A Weather Eye on the Horizon

Title: Mi Dica Qualcosa che Capirei
Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins
Pairing: Zevran/Alim (Elf Mage MC)
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: None
Words: 2200~
Teaser: His eyes glitter in the scant light as he pulls back, thumbs playing across the nest of veins in Alim’s wrists, making him shiver. “I wonder, what would you have done if it had been someone other than myself climbing through that window?”

Fills the "Roleplay" square on my kink_bingo card. Assassination fantasy.




Summer in Antiva is hot and blazingly bright, sun baking the clay bricks to russet brown, burning skin and bleaching hair pale. The sun is so bright at high noon that Alim can barely look out over the harbor without being half-blinded by a glare off water so achingly blue it looks unreal.

At night the temperature evens out a bit, a breeze blowing in from the west, bringing a bit of relief to the streets of Antiva City. Alim can feel it creeping in through the window, playing with the curtains before crossing the room to lift his hair, run cool fingers down his sweaty back. It makes the carved charms in the window clink together, sending a few soft notes of music into the air.

A sleek, strong arm drapes across Alim’s waist, fingers playing up his ribs almost as light as the wind. Lips descend on the back of his neck, making him shiver, drawing him out of sleep.

“I was hoping you’d come,” he says.

“Oh, I will, my dear Warden,” Zevran purrs in his ear, voice rich with the same warm, rolling accent as the rest of the city. “You cannot leave your window open in Antiva without something unpleasant crawling through, you see.”

Alim rolls over, catching a flash of Zevran’s smile in the dark. “Unpleasant?” He’s naked, skin smelling of sweat and sunlight. “I was counting on it.” Warden business had brought him to Antiva—it’s one of the last nations to remain neutral—but that isn’t the reason he’d taken rooms alone in one of the most luxurious inns in the a district renowned for its connections to the Crows.

“You should be more careful,” Zevran chides, “A lecherous assassin—for instance, myself—might try and take advantage of a handsome elf like you.”

“You’d better.”

Zevran opens his mouth to say something else, but Alim’s had enough banter for the moment—maybe later, when they don’t have four months of separation pulled taut between them. He laces his fingers in Zevran’s hair, pulling him down into a kiss, open-mouthed and hot, a hungry clash of tongue and desperation.

Zevran takes control of the kiss easily, slowing it down, biting at Alim’s lip, chuckling softly at the noise it drags out of him. He rolls on top, taking his arms from around his neck and pinning his wrists to the sheets.

His eyes glitter in the scant light as he pulls back, thumbs playing across the nest of veins in Alim’s wrists, making him shiver. “I wonder, what would you have done if it had been someone other than myself climbing through that window?”

It wouldn’t have been possible—Alim had put wards up before he’d gone to sleep. He may be in Antiva for the first time, but he isn’t an idiot.

“I suppose it would—ah!” He arches as Zevran bites at his throat. “—Would depend on what they wanted.”

“Hmm…” Zevran licks a slow path down his neck and along his shoulder blade. “What if they wanted to kill you?” he breathes, and his hands on Alim’s wrists tighten. “What then?”

Alim’s stomach jumps, half fear, half heated excitement, his heart speeding up. He tugs experimentally at his wrists, but Zevran’s grip is like steel.

“I-I suppose I would have to beg for my life,” he responds, voice thin and unexpectedly shaky. “Maybe with some dirty poetry?” That makes Zevran laugh, breath hot on his neck. “That’s worked before.”

“Sometimes,” Zevran mutters. “Not always.”

Alim shudders, partly from the wet tongue lapping up to the point of his ear, and partly from the way Zevran’s voice has gone dark and rough.

“You like killing,” Alim whispers, remembering the conversation they’d had across the fire in camp, deep in the Frostback Mountains, Zevran’s eyes when he’d spoken of sliding his blade into a warm body, the satisfaction that comes of a job well done.

He leaves Alim’s wrists, sitting back to smooth his hands down his chest, thumbs catching at his nipples. “Mmm…yes. This white skin would look lovely with some marks on it.”

