A/N: This was the first story I ever wrote, and I found myself looking back over it recently, only to be shocked at how many errors I made. It's always amazing to compare your first work with what you write currently; you can see what you have improved as well as what you still need to improve. So I cleaned up the first few chapters, which were written before I had a beta, but overall, I left it very much the same. I wanted to keep the unpolished aspect of it to remind me of how I used to write, so I apologize for its crudeness. Thanks for reading!

There really was no end to the blood-stained robes that needed cleaning. And the stench. No matter how long she spent scrubbing at the dried blood, she never felt like it was truly clean. Yet every night before bed, she tried to scrape the nasty red stains off, needing to wash away the memories of the hideous darkspawn with their twisted mouths gaping and their screeching cries. Today's battle had ended with few injuries, praise the Maker. But she still felt utterly weary and drained, a hollow shell going through the motions of her nightly routine. Why can't there be some spell I could cast that would instantly clean things?

There was a light scratch at her tent entrance and Zevran entered, ducking his head. Ever graceful, he dropped fluidly into a cross-legged position across the small fire from her. His gaze settled on the bloodied robe on her lap, and he raised his eyebrows in amusement.

"Ah, so this is what occupies you so completely in here? Had I known you enjoyed cleaning so much, I would have brought my own armor for your attentions. Although to be truthful, I would prefer those attentions directed toward me." He grinned slyly and moved to a sitting position behind her.

Emberlin smiled and dropped her eyes to the gray robe. She had finally allowed Zevran into her tent four weeks ago, but it was still difficult for her to openly flirt in the manner that came so easily to the blond elf. The many lessons learned in the Circle did not include instruction in the art of sexual wordplay. Not that she had been a virgin when Zevran came to her bed. Circle mages had long discovered ways to be discreet when certain needs arose, and several men had sought her attention. But while the experiences had been pleasant enough, they had always seemed lacking. Each encounter had been a hurried and fairly routine affair. She had longed for more, never knowing exactly what until Zevran.

Even now, she wasn't sure why she had spared the assassin. Perhaps it was his openness in answering her questions, the way he had managed that light, amused tone, despite the pain from his wounds. Then there was his obvious wish to be free from the Crows, which she completely understood. How long had she wished to be free from the Circle and the ever-present eyes of the Templars? The taste of freedom was more addictive than any drug. How could she refuse him the same?

At first, he was so difficult to read, always ready with humor and a laugh, yet also watchful. She often caught him silently studying the party members intently as if memorizing their personalities. He deflected most questions about his past with a joke and kept his true thoughts hidden behind cloaked, amber eyes. When she had finally approached him one night and asked him about his adventures, he smiled and related amusing anecdotes of various missions he had performed. Of course he had flirted, just as he did with everyone in the party, except for the dog. But strangely, his blatant offers to assist her with any needs did not offend her. She could easily see that it was an act. That underneath it all was a man hesitantly feeling his way with a new group, trying to sense how best to fit in.

It became a habit each night after dinner to spend time talking together, not about their mission and not about the Blight, for it was good to talk about other things. Wynne always wished to lecture her on what she should be doing. Sten was like a stone, cold and silent. Alistair was friendly and chatty enough, but she had a difficult time relating to him about anything outside of the Wardens. She had taken a liking to Leliana, but sometimes her rambling chatter wore Emberlin's ears out. And Morrigan tended to isolate herself from the group. She was not unfriendly but obviously preferred solitude. With Zevran, there were no pressures or worries, and he seemed genuinely interested her past. If she displayed discomfort in discussing certain painful memories, he did not press but tactfully changed the subject, and she did the same for him. It was obvious that he had endured many excruciating trials. He brushed lightly on being raised with the Crows, offering small glimpses of the stark loneliness and terrible atrocities he had endured, but he never dwelled long enough on those stories for her to offer sympathy or pity. He glossed over his past with smooth words, but his eyes showed a glimmer of the pain he had suffered. His courage was admirable and drew her to him even more. Finally, one night he had offered her an Antivan massage, and she had accepted, her need for a friend outweighing any remaining wariness she had of him.

She felt him slip a hand up the back of her neck and into her hair. Rough fingers dragged against her scalp and fisted into her dark, wavy tresses, pulling her head back against his chest. Her heartbeat fluttering, she tilted her face back and met his searching lips with her own. His tongue brushed lightly against hers, and she moaned softly. She felt a soft chuckle against her mouth and then he abruptly pulled away. The dirty robe was pushed aside; and her tunic, leggings, and smallclothes were removed amidst increasingly heated kisses.

