someone else's hunger made a sacrifice of me.

if zevran's goal at the beginning of this massage was to relax iloren and take away his pain, it seems he's had yet another resounding success. he feels some pride in this. after all, he well knows that sometimes the best thing to offer a friend (or a mark) is a good tumble on the nearest, softest mattress. it's never done him wrong before.

the fact that iloren is continuing to touch him so gently, even now when they are not making love... he tries to ignore it.

the assassin snorts when iloren calls it good. considering how absolutely wrecked the inquisitor looks, good seems like a bit of an understatement. but as long as he enjoyed himself, zevran supposes.

"not my best performance, then," he says, feigning solemnity. "i will rectify that should you ever need another massage."

he cannot assume there will be a next time. he never does, taking one night at a time as they come. be happy with what you are given, he had once told himself. he is.

he moves to part from where they are still joined, inwardly enjoying the sight.

"i have made a mess of you, haven't i? my apologies."

' you're not that sorry, ' iloren replies with soft amusement. he doesn't miss the heat in zevran's gaze as it lingers on where he parts them, lets out a muffled moan at feeling his dick slide out.

decides to extend the noise— the inquisitor stretches out legs and arms, half-sighs but mostly groans as every muscle in the line of his body tenses, then relaxes. he makes a show of pushing out his chest and stomach, heavy as they are, arching his back against zevran. his mouth rips into a yawn of its own volition, tiredness heavy on his eyelids.

it's no longer just the exhaustion that usually rests on him. he feels as though every worry has been thoroughly fucked out of him. perhaps good really doesn't do it justice.

' could you fetch some towels? ' his cock rests against his stomach now, alongside his own spend. he won't be able to use his other hand until he's cleaned it. which is a convenient excuse for him to make himself comfortable in bed while he sends zevran off to do errands, tender mischief in his gaze.

Emotions aren’t his forte compared to Klaus, but at the very least he can draw conjecture from rhythm, cadence, volume—and the mismatch of expression, smile with poignant gaze—tells him much as well.

“You are forging a vital link, then,” he concludes. “Not only between past and present, but mortal and divine.”

“It is all right not to understand all knowledge as long as faith guides your way. There are Mysteries too grand for mere messengers to comprehend—you and I both. Seeking too much from our station will only overwhelm us.”

that's what he likes to think he's doing, forging a new link between histories and people and faiths, but he doesn't think much of anything with the touch to his hand.

the left, of course, because that's what he'd been using to eat and drink. aurelius' hand isn't as cool as he thought it may be. the inquisitor doesn't make touching a habit, a respectable distance between him and most people. other bodies aren't as warm as the anchor in his skin, green veins peeking through. aurelius is almost as warm.

and then a hand reaches for his face. iloren leans back instinctively, still processing such a casual display of affection, before he stills and laughs.

' you know, people usually ask before. '

he understands being curious— he's asked plenty of questions at the wrong time because of his own curiousity. and aurelius is easy on the eyes, has an allure to him. he'll let him touch.

zevran continues to stroke iloren through his release, cooing words he himself can barely comprehend, lust-addled as he is, close as he is. a second more, and then...

it is the feel of iloren's fingers continuing to dig into him, how he tightens and then slackens all at once, the whines, that finally tip the assassin over. he does not have the wherewithal to ask the other elf where he would like him to finish, although the thought that he should pull out does flit through his mind. so briefly it might as well have not entered it at all.

instead he drives himself as deep as he can possibly go, continues grinding his hips as the wave of ecstasy crashes over him. he moans, he curses. he opens his eyes.

again, iloren is nothing more than a mess beneath him. chest heaving, cum painting his stomach and their two hands, damp from sweat and flushed everywhere. zevran has nothing left to give, but he can feel the twinge of desire in him again.

he hums, contentedly.

his cock twitches weakly in its aftermath. he hadn't expected zevran to finish inside, already looked forward to his spend all across the chest he'd admired so roguishly before. that his friend grinds into him as if to make sure that every last bit he can give is driven inside iloren is so hot that his body tries to squeeze out another burst of cum and comes up empty instead.

if he was tired before, he is absolutely spent now. a loopy smile draws onto his lips, enjoying the aftermath of shivers rolling through him. he chuckles and tries to speak, has to clear his throat before his lips are willing to part properly.