Alim feels his cock twitch, knows Zevran feels it too, because he presses further. “I don’t usually go in for torture—I like my kills quick and clean.” His eyes narrow to slits. “But I think you would suffer magnificently.”

Alim’s breath stalls tight in his throat. “Zevran…”

Zevran leans close. “Too much?”

Alim shakes his head. “No.” Not yet.

The kiss Zevran presses to his knuckles is unexpectedly tender. “You’ll tell me if it is.”

They’ve never done anything like this before—play-acted—and he’s surprised at the way Zevran’s words make his breath tremble, make heat wash over his skin in tingling waves. He gets the sudden image of himself stripped and bound, truly laid out for Zevran to do with as he wills. It should probably worry him that the thought of being at the mercy of a former Antivan Crow makes his stomach clench tight with want.

“I will,” Alim promises him.

“Good.” Zevran sits back, slipping effortlessly back into his role. “I suppose I could be convinced to keep you, ragazzino—if you prove to me you are worth more alive than dead.”

Alim’s breath comes shallow as he asks, “How—how do I do that?”

Zevran grins, twining his fingers through Alim’s hair (harder to do now that it’s been cut short) and dragging him up and toward the foot of the bed. “Why don’t I show you?”

He kneels, pushing Alim’s head down with the heel of his hand. Alim hasn’t done this in awhile, but he hasn’t forgotten how.

Zevran’s cock pushes past his lips, his senses thick with the familiar smell of him. Zevran doesn’t let up, just pushes him down further until he’s breathing through his nose, nearly choking as he struggles to swallow around him. There is a moment of panic, but then Zevran is letting go, pulling him back up, letting him pull away with a slick sound.

“A lovely mouth to be sure,” Zevran croons, wrapping a hand around his cock and stroking loosely. “But you’ll have to do better than that, caro mio.”

Alim glances up at the steel glint in Zevran’s eyes, keeps his gaze fixed on his face to see his expression crack as he flutters his tongue across the head of his cock, brings it back into the warmth of his mouth.

Zevran murmurs something in Antivan as Alim begins to suck. His grasp on the language is tenuous at best, but what he can make out sounds mostly like praise and invectives.

He balances himself with one hand, raising the other to splay against Zevran’s abdomen to feel his stomach tremble, clenching tighter as Alim takes more of his cock into his mouth. It’s slick and easy now, but still a challenge to take as Zevran thrusts his hips forward.

“Enough,” he grunts out, voice tight, fingers snarling in Alim’s hair and pulling him back.

Alim grins, laving his tongue along his bottom lip. “Well, ser—am I good enough to keep?”

Zevran’s fingers twitch, like he has to force himself from doing something out of his character. “Nearly. Just make sure—.”

Alim doesn’t give him the time to finish—he leaps for the edge of the bed, making for the door. He wonders if this is too much, if this is taking their game too far—

Zevran is on him in an instant, arms reaching around, pulling him tight against his chest, voice murmuring hot in his ear. “Trying to escape, are we? You will have to be punished, ragazzino.”

A hand presses between his shoulder blades, shunting him back toward the bed. Alim stumbles, barely a moment to breathe before Zevran is grabbing him round the waist, pulling him back, grinding his cock against the curve of his ass. Alim struggles, but Zevran holds him still.

“You cannot escape.” The dark promise in his voice sends heat up Alim’s neck and to his cheeks in an errant rush. “I always get my mark”

“Please…” Alim whispers, not sure if he’s begging for mercy or for more, even whether it is him or the character he is playing—the one who doesn’t trust the man behind him with his life.

Zevran pushes him roughly down, planting a hand at the small of his back to keep him pinned. He licks a slow, hot line up his spine, making Alim tremble and rock his hips, hungry for friction. Zevran can do things to him that he hadn’t even known were possible, make him say things he can’t believe are coming out of his mouth.

When he feels slick, cool fingers brush between the cheeks of his ass he arches his back and chokes down a moan, fisting his hands in the sheets as Zevran sinks a finger into him.

“Mm, yes…beg for it,” Zevran says in his ear, his voice a purr, another finger pressing in to join the first. “Convince me to keep you.”

