#fereldenson

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Zevran was torn between laughing and kissing Lorne for dear life, so he did both, barely suppressing chuckles in between feverish kisses all over the man’s face. 

A million little things sentence starters

“Don’t say that.” 

Zevran can’t explain why these sweet little nothings make him burn with shame. He can barely meet Lorne in the eyes without thinking of the assassination plot, of all his sins wrapping around his ankles. How could someone as noble and pure as Lorne say such things about someone as broken as him?

Zevran cupped Lorne’s cheek, not bothering to hide how his face fell. 

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☠ = pushing them against a wall

There was no way of knowing how long Lorne had been entranced. They’d been separated for what felt like ages, every second passed adding an ounce of weight onto Zevran’s shoulders. The assassin searched like a man possessed, felling demon and pushing through piles of fleshy substance, until he found his target. 

His lover stood in the middle of the apprentice’s dorms, eyes glazed over, under a desire demon’s thrall. If words were exchanged between the demon and the others, Zevran didn’t listen. He had no intentions of making deals or playing nice. He set his jaw and prepared for a fight. 

It was when the demon cried Crows! They’ve come for me! that Zevran knew exactly what Lorne was seeing, and the bile rose in his throat. 

As soon as the demon was disposed of, Zevran reached for Lorne, while the others licked their wounds. Wynne raised a hand.

“Wait, Zevran–”

With all the bruising force he could muster, Lorne shoved the assassin against the wall, hard. His face was twisted in rage, and the point of his sword pressed against Zevran’s throat. Zevran cried out in pain. They came too late. We lost him. But something in that sound seemed to cut through the trance, because instead of impaling his lover right then and there, Lorne hesitated. 

Zevran watched with painfully-held breath as Lorne came to. From rage came confusion, then despair, as he realized what he’d done. His face dropped, eyes wide and innocent, like a terrified little boy. He dropped to his knees in a slump, burying his face in Zevran’s stomach, who moved to hold him, threading fingers in his hair. 

Away from prying eyes, there was no need for masks or pretenses. Zevran found he could be truly, utterly vulnerable around Lorne, and it both thrilled and terrified him. On sleepless nights, he would watch where the tent poles met and wonder what he was getting himself into. 

But tonight, Lorne was warm and solid against him, and it made it hard to think of anything else. In his strong arms, Zevran felt safe, and it had been so long since he slept soundlessly…

Not doing too good sentence starters

Zevran woke up with a start, taking quick, shuddering breaths, and Lorne was awake with him, with arms around his back, murmuring quiet, soothing instructions. Breathe. I’m here. In, out. There you go. It was only with Lorne’s instructions that Zevran’s breathing returned to normal, but he still shivered, a thin layer of sweat on his skin.

He was between worlds, half in the present but could still feel the chilly fingers of memories clutching at him. Circles, rows of leering faces, gripping the back of his head and forcing him–

Lorne knew the content of his nightmares. He knew the subject, even if Zevran had not painted the full picture for him. Lorne had seen his share of nightmares during the Blight, too. No one was ever going to get out of this unscarred. 

But Lorne was solid and warm next to him, and that was all that Zevran needed to anchor him to the present. The assassin took a deep, shuddering sigh, ducking underneath Lorne’s chin. 

Zevran sniffled, and sniffled again, letting out a frustrated gasp. He rubbed at his face, his ears drooped, and he breathed through his mouth for lack of other option. In short: he looked awful. 

Kissing meme from 500 years ago | Not accepting

Zevran loved Taliesen. He loved him. He loved him, and Taliesen was dead, and he had to set that love aside to kill him. But as soon as the adrenaline faded, Zevran felt suddenly hollow, like a great clawed hand reached down his throat and pulled him inside-out. Zevran did not adore Taliesen. He was not in love. He loved Taliesen like only a Crow could love another Crow. They shared blood, shared minds. Shared bodies, sometimes, out of fun or service. But as small and unspoken as it was, was that not love? 

Rinna and Taliesen, they were both gone. And Zevran was still here. Completely and utterly alone. A loneliness he couldn’t explain or apologize for when he felt it even with Lorne pressed warm against his back. 

Zevran thought he might love Lorne, too, which made the self-loathing twist painfully inside him. What an excellent monster was he, who hoarded love like shiny trinkets and didn’t pay his dues!

Lorne kissed him, underneath the ear, quiet and persistent. I am still here. You are not alone. Zevran pulled away, pained. The years of exhaustion and torture showed through his transparent face. 

“Please, caro, I–” he knew Lorne was hurt behind him, confused and helpless, and that’s why he couldn’t bear to turn around, “–I am sorry. I need to go.” 

A million little things starters

Zevran gave Lorne a long look. He believed it. 

“Careful. You are starting to sound like me, yes?” 

And what a frightening thought that was. In the short time he’d been in their little company, he’d used that line many times–usually at the detriment of his own health, if he was being honest.