A prequel to The Morning After (which is a prequel to Opposites Attract) telling what really happened after Zevran helped Alistair back to his tent.

For my lovely friend, Olndina, who takes time out of her busy life to help me make my stories better!

The sound of severely off-tune singing could be heard throughout the camp, if anyone had still been awake or sober enough to hear it, that was. The tune – something about a girl in a red dress with quite attractive legs – was abruptly cut off by a noise which sounded suspiciously like a skull cracking against a tent pole. The noise was followed by a loud thump as something large hit the ground, and then Alistair groaned loudly from inside his tent.

"Ow," he said, almost as an afterthought.

Zevran tched quietly as he stepped into the tent. "Did I not tell you to duck?"

Alistair looked up at him petulantly, rubbing the top of his head. "I don't recall." Not surprising, given how inebriated he was, though the pain in his head seemed to indicate that he'd knocked into the tent pole quite hard. He'd already been fairly unsteady on his feet, and the jarring impact had been enough to knock the remaining sense out of him. He staggered forward, falling facedown onto his bedroll.

Zevran knelt down to try and get Alistair's boots off. He wasn't even going to worry about the boy sleeping in his clothes, it wasn't as if he was wearing armor.

He untied the laces on the first boot and managed to pull it off. The other one took a bit more effort, but finally both boots had been cast aside, revealing Alistair's socks in all their holey, smelly glory.

Zevran looked at them with distaste. "Ugh, I thought you were joking when you told Wynn about your socks."

Alistair raised his foot up in the air and wiggled it. "Looks fine to me."

Zevran shook his head in amusement and moved to stand up. A strong hand clamped around his wrist and pulled, causing Zevran to topple forward, right on top of Alistair. His grunt of surprise was cut off when Alistair practically attacked his lips. It was quite obvious that the young Warden was not in the least bit experienced in kissing, but he made up for the sloppiness with his enthusiasm.

It took quite some time for Zevran to draw back from him, mostly because he didn't really want to.

"Alistair," Zevran said, slightly breathless, "you are drunk. Trust me when I say that you are going to regret this come morning."

"Don't care," Alistair pouted. He stuck his lip out a little and widened his eyes for the full puppy-dog effect. "Morning's hours away... and you're here right now..." His arms wrapped around the lithe elf, pulling him flush against his chest. "Want to do more than kiss," he said huskily, words slightly slurred by both drink and arousal. An arousal that was quite clear from the hardness pressing against Zevran's thigh.

Zevran squirmed a bit, trying to get out of Alistair's grasp, but the warrior was strong. In truth, Zevran really didn't try all that hard. If he really wanted to, he could easily slip away... but he didn't really want to. He had always found Alistair extremely attractive, though he'd given up hope long ago that the man would ever give in to his advances. Now he finally had his chance, though it was somewhat sullied by the fact that Alistair was not in the least bit sober.

Chapped lips pressing against his throat challenged his resolve, and when he felt a tongue dart against his skin he actually moaned.

"Want this, Zev," Alistair murmured, and the nickname sent a little shiver through the elf. He tilted his head and kissed Alistair deeply, this time controlling the kiss as his tongue slipped into the warrior's mouth. Alistair's low moan of appreciation spurred him on, and soon he was grinding against Alistair's body.

He had to stop himself from just rutting against Alistair; if he was going to do this, he was going to do it right. He nipped hard at Alistair's lip before wriggling out of his grasp. The warrior made a low noise of disappointment, but he quieted as he saw that Zevran was shedding his clothes, and he hurriedly tugged off his own tunic.

Once Zevran was naked, he got to work on Alistair's breeches, deftly unlacing them before sliding them down the Warden's body. He took a few moments to admire the young man's lithe body – the thick muscles indicated the strength needed to constantly wield a heavy sword and shield, and there was not an inch of fat anywhere on his body; and while he was not nearly as dark as Zevran's, the lightly tanned skin was, in Zevran's eyes, absolutely stunning.

Alistair let out a little noise of impatience that made Zevran laugh. "So impatient," he purred. He cast his eyes about the tent, looking for the one item that any warrior who wore plate armor would keep with him at all times. Sure enough, poking out of a knapsack in the corner, was a tin of armor polish. It was not an ideal lubricant, but it would work well enough.

He leaned over to grab it, and was pulled down into another hungry kiss. It seemed that Alistair felt he had a lot of catching up to do in the intimacy department. Zevran could hardly blame him; being raised in a monastery and sent straight into the Templars afterwards had apparently left no opportunities for Alistair to relieve himself of his virginity. Zevran was not the type of person to delight in the deflowering of virgins, but he couldn't help the little thrill that ran through him at the knowledge that he would be Alistair's first.

He disentangled himself from the man yet again, long enough to snag the tin of polish. He pried the top off and dipped the first two fingers of his right hand into the thick substance. He found himself thinking of the unopened bottle of massage oil that was sitting in his own tent, but there was no way in the Void that he was going to get dressed to go get it. This would have to do.

He sat up and straddled Alistair's hips, raising himself up enough to reach back and press a slicked finger into his entrance. The look of rapt wonder on Alistair's face was almost comical, and Zevran had to bite his tongue to keep from laughing. He wondered if Alistair even knew the mechanics of two men having sex, and decided it didn't really matter – he would take care of the details.

Zevran worked the finger deeper into his ass, twisting it back and forth a few times. He made sure to let Alistair see the pleasure on his face, and let out a few soft moans as well. A second finger, and then a third were added – he wanted to make sure he was ready for the man's sizable cock. Even for a human Alistair was quite large, and Zevran shivered at the idea of being filled by it, of being stretched almost beyond endurance.

When he felt ready, he drew his fingers out and spreads some of the polish onto Alistair's cock, coating it thoroughly to ease its passage. Alistair let out a loud gasp of appreciation as Zevran slowly stroked him. Still holding Alistair's cock, Zevran raised up on his knees and positioned himself so that Alistair's length was pressing against his entrance enticingly.

He placed his free hand on Alistair's chest for balance and slowly lowered himself onto the warrior's thick cock. He shuddered as the fat head breached his entrance – Alistair felt even larger than he looked. He let go of Alistair's cock so that he could lower himself all the way, and soon the man was buried inside him to the hilt.

Zevran held himself still, shuddering from the pain. Slowly his body began to relax around the intrusion, and pleasure started to slowly seep in. He ground himself on Alistair's cock, loosening himself even further. Alistair let out a low whine at the sensation and grabbed Zevran's hips tightly. The fingers dug deep into his skin, and Zevran knew he was going to have a matching pair of bruises come morning. The idea turned him on even more than he already was.

Slowly he lifted himself up, so that just the tip of Alistair's cock was still inside him. He pushed himself down again, crying out at the sharp pain of Alistair sliding into him so quickly. He'd never been a masochist, but Maker did it feel good. He repeated the motion again, and again, a moan punctuating each downward movement.

He sensed Alistair move his legs so that his feet were pressed flat on the ground. Alistair then thrust his hips up, matching Zevran's pace. Both of them were now groaning and panting, murmuring each other's names now and then, with Zevran adding a few curses in Antivan. Zevran reached down and took himself in hand, stroking himself firmly. A particularly hard thrