Malik Amell tossed the stick in his hand into the fire. He watched as the wood cracked and burned, the flames consuming it as if it were nothing more than a piece of vellum. He wasn't entirely sure why he felt so down. Maybe it was because of everything he'd seen. The Circle Tower had kept him safe from the outside world. It had been so complete in its purpose that when he had stepped onto the boat that would bring him across Lake Calenhad, he felt as if he was dreaming.

The Circle had taught him much over the years he'd been there, but there were things that it couldn't teach him. Since becoming a warden, he had learned how to fight, how to camp, how to survive. But he also hadn't been prepared for watching people die at the hands of the dead come back to life, or to witness the hideousness of a darkspawn firsthand. Nor did he expect the nightmares of the Archdemon.

No, Malik Amell hadn't been prepared for the real world at all.

On top of all of this, there was Zevran Arainai, the Antivan Crow who had botched the assassination of the last remaining Grey Wardens. Mal was very glad for that, otherwise he'd be dead at the moment. But then there was the figure of Zevran himself. The man was unlike any the mage had ever met before. He was charming, he was deadly, and he was handsome. Malik had to admit there was more than a passing attraction between them.

At least for him there was.

He couldn't quite figure Zevran out. The elf would do something sweet and immensely caring for the warden, stunning the young man into silence over the kindness he was shown. Then the next moment, Zevran was all jokes and innuendos, acting as if their relationship was a only fun time. It hurt Mal at times, not knowing if Zevran was serious about them.

It was late. He knew that. Most of his friends were sleeping. Of course, Morrigan wasn't. He didn't think she ever slept.

Unable to stop his obsessive thoughts, Mal's mind drove him to walk to Zevran's tent, intent on learning the truth. Slipping inside, he gazed into the dark, attempting to will his eyes to adjust to the sudden lack of light. He considered casting a spell, but then he'd lose his advantage.

Getting to his knees, Mal reached towards the bedroll where Zevran slept only to find it unoccupied. Confused, he pulled his hand back, worry settling in. If Zevran wasn't in his tent, then where in the void was he?

"Tsk tsk, Warden. What do you think you're doing, sneaking around a man's tent at night?" Zevran's voice spoke from somewhere in the dark. "Someone might get the wrong idea."

Malik blinked as light filled the inside of the tent. Zevran sat directly opposite him, cross-legged, a lantern in his hand. The elf wore a heartbreaking grin on his face. His blond hair fell across his shoulders, the usual braids undone for the night. The mage had to stop himself from grabbing Zevran for a kiss, happy to see the smiling face of his lover.

Instead, wearing a serious expression, Mal sat and watched the assassin closely. There was no telling what tricks the man would wield to get his way. "We need to talk."

"Ah, four words no man likes to hear." Placing the lantern on the ground beside him, Zevran positioned his hands on his lap, purposefully keeping them in view. "What must we discuss, mi amor?"

Sighing, Mal rubbed bridge of his nose. "We must discuss us, Zevran."

Zevran's eyes slanted suspiciously. "Is there a particular reason why?"

"Zevran-"

The former Antivan Crow held up a hand, stopping his lover's sentence before it could even start. "You doubt my feelings for you, no? Maybe this will convince you."

Malik wasn't prepared. Zevran captured the mage's lips with his own, the kiss a shock at first. The assassin's hands gripped a handful of Mal's shaggy hair, pulling him closer. The warden rested his palms against Zevran's exposed chest. His skin was warm, the lean muscles clenching under his touch. Malik traced the outline of his nipples with the tips of his fingers.

Zevran growled low in throat at the contact. Without warning, the assassin pushed Malik to the bed roll before running his tongue along the mage's collarbone. Mal shuddered, desire one of many things he felt. Zev lifted his head, a smirk on his devilishly handsome face.

"Do you believe me now, mi amor?"

Malik couldn't form words. Running his fingers through Zevran's long hair, he smiled at the man he loved before pulling him in for another kiss.