Reaching behind him, he pulled her blankets forward and laid her gently back against them. While she watched avidly, he slowly removed his own clothes as gracefully as any practiced courtesan would. Her eyes drank in the sheer beauty of his tanned, lithe body with every tattoo, scar, and imperfection enhancing the raw sensuality he radiated. Kneeling above her, he lowered his lips to the pulse at her throat, his tongue swirling slow circles at the delicate skin there. Her fingers dived into his hair and scratched lightly at his scalp, drawing a slight gasp from his throat. Slowly, he raised his head and gazed into her eyes intently.

"My lovely Warden, I would like to show you something new. It will be hard for you, but I think you will enjoy it immensely."

She swallowed hard, goose bumps tingling along her skin. Once he had discovered her longing to expand her sexual knowledge, he had spent many nights delightfully her teaching new techniques.

"What do you want to show me?" He trailed his fingers across her cheek and down her jaw.

"How to truly relax, my dear. To simply feel and let that feeling take you where it will. Will you let me show you this?"

"It doesn't sound too difficult." She chuckled softly. "And to be honest, I haven't disliked anything you've shown me so far."

His amber eyes twinkled and he laughed. "Ah… and I've only begun to show you things! There will be much more if you will allow it." Again, his lips found her neck and he trailed his tongue from that sensitive spot at her pulse down to her collarbone. She sighed and leaned her neck back to give him better access. She heard another soft laugh, and he slid his tongue along the bone to her shoulder. His lips found the tight muscle along the top of her shoulder and gently, he bit down. She gasped and tightened her fingers in his hair. He shifted his attention to her ear, running his tongue from her earlobe and up the ridge. As he talked softly into her ear, he traced the intricate swirls of cartilage with one finger.

"I want you to focus on relaxing each and every muscle in your body. Imagine you are lying in warm, soothing water, and it is drawing the tension out of you. No matter what I do, I want you to try to keep every muscle limp. Do not tense or move. Allow yourself to simply feel each sensation without reacting."

"Umm, I don't know if I can do that, Zev. I mean, everything you do makes me want to move."

"Ahh, I know this my dear, but you must try. If you feel a muscle start to harden, force it to relax and absorb what I am doing, as if you are my canvas and I am painting my desire into you. Do you understand?" His tongue swirled against the opening of her ear, and the warmth that had already begun growing between her legs became like a small fire.

"I will try, my teacher." She turned her head to him and met his lips. For several long breaths they tasted each other hungrily and she felt him press against her, his hardness unmistakable against her groin. A tingling warmth enveloped her and she felt dizzy and breathless. Finally, he pulled back and sat up, gazing down at her flushed body.

"My dear Warden, do you have any idea how incredible you look? What seeing you like this does to me?"

Oh yes, she could see what it did to him, his length already swollen. He dragged slow fingers down between her breasts and across her stomach, ending with a light stroke across the soft curls between her legs. Involuntarily, her hips started to arch up, but a gentle pressure from his hand reminded her that she was supposed to remain still and calm. Gritting her teeth, she visualized sinking into the blankets, allowing each muscle to soften. He continued to lightly stroke her stomach in slow circles, giving her time to gain control. After a moment, she was able to relax again and he smiled down at her.

"Very good, my Warden. Just allow yourself to experience. You are required to do nothing more than this."

Placing his hands on either side of her, he lowered his head to one nipple, slowly circling it with his tongue, and her breath hitched slightly. He ran a rough palm across her hip and down her thigh, giving the hardened nipple a small nip with his teeth. She rewarded him with a small moan, and he smiled against her skin and trailed his lips ever downward in a meandering trail to the dark triangle between her thighs. Gently, he nudged her knees apart and lifted one leg, pushing it back toward her chest. Pressing his lips against the soft skin at the crook of her knee, he darted his tongue out, teasing the sensitive flesh. Blindly, she reached out one hand to grab something, to steady herself against this sensuous onslaught, but her hand found only air and she forced it to relax again.

He shifted slightly, lowering her leg and spreading her thighs. Using both thumbs, he spread the outer folds of her labia, exposing her completely. Expecting to feel his tongue, she was surprised to feel only his breath exhaled against the sensitive skin already moistened by her juices. Goose bumps ran up her arms and she shivered with pleasure. For several moments he remained still, his breath warming her exposed flesh.

"Zev… please… I can't…."

A chuckle sounded from between her legs, and he dipped his head, finally giving her what she craved: his warm tongue stroking her clit. Unable to allow her body to move, she vented her tension with her voice.