' flatterer, ' he rasps softly, hand sliding down to zevran's arm to caress it gently.

he liked this massage. he already knows he'll want another one soon enough, feeling light and happy. he's not looking at zevran yet, still catching his breath, but eventually he finds those yellow eyes again.

PHYSICAL PRESENCE AND GESTURE.

1. How do they move and carry themselves? Pace, rhythm, gestures, energy?

2. How much physical space do they use, active and at rest?

3. How do they position themselves in a group? Do they like to be the center of attention, or do they hang back at the edges of a crowd?

4. What is their size and build? How does it influence how they use their body, if it does?

5. How do they dress? What styles, colors, accessories, and other possessions do they favor? Why?

6. What are they like in motion–in different environments, and in different activities? What causes the differences between these?

7. How do they physically engage with other people, inanimate objects, and their environment? What causes the differences between these?

8. Where and when do they seem most and least at ease? Why? How can you tell?

9. How do they manifest energy, exhaustion, tension, or other strong emotions?

10. What energizes and drains them most?

11. How are they vocally expressive? What kind of voice, accent, tones, inflections, volume, phrases and slang, and manner of speaking do they use?

12. How are they bodily expressive? How do they use nonverbal cues such as their posture, stance, eyes, eyebrows, mouths, and hands?

DISPOSITION AND TEMPERAMENT.

13. How do they greet the world — what is their typical attitude towards life? How does it differ in different circumstances, or towards different subjects? Why do they take these attitudes, and why do they change? How do these tend to be expressed?

14. What do they care deeply about? What kind of loyalties, commitments, moral codes, life philosophies, passions, callings, or spirituality and faith do they have? How do these tend to be expressed?

15. What kind of inner life do they have — rich and imaginative? Calculating and practical? Full of doubts and fears? Does it find any sort of outlet in their lives?

16. Do they dream? What are those dreams like?

17. Are they more shaped by nature or nurture — who they are, or what has happened to them? How have these shaped who they’ve become as a person?

18. What kind of person could they become in the future? What are some developmental paths that they could take, (best, worst, most likely?) what would cause them to come to pass, and what consequences might they have? What paths would you especially like to see, and why?

CONNECTIONS WITH OTHERS.

19. How do they behave within a group? What role(s) do they take? Does this differ if they know and trust the group, versus finding themselves in a group of strangers? Why?

20. What kind of individual relationships do they have with others, and how do they behave in them? How are they different between intimate relationships like friends, family, and lovers versus more impersonal relationships?

21. What kind of relationships do they tend to intentionally seek out versus actually cultivate? What kind of social contact do they prefer, and why?

22. How do people respond to them, and why might these responses differ?

23. How do they respond to difficult social moments? What makes them consider a social situation difficult?

24. How do they present themselves socially? What distinguishes their “persona” from their “true self”, and what causes that difference?

25. What do they need and want out of relationships, and how do they go about getting it?

26. How do they view and feel about relationships, and how might this manifest in how they handle them, if it does?

ACTIVITIES AND PREFERENCES.

27. What do they strongly like and dislike, in any category? Why?

28. What are they likely to do if they have the opportunity, resources, and time to accomplish it? Why?

29. What kind of activities, interests, and hobbies do they have? What significance and impact do these have in their lives, both positive and negative?

30. What is their preferred level of activity and stimulation? How do they cope if they get either too little or too much?

31. Is there anything that counts as a “dealbreaker” for them, positively or negatively? What makes things go smoothly, and what spoils an activity or ruins their day? Why?

32. Do they have any “props” that are a significant part of their life, identity, activities, or self-presentation somehow? What are they, how are they used, and why are they so significant? How would these props’ absence impact them, how would they compensate, and why?

THINKING AND LEARNING.

