Edited 26 November 2011 (It's a sickness, I know. I can't help but edit stuff when I re-read my work… specially if I find glaring errors).

There are relatively few things I own in this world… DA is not one of them. I do, however, hold a firm grasp of English Grammar, Usage, and Mechanics, as well as a fertile and dirty imagination. Please enjoy.

~~X~~

Chapter 1

"Bored" was not the correct descriptor. Alistair was restless. He longed for action, for battle, for spilling darkspawn blood. He almost wished that an entire fist of darkspawn would storm their camp right at that moment so that he could kill something.

It was Analisse bloody Amell's fault. Since he had told her of his parentage, she had refused to take him with her whenever she called in one of their treaties.

"Alistair, you and Leliana guard the camp."

If he heard that phrase one more time, he was going to strip to his small clothes, find the nearest darkspawn camp, and sing one of Oghren's drinking songs.

Okay, he had to admit it to himself; it was Alistair bloody Theirin's fault.

He sheathed his sword. It wasn't really in need of cleaning anyway. He stretched and stood from his bedroll. It was his night for first watch. The sky was cloudless, the stars were bright, and the air was crisp. He paced around the camp, pausing at the tent of each of his companions.

As usual, Analisse and Leliana, Morrigan, and Sten were all quiet as he passed by their tents. The mabari Daggers didn't even stir within Analisse and Leliana's tent. Wynne, the mage from the Tower and newest member of their group, was quiet as well. Oghren was talking in his sleep, predictably, and appeared to be bartering with a nug trader over the price of a particularly juicy specimen. Alistair shuddered. Nug was not one of his most favorite meals. He continued his circle of the camp.

There were a number of sounds Alistair would have expected to come from Zevran's tent, but crying was not one of them. He froze in mid-step, and held his breath. He could hear nothing, and had almost convinced himself that he had imagined the whole thing when the Crow spoke, "You're not quite as adept as sneaking around as you might think, Alistair."

Alistair let out the breath he was holding, and squatted at the entrance to Zevran's tent. He pulled the flap back. In the firelight, he could see that the elf was sitting up, stripped to his waist. "Is everything… I mean, can I do something for you, Zevran?"

"An interesting question, and one whose answer I have made quite clear in the past, no?"

Alistair felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. "That's not what I mean. I'm sorry to have disturbed you." He made a move to leave, but in a movement Alistair was hard-pressed to see, Zevran had grabbed his wrist.

"Please, do not go. I did not wish to drive you away." Alistair relaxed back on his heels. He waited for Zevran to continue, or not continue, as was the assassin's wont. Zevran finally released his wrist and drew a deep breath before he spoke. "Have the others told you about what happened at the Circle of Magi?"

They had just returned from the Tower that afternoon. Analisse filled Alistair in on the pertinent details—that they had secured the aid of the mages for the Blight as well as for helping Analisse to enter the Fade to rescue Connor—but apart from mentioning that the sloth demon had trapped them and they escaped, Alistair knew nothing. "Analisse said that you were enthralled by a sloth demon."

"And did your fellow Warden tell you that she rescued each of us from our own prisons in the Fade?"

"No."

"Hmm… I do not know what the others experienced, but for me, the sloth demon did little to make me want to stay in that waking dream for the rest of my life, short as that may have been at the time. I was sold to the Crows when I was very young, and I began my training almost immediately. This was in the most innocuous of Crow talents, though. I learned how to handle weapons, mix basic poisons, and sneak around without being noticed. It was not until I was in my teens, however, that my true training began. As part of our training, we are put to torture." Alistair sucked air in through his teeth, but Zevran did not stop talking. "The sloth demon recreated for me a particularly grueling session with the rack. In fact, it was my last such session. I was hours on the rack, days it felt like. I had been beaten, but I had not broken yet." Alistair heard the swell of pride in Zevran's voice, even as he felt his own heart constrict at the very idea that any being was forced to endure such torture. "There were rumors, of course, that if we broke too soon, we would be killed. I had no desire to die, and I refused to yield. I had not had a proper meal, and I wanted nothing more than a bath. I met my mentor that night, and through the night and into dawn, he would… well, suffice to say that his treatment of me was such that I was a breath away from begging for death when he whispered into my ear, 'Congratulations. You are my Crow.' It was then they gave me these." He gestured to the curves on the left side of his face. "I had never been more proud of anything in my life." He stopped talking and stared past Alistair and into the fire.

Alistair reached out with a gloved hand and touched his foot. Zevran flinched and met his gaze.

"I am sorry, Zev."

The Antivan gave him a half smile. "I thank you, Alistair, but you have no reason to be sorry. And, usually, I am not so sorry. Very few things in this world make me regret surviving the Crow initiation process, but tonight I was simply overwhelmed with the idea that if I had broken, then perhaps the Crows would have killed me, and then, perhaps, well, certain things would not have happened."

"I understand regret."

"Oh?"

The look of disbelief on Zevran's face caused Alistair to withdraw his hand from Zevran's foot and snap, "Of course I have regrets."

"Ah, yes, perhaps I should not have eaten that last bite of cake? Perhaps I should have asked that pretty lass to dance? Perhaps I should-"

"Perhaps I should have forced Duncan to let me fight at Ostagar. Perhaps I should have been there, to protect him. Perhaps I should have died, instead of him." Alistair hadn't shouted, but Zevran jerked as if he had. Alistair flung Zevran's tent flap closed, and stomped back across the camp. He looked up at the stars, wishing his watch were over, and wishing he could crawl into his own tent and sleep. Maybe he'd even have a darkspawn dream, and not the normal nightmare of Duncan dying and accusing him of abandoning him. He wrapped his arms around himself, hugging himself for comfort. It had been a long time since someone had hugged him, and he missed the warmth of another's touch, the warmth of friendship.