"Ahhhh… Zev…."

As his tongue continued to wet her skin with intricate patterns, she began to realize why Zevran had wanted her to try this particular technique. With her body laying quiet and accepting, every sensation seemed magnified and enhanced. Her body felt like it was floating in a warm bubble with a burning tension building from her center and spreading outward. Every stroke of his tongue expanded the bubble. She was so immersed in the growing ecstasy that she was barely even aware of the almost constant groans that escaped her. As the coiling heat became unbearable, she felt the center of her wetness beginning to involuntarily spasm. Feeling the weak contractions under his tongue, Zevran slowly pulled away. She whimpered in protest and opened her eyes to find him watching her face intently.

"Ahh, my warden, tell me how it feels." He rose and turned her to the side, settling himself behind her with his front pressed against her back.

"Maker, Zev… it feels…."

"Hmm, yes? Tell me." He bent her top leg at the knee and pulled it to the side exposing her once again. Gently, he slid two fingers between her folds and began to stroke both sides of her clit. She moaned and laid her head back against him.

"Shh, my dear," he murmured in her ear. "Relax and tell me how it feels."

"I… it's… like a spring inside… winding tighter and tighter. Zev, I need to move!"

"Tsk, no. Relax into it. Let it build." He lowered his lips to her ear and began to nibble it while his fingers continued slowly swirling around her wetness. His body pressed tightly against her back, and she could feel his hardness nudging her rump. The warm tingling in her center wound tighter and once again, she was beginning to spasm, her clit swelling beneath his fingers.

"Zev, it's coming… I can't hold it…."

"Good, my dear. Relax into it. Let it take you completely. Don't try to hold it in; let it go." His fingers began to stroke faster, gently squeezing her engorged clit. Again and again, the muscles between her thighs twitched… built… wound tight… then crashed. Everything seemed to explode from the center outward and a hoarse cry escaped her throat. She was only vaguely aware of his free arm tightening around her, holding her close as her body thrashed wildly. Finally, drained of all sensation and thought, she went limp and drifted in the warmth of his embrace. After a time, she felt his soft breath against the back of her neck and slowly twisted to look at him. He was smiling quite wickedly, like the cat that swallowed the mouse.

"Zev, how do you do this to me?"

"Do what, my dear Ember?" His smile widened, all innocence. She laughed and turned to face him, allowing her hand to brush carelessly against his swollen length. His breath caught, and his hand gripped her hip tightly. Watching her come apart had already brought him agonizingly close to his own end. She had been a beautiful, wild thing in the midst of her pleasure, and it had taken almost all of his self-control to keep from throwing her on her back and taking her. Now her hand was teasing him so enticingly, and he felt that control beginning to unravel.

"Mi querida, I want you."

He whispered the endearment softly, only noticing the slip after it had already escaped. But he was too far gone to care, and perhaps she wouldn't understand the word. Eagerly, she spread her legs and still gripping his shaft, guided him to her entrance. With a low curse in Antivan, he thrust inside her rougher than ever before. She arched her pelvis and pulled both legs back as far as she could, giving him the deepest access possible. With a desperate groan, he buried his length inside her warmth and shivered with the sensation of it. All control split apart and he was moving faster, her hips matching his rhythm.

"Ember… Ember… mi flor dulce…."

Everything shattered into a thousand pieces, his last thrust spilling his seed inside of her. With a moan, he collapsed on his side pulling her against him, one leg slung over his hip, his diminishing hardness still buried inside. She laid her head against his chest, both of them gasping as the world returned to normal. Thoroughly exhausted but more content than she could ever remember being, she drifted into a dreamless sleep, still joined to her lover.

Zevran lay awake feeling torn. As a rule, he never spent the night with any lover. It was simply too hazardous for someone of his profession. But this mage cradled in his arms gave him a rather unusual feeling he couldn't quite identify, a completeness of sorts. It worried and confused him. Where was all this emotion coming from? He had meant to share companionship with her; anything more was alien to him. He wasn't sure what to think of how he felt or where they would go from here. He did know that he didn't want it to end. Truly, he was enjoying these nights that had become revelations for her. She was an eager pupil who obviously thrived on sexuality, and now that she was free from the Circle, she was opening up like a seedling to the sun. It was a wondrous joy to watch, and he didn't want to pull away from this yet. He wasn't quite attached… just very interested, no? Deciding that he was quite warm and comfortable where he was, he allowed himself to relax and drift into the familiar light sleep of an assassin. This one time, he could allow himself to break a rule….