33. How do they learn about the world–what is their preferred learning style? Hands-on learning with trial and error? Research, reading, and note-taking? Observation or rote memorization? Inductive or deductive reasoning? Seeking patterns and organization? Taking things apart and putting them back together? Creative processing via discussing, writing about, or dramatizing things?

34. How do they understand the world–what kind of worldview and thought processes do they have? Why?

35. How and why do they internalize knowledge? What effect has that had on them?

36. How much do they rely on their minds and intellect, versus other approaches like relying on instinct, intuition, faith and spirituality, or emotions? What is their opinion on this?

37. Have they had any special education or training that colors their means of learning about or understanding the world? Conversely, do they lack some kind of education considered essential in their world? What kind of impact has this addition or lack had on them?

38. Is there anything they wish they could change about their worldview or thought processes? What, and why?

39. What sort of questions or thoughts recur in their lives, either specifically or as a theme? Why are these never answered, or answered permanently to their satisfaction?

40. What do they wonder about? What sparks their curiosity and imagination, and why? How is this expressed, if it is?

FREE FOR ALL.

41. What associations do they bring to mind? Words or phrases, images, metaphors or motifs? Why?

“I do treasure him very much,” he finally admits. “He was a soul destined for the light, and to have that taken from him is a great injustice.”

“As long as he still lives, that potential in him will not die. Thus I do not consider him lost. But neither will his light have a chance to be born under Sebastian’s watch. You understand the intricacies of faith?”

His eyes flick up, capturing Iloren’s gaze with twin pools of unwavering gold.

“Salvation is a two-way street. Even God cannot help those who don’t wish to be saved. There is a part of Vanth that teeters perpetually on the edge, and I do not wish to be the catalyst that sends him toppling.”

The angle of the inquisitor’s head has a certain innocence to it, the angel muses. For a moment he wonders—could the elf truly understand his troubles? Mortals were so young, after all.

a smile moves the inquisitor's expression into something sorrowful, something rueful. his shoulders sag a bit— he carries the history of his people on them.

' stories are all elves have in thedas. after a long history of slavery, all knowledge of our gods was scattered and lost to time. i grew up on stories. about falon'din, ghilan'nain, mythal— my vallaslin here, ' he points to the tattoos on his face, tracing one of the lines like he's done a hundred times before, ' was given to me in her honour. '

after he drank from the well of sorrows, those stories became more tangible, more real. but the voices of elvhen knowledge are far away now. he often wishes he could hear them again.

' i don't claim to understand salvation. that is the maker's business. but my path has become one of trying to understand the … intricacies of faith. it was a necessity. '

the steadfast commitment in aurelius is something he's seen in every dalish elf, committed to their faith and to teaching elves that ends up joining a clan. it's strange. his words align more with the maker, somebody iloren only has an association to by force. but they hold a familiarity anyways.

he plucks another sugar cube from its box with a spoon, twirls it into his tea.

“It’s a rather unfortunate story,” the angel begins, opting to pour tea with his hands instead of his thoughts—a minor courtesy for his guest to place them on more equal grounds.

“Do you remember Vanth?”

“There was a time I brought him to Heaven. His soul had infinite potential for good, but the demon Sebastian reclaimed him and replaced all vestiges of my blessing with Hell fire instead.”

Once the cups are full, he moves to take a pastry for himself—a pistachio macaron that sits prettily on his plate.

“To complicate matters, there is a second demon entwined with the deepest parts of Vanth’s soul. I cannot eliminate it quickly without unmaking Vanth himself. With time and faith, it was possible to succeed, but then Vanth married the demon that entranced him instead. Now it is impossible for me to even touch him without inflicting harm.”

He takes a knife and fork and cleanly slices the macaron in half, revealing the red raspberry filling inside.

though the inquisitor had slain a darkspawn in corypheus, he knows little about the intricate details of their creation. what he does know he used to banish the grey wardens from southern thedas, removing them for the threat they showed for the safety of everybody. it's a decision that still sits with him. he often wonders if it was the right one.

what aurelius tells him now sounds like the origin of a darkspawn. a human being— vanth, tainted by two demons at once? his soul must be a wreck of its former self. it's a troubling notion.

he takes a bite of his purple-coloured macaron as the angel speaks, takes a sip of the tea that was so kindly poured. aurelius added milk and sugar to his, as requested. it's a simple gesture that the inquisitor notices. there's a moment he takes advantage of as aurelius is busy to glance at the first few open buttons on his shirt, though he says nothing about it.

