed. She stumbled and fell when her leg hit the edge of the bed, and Zevran fell on top of her, trying to devour her with reckless abandon.
His hands scrambled at the laces for her trousers, pulling and tugging ineffectively as she looped an arm around the back of his neck.
Up the stairs came the sounds of pounding boots. Neither cared. Zevran got his own laces sorted, and jerked Aislinn’s own trousers down just far enough to get his hand on her smalls and pull them to the side. His fingers slid inside of her with a choked moan from both of them. Aislinn arched against his hand, breathlessly crying out “Maker” and throwing her head back.
Zevran shuddered above her, his fingers curling inside of her, his thumb pressing against her clit, and he cursed something filthy in Antivan as she rolled her hips against his hand. He growled when she hooked a leg on his hip, trying to pull him closer to her, gasping his name. Zevran leaned down, burying his face in her neck and biting down until there was a bruised imprint of his teeth left behind.
Someone pounded on a door at the far end of the hallway.
Zevran leaned back away from her, shoved her leg off his hip and flipped her over, face down on the bed. Aislinn arched up, shoving her trousers down, but neglecting to get her smalls in the same movement. Zevran shoved his own trousers out of the way and with a savage growl, he jerked his hand, still slick with her wetness over his cock, trying to hold himself back just long enough.
He leaned down over her, pinning one of her hands under his own before sliding his cock into her. With a cry, Aislinn reached her hand through the bandana Zevran still wore around his wrist, holding him in place against her. He thrust into her raggedly, gasping her name into the back of her neck, pulling her back against him in time with his thrusts.
A fist hit the door to the room next to theirs.
Zevran bit her shoulder, and she cried out his name, driving herself back against him as best she could.
“Aislinn, fuck, fuck, FUCK,” he grunted, punctuating each of his thrusts with another curse word.
Aislinn moaned loudly, lacing her fingers with his, her eyes rolling with pleasure. Everything in her felt like it was on fire. If Andraste had felt this on the pyre, Aislinn could understand the screams of pleasure. Similar sounds tore their way out of her own throat, and Zevran echoed every one of them, driving himself harder into her.
A knock sounded on their door, angry voices on the other side. Zevran gasped, Aislinn cried out, throwing her body back against his. The door rattled on its hinges and angry voices shouted for their heads in the name of Loghain.
Zevran scrambled off of her, pulling Aislinn off the bed by the bandana that bound their wrists together still. She shook her hand free, hastily tying the laces of her pants, running to the window and throwing it open. Zevran was right behind her, jumping through, holding a hand back for her and guiding her down. She was a warrior, not a rogue, but her steps were sure and delicate and they ran for the safety of their camp outside of town.
If anyone at camp thought to comment on the bruises on both their necks, or that Zevran had adopted Aislinn’s bandana for his own, if anyone saw the way that Zevran hesitated a slight moment before sitting next to Aislinn, his leg pressed against hers, the way she leaned into his side, the familiar way his arm found its way around her shoulder and thought it was any different than how it had been before, none mentioned it.
If anyone saw the earring Aislinn began to wear, or the way Zevran stopped sleeping anywhere but in her tent, no one commented on that either.
After the archdemon fell, after her rightful crown was taken and placed on Alistair’s head instead, after he asked her to be his Queen, after she laughed in his face and told him Never, the Grey Warden and her Assassin walked, hand in hand, out of that life and into their next adventure, heads held high.