He stayed that way for a few moments, and idly wished for that darkspawn attack again. When no darkspawn seemed inclined to oblige him, however, he decided to check the traps they had set around the camp for animals.

~~X~~

Zevran heard Alistair moving around the camp again. He truly had not meant to be so flippant with the Grey Warden, but he had not wanted to entertain the idea that someone could hurt as much as he did at that moment. He lay back down in his bedroll, pulling his furs up to his chin. He stared up into the darkness of his tent and tried desperately not to think about her. But, of course, he did.

He thought of Rinna's smile when he would wake up in the mornings to find her already looking at him.

He thought of Rinna's eyes and how they sparkled when she was working on a new poison.

He thought of Rinna's tears as she begged him not to kill her.

Zevran did not sleep that night, and he heard when Alistair woke Sten for second watch. For a moment, just a brief moment, his grief-filled thoughts of Rinna were replaced by guilt-filled thoughts of Alistair.

He would have to apologize to the warden.

~~X~~

It wasn't until three nights later that Zevran actually got around to apologizing to Alistair, and even then, he didn't actually come out and say the words, "I am sorry."

It was Alistair's turn at watch again, and Zevran sat up and waited for him to walk by his tent. When he heard the twig snap, he called out, "Alistair?"

There was a rustle then firelight shone in his tent as Alistair lifted the flap. "Yes."

"There is a distinct possibility that I was rude to you the other night."

"Yes."

"I should not have been."

"No."

"I will refrain from doing so in the future."

Alistair snorted. "Yeah, that's bloody likely. Zevran, has anyone ever told you that you shouldn't make promises you don't intend to keep? Wait; don't answer that. Assassin: you always make promises you don't intend to keep."

"I assure you, I, well, if not always, I usually keep my word." Zevran spread his hands out in front of him on his furs. "Okay, I shall refrain from being rude to you about certain topics in the future. Will that suffice?"

"That will suffice."

"Excellent. Now, the subject of your virginity-"

Alistair groaned, "Can that please be one of those off-limits topics?"

"Never."

"I thought as much. Come on, do your worst."

"Perhaps a childhood maiming incident robbed you of the proper parts for pleasing a woman, no?"

"Oh, ho-hum. Yes. I have the proper parts, but what makes you so sure I would use them to please a woman?"

There were very few things in the world that shocked Zevran.

In fact, there were only two things in Zevran's life that had ever shocked him before this.

The less shocking had been when he had discovered that Leliana was a trained Orlesian spy who had completely fooled him into buying that Chantry nonsense. The more shocking of the two had been when Analisse had decided not to kill him after his pathetic attempt at assassinating her.

Alistair's little announcement had just shot the other two right out of the water.

He actually felt his mouth drop open in surprise, and did not miss the smug smile that crossed the almost-templar's face before Alistair stood up and let the tent flap close.

Zevran didn't sleep again that night.

Only this time, when he stared up into the darkness of his tent, it was Alistair's face he saw, and that made him smile.

~~X~~

It was not Alistair's night to take watch, but he was still awake.

He was restless again, anxious for something to happen, but this time it was not for a darkspawn attack.

Alistair was hard.

He had tried to do everything, other than the obvious, to relieve his situation, but to no avail.

He had even gone through the several verses of the Chant of Light he actually knew, figuring a little holy-rolling would banish all traces of arousal within the first few lines. He was wrong.

He willed himself to think of the coldest day, and then he pictured Wynne naked on that cold day. Unfortunately, whenever he did, she simply transformed into Zevran naked on a balmy, breezy day (like today), and new jolts of pleasure shot straight to his cock and he was as stiff as ever.

Zevran bloody Arainai.

For whatever tortuous and unholy reason, Zevran had asked Leliana to teach him some of her Orlesian spy techniques. Leliana agreed, and the two had started flashing their daggers at one another. Then, Zevran decided it was too hot to wear his bloody armor, and had stripped to his waist. With the sweat gleaming and the muscles rippling, Alistair could only stare, and pray he didn't drool.

And when they were done training, Zevran had decided that his hair was simply a disaster, and taken his braids out, shaking his hair loose. His sweat-dampened hair still shone blonde in the afternoon sun, and Alistair had to wipe his mouth when he realized that he was drooling.

'Too hot' my well-toned arse. It wasn't that it was hot, so much that it was simply warmer than it had been in several weeks. Alistair had felt perfectly comfortable sitting in the sun with his armor on. He hadn't felt the need to prance around the camp and show the others his washboard abs, or the way the blonde hair grew darker down the middle of his stomach until it was practically a brown as it disappeared below the waist of his skirt.

Alistair moaned, and found that he had started stroking himself without consciously deciding to do so. He bit his lip to prevent more sound from escaping, and thought, The hell with it, and began picking up tempo. He crooked his knees, and spread his legs further apart, garnering some resistance against the padding of his blankets. He felt sweat spring out on his body, and his heart was racing. No it's bloody hot.

He imagined untying the laces of Zevran's trousers, and seeing just how dark the hair got. He imagined pressing his face into the middle of that hair, breathing deeply, and then taking Zevran into his mouth. Zevran would buck his hips, and reach down to guide Alistair's head, and-

Alistair arched his back and lifted his backside off the ground as he came, spurting his seed onto his stomach. He stayed that way, riding out his orgasm, his mouth wide open in a silent scream.

He collapsed then, his muscles useless. He forced himself to slow down his breathing, to stop sounding like a mabari in the hot sun with no water. Little aftershocks of pleasure shot through him. He fumbled around with a hand until he found a water skin. He cleaned himself off as best he could before crashing into sleep, a smile on his lips.

~~X~~