' two demons in one man are dangerous. i'm surprised he hasn't died yet. or turned into a demon himself. ' he furrows his brow, finishing his macaron quietly. ' has he? if your touch is enough to harm him, he may already be too far gone. '

it's a very practical way of analyzing the situation— as long as there is no active harm being done to anybody, he'd be ready to leave it alone. but it sounds as though this state of a truce is temporary, only waiting for something to change to finally explode.

the sound zevran makes when iloren takes himself in hand is sinful and deep.

to watch his friend chase his own pleasure... the assassin thinks he would like to have iloren ride him, fuck himself on him. use him. his fingers still grip desperately at the flesh of the other elf's hips. if his nails were not blunt he would surely be drawing blood — even still, there will no doubt be marks there. a different kind of battle scar to complement the ones decorating the warrior's torso.

he does not need to hear iloren's ragged breathing, his pleas, to know he is close. he can feel it; and he, too, is close. he can feel the delicious tightening in his belly. the desire to drive himself as deep as he can and stay there. he wants iloren to get there first. needs him to.

"let go for me, caro," he pants. it is his own form of begging. his voice is a wreck. he's a wreck. he mutters something else in antivan, a curse or his own pleas. "i want to see you. let me see you."

zevran's desperation is palpable. iloren can almost reach out and touch it. it's in his voice, raspy from the noises they both can't hold back, in his dark cheeks and lowered eyes, in the snap of his hips and the firm grip he has on iloren's.

and finally, finally, in his hand around iloren's cock and the words he picks. he's pleading for iloren to cum as if that was ever needed in the first place, but it certainly helps. it's all so much, his own heart beating loudly in his ears, he has to close his eyes— focuses on this sensation alone, their folded hands slick with iloren's pre-cum and zevran's dick pounding into him.

just an hour earlier, they were holding hands through a sweet kiss.

iloren whimpers.

his orgasm still catches him off guard, rolling through his body in quick waves— his hand quickens and his grip on zevran slackens and tightens again and again, grabbing at him over and over. his fingers dig and find no purchase and try once more as he spills over, cumming over their hands with his hips lifted, his mouth gasping for air.

“You have a strong grasp of common sense, I’m glad to see.”

“Rest assured that had I nothing to lose in the process, I would destroy that demon for every breath of air he breathed. It isn’t as if he hasn’t died before.”

He pauses to take a breath of his own.

the inquisitor is reminded of his station with their parting. as has been engrained, he bows his head. it's not a mere replication of habit— he is glad for the verocity of aurelius' claims. he never knows what he's going to get whenever interest in the inquisition is expressed.

this time, he's gained an ally. one with golden warmth in his gaze that rests on iloren in a way that warps him into the inquisitor, just like andraste's gaze on every tapestry that hangs in skyhold. an undeniable pull. it's no lie to say he's looking forward to their next meeting.

he keeps his gaze lowered with his parting words.

iloren shifts uncomfortably on his feet now that his injury is getting attention. he doesn't really care about scrapes and bruises. getting fretted over is unavoidable when you're the inquisitor and the world relies on your survival. that doesn't mean he has to like it.

' a healer's clinic, you mean? i don't know. ' he does know, he just doesn't want to say. ' i don't know the healing methods here. i'm used to getting stitched up— i can do it myself later. it's really no big deal. '

It was why he picked up Lionheart when Corvus asked him to do so. It was everything he stood for.

' please, just inquisitor is fine. '

the polite nature of this man is reassuring. the inquisitor knows next to nothing about him, but he'd approached him out of an appreciation for nature and its creations. somehow it feels that he really does understand, despite the clunky explanation.

he watches the weapon, fascinated. ' do you … communicate? i've never thought about what my weapons may be thinking. they're probably tired of getting swung around. '