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The Crow's Blade

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Dorian splayed on the lush chaise lounge, the room illuminated only by firelight and a few other candles, casting shadows over much of the expansive suite. He stayed up still because he was waiting on someone very specific, and as he waited he thumbed through a book he must have read a hundred times over but which he still enjoyed. It was relaxing, for once, while he waited.


He wasn’t left waiting long as he looked up to see a familiar dark figure enter his room and crouch by the fire, no doubt slightly chilled from his midnight jaunt. Even in Tevinter, the Winter nights were could still experience cold, though nothing compared to the ice and snow of the south. Dorian didn’t even have to ask as Zevran spoke up first, “It is done, exactly as you asked.”


“Excellent. I have your payment on the mantle, there.”


“Oh? Is that all?”


“Were you expecting more?”


“Not gold,” he replied, lowering his hood and flashing the Magister a radiant smile.


Dorian smirked. “I have no early meetings tomorrow.”




In a flash, the assassin was upon him, and Dorian mused it was a good thing he was his employer and not a target, because the way Zevran kissed him deeply, hips rocking up against his own, he felt completely disarmed and at the Antivan’s mercy. The thud of his book hitting the floor barely even registered as he threaded his fingers through soft blond locks, holding his lover close. The last time they’d had some privacy, they’d barely the time for more than a hurried mutual hand job, leaving Dorian flustered and adjusting his robes and his hair as he scurried off to the Magisterium. This time, however, they had hours and he wanted them both to take full advantage of it.


And it seemed Zevran wanted the same thing as he murmured against his lips, “Why don’t we go over to the bed, hmm? Much more spacious than this chair.”


“Chaise lounge,” Dorian immediately corrected, on instinct.


Zevran rolled his eyes. “Right. Of course. Now, bed?” That was definitely something Dorian could agree on, and in short order they were both stripped and had adjourned to the top of the spacious mattress that Dorian had splurged on not even two months prior (and definitely not because they had positively worn out the last one, oh no). As Zevran devoured him, he suddenly became aware of something cold and hard, but before he could even get anything out, his assassin was already entreating, “Now, Dorian, do you want to have a little fun tonight?”


Raising his eyebrow, he replied, “I suppose that depends on how you define fun.”


Chuckling, Zevran showed him what he’d been holding, a dagger that he didn’t recognise as one of the twins that he normally carried. He placed the bladed end in his opposite hand as he showed him, “It’s dull, it won’t cut, but the aesthetic …”


“You want to hold a knife to my throat as you fuck me?”


“Mmm, that. Maybe other places. Who knows? Do you want to?”


Dorian hesitated at first, as even a dull blade could stab after all. Not that he didn’t trust Zevran at this point, but the thought was still in the back of his mind. What if someone had gotten to him? Paid him off? That was a fine way to go out, stabbed with a dull blade during a romp in the sheets. Still, as images started to coalesce in his mind, images of Zevran looming over him with the dagger, dragging it up and down his skin, holding it to his neck, he found himself more aroused than ever. Figuring that if Zevran really wanted to kill him, there were not only far easier ways but that he would likely do it no matter what, Dorian gave in, his cock hardening as he nodded. “Yes.”


Zevran’s smile was blinding. Leaning down, he captured him with a passionate kiss before he murmured against his lips, “Thank you for trusting me.”


Reaching over to the little side table, the lithe Elf grabbed the pot of oil that always sat in wait for them, coating a couple of fingers before positioning himself between the Magister’s legs. As he breached him all at once - unnecessary, strictly speaking, but he wouldn’t protest this part of the play - he ran the dulled blade down the centre of Dorian’s chest. The sensation of the cold, hard metal against his skin coupled with the warm fingers inside him had him lying his head back on the pillow, eyes closing as he moaned softly. His breath hitched as the tip slid down and around the base of his cock, and he held himself as still as possible even though he knew there was no danger of being cut. Still Zevran’s fingers slid in and out of him while he slid the blade back up his body, flipped in his hand so he held it tucked more towards his arm. He traced several patterns over Dorian’s skin, scratching it ever so slightly, and Dorian found he fell in love with the sensation. Of course, the Elf’s fingers inside him helped, but even without it, he felt he would have liked it. He was rock hard and still Zevran didn’t move to penetrate him further or do anything more than what he was doing. For a moment he wondered if he would go mad before he gave in and begged, “Zevran, please …”


He chuckled, noting, “I’m glad you like this, mi amor. I quite like the vision of you lying here, helpless, blade held to your skin …”


“Kaffas, Zev, what do I have to say to get you to fuck me?”


Leaning over, Zevran planted an almost chaste kiss against his lips. “Nothing else, mi amor.” Drawing back, he coated his own hard cock in oil before sliding into the Magister, a long familiar sensation that Dorian found he craved now. And with the added sensation of the dull knife against his skin, his senses sang and danced as Zevran rolled his hips.


True to his earlier stated fantasy, as soon as his pace increased, Zevran held the blade up to Dorian’s throat. The Magister groaned as Zevran’s expression turned downright predatory, his eyes narrowed and his lips parted to show his shining teeth. He briefly wondered how he hadn’t thought of this before - with Zevran’s profession, it almost seemed obvious - but he supposed he could ruminate on it later as it was difficult to think beyond the pleasure coursing through his body. They’d had gentle trysts before, long hours filled with slow lovemaking, but this was becoming one of their rough and hard sessions as the two men hungered for each other. Dorian wasn’t about to protest that, of course. He so rarely had opportunities to relax and allow himself to be vulnerable. And Zevran was excellent at dominating him if Dorian was in the mood for it, taking over his senses so completely until he could scarcely tell which way was up. It was quite the juxtaposition from their working relationship, where he was the Magister in charge and Zevran the personal assassin who handled issues for him.


Panting, Dorian could feel he was getting close, and he gritted his teeth to try to hold off as long as possible because Zevran felt amazing inside him. Sometimes they’d go at it the other way around and Dorian would fuck the assassin into the mattress, but when Zevran was on top … he was on top. His breathing growing more and more ragged, he warned, “I’m … I’m close …”


A drop of sweat from Zevran’s forehead landed on Dorian’s skin as he grunted, “Go ahead, mi amor. Spill for me.”


Dorian’s vision whited out for a moment as he coated his own chest and stomach. He could hear Zevran moaning above him, watching him, and as Dorian blinked hard and looked back up at him, he pulled out of him and came, jerking himself through his orgasm as he mixed their spend on the Magister’s skin.


Breathing heavily, Zevran swirled his fingers through the mess before sucking it off. Dorian groaned at the sight and Zevran chuckled, repeating the action but then offering it to him instead. Dorian opened his mouth and let him spread their combined seed on his tongue before swallowing it down. “Now, my dear Magister, allow me to clean you before I claim you again.”


Again? Well, he didn’t have any appointments until the afternoon. Sod it all. As he pulled Zevran close for an impassioned kiss, all he wanted for the next few hours was in his arms.