“Please,” Alim groans as he feels the fingers retreat. “Maker’s blighted breath, fuck me.”

Teeth sink into the back of his neck. “With pleasure.”

Alim feels the blunt tip of his cock press against his entrance, forcing a tiny noise out of him. Zevran is in-proportion for an elf, but so is Alim, and he isn’t being gentle at all, pushing inside with two hard snaps of his hips.

“Maker,” Alim snarls, as Zevran’s hand slides up his spine, slipping in sweat, gripping his shoulder, nails digging in. It’s the perfect counterpoint to the deep twist of pleasure that coils through him as Zevran angles his thrusts, pain sparking bright across his skin.

“Mmm…hot and tight,” he purrs. “Just like I remember.”

Alim thinks that perhaps their game is over now, abandoned in the familiar rhythm of their bodies, but then he feels a hand pressing his head down against the mattress.

“What is it like?” Zevran hisses, hips grinding tight. “Knowing that me inside you will be the last thing you ever feel?”

He punctuates it with a sharp snap of his hips, making Alim moan, trembling. The sound of his voice, the intent in his words send delicious heat through him.

This is just a game. He knows he is safe—Zevran gave him his loyalty a long time ago—but there have been others, those for whom the words have been true. The handsome stranger creeping through their bedroom window to charm them out of their clothes and between the sheets, to fuck them like he’s fucking Alim, and then stick a knife between their ribs.

It shouldn’t, oh Maker it shouldn’t, but that thought makes him clench, makes his cock jump, pushes him further toward the edge.

Zevran swears harshly in Antivan, pushing Alim harder against the mattress, thrusting deep, nails scratching a long line down his back. The sudden shock of pain makes him cry out, climax overcoming him in a heady rush, whole body shaking with release as he finds himself rolled roughly over and spread out on his back.

He catches sight of the curtains moving in the rising wind and the shadowed expanse of the ceiling, before Zevran hitches his legs up over his shoulders, sinking deep with a shuddering gasp, a string of curses. His eyes shine, skin sliding slick against Alim’s.

It’s too much, too hard, his body over-sensitized and glutted with sensation, Zevran sinking deep with short, sharp thrusts.

“Zev—.” He wraps his arms around his neck, holding tight. “Please, I can’t—.”

“Si, si.” Zevran pants against his neck. “Puoi, caro mio, puoi.” He buries his face against the curve of his shoulder, coming with a harsh, growling moan, spasms wracking his body.

There’s a few moments where neither of them moves, breath mingling, hearts beating a discordant staccato. Finally, with a low, pleased chuckle, Zevran pulls out, collapsing beside him. He pushes the sweaty hair out of his eyes, turning back to look at Alim. His glow of satisfaction falters a bit.

“You are shaking, caro.”

“I—.” Alim realizes it’s true; there are fine tremors moving through his limbs, and despite the heat of the air pressing in his skin feels clammy.

“Are you hurt?”

“No, I’m just—.” Alim swallows, trying to calm himself.

“Ah.” Zevran reaches for him, slowly, as if he’s waiting for a protest. When Alim doesn’t give one he wraps his arms around his shoulders, hand rubbing down across his back. “Adrenaline, most likely. It will pass.”

“Mmm...” Alim resists for half a heartbeat before resting his head against Zevran’s chest. His whole body feels loose and boneless, his thoughts floating up somewhere near the ceiling, too exhausted to appreciate the irony of feeling safe in the arms of an assassin. “Have I convinced you to keep me, then?”

Zevran laughs. “I’d be quite the fool not to. It’s not everyday I meet someone with fantasies as lurid as my own, my dear Warden.” He laps delicately at one of the bites on Alim’s neck, making it sting. “And I would ask to be informed of any others as soon as they emerge.”

“Of course,” Alim says, head veritably swimming with examples of said fantasies, all the things he could ask for. “As soon as I regain the use of my legs.”

--
God dammit but I loved writing this. This is definitely a kink I can get behind.

Antivan (i.e. Italian) translations: Caro mio, my dear; ragazzino, little boy; Puoi, you can. The title is "Tell me something I'll understand."