Zevran pressed the dagger into Neria's outstretched palms. They'd picked this one together - not too heavy, and not too light. The blade was sharp on one side, and dull on the other. Beautiful, but easily handled and controlled.
"Are you ready?" His hands remained on the dagger, touching hers. "If you'd prefer to wait, I suspect we can find many other, equally pleasurable ways to entertain ourselves this evening."
"I am ready." It had been two months since Zevran had confided in Neria about his special interest in daggers and knives, beyond their usual applications. After that, she'd taken to studying the blade, as it were. As a mage she had little use for a dagger, and she'd used knives to open more letters than darkspawn's guts. But she was curious, as well as touched that he trusted her enough to share something so intimate. That he trusted her not to hurt him, or at least not in a way that he did not desire.
In return, she'd trust him not to flinch.
She'd also taken the opportunity to ask Wynne for instruction in some of the more basic healing spells, but also placed potions, poultices, herbs, bandages and the like within reach of her bedroll. The panels of her tent afforded relative privacy as she trailed the dull edge of the blade over the flimsy green satin of a cheap Orlesian shirt they'd pilfered and didn't mind ruining. Zevran's breaths remained slow and even as he felt the sharp outline of the blade through the smooth fabric of his shirt. He bit his lip as the point circled one of the ornate brass buttons, reached for her other hand, and nodded. Neria's practise paid off, and it was with one deft movement that she severed the thread and the button popped off, whipping past her ear.
"There's a joke somewhere in this about our being true knife-ears," he laughed, watching with clear approval as she got to work on the other buttons. Orlesians had too many damn buttons. She'd pity the tailors, if they weren't so bloody rich.
"Ha, probably." She held the dagger flat against his skin, grazing the fine hairs on his chest. "How's this?"
"It's a hot night. Perhaps it could be a little cooler?" Neria grinned. Now this, she'd had years of practise in. The magic flowed through her body, gathering at her fingertips in delicate, blue-tinged ice crystals, and coating the dagger in frost. Zevran's lips parted in ecstasy. "Perfect."
Even magical frost didn't last long in this heat, and melted soon after coming into contact with the warmth of Zevran's body. Pale blue droplets glistened on his chest and stomach, pooling in his navel. Neria spun the dagger in her hand, admiring her work so far, then slowly dragged the blade over his nipple. If the sounds he made were any indication of what was to come, they were going to have a very pleasurable evening indeed - and this was only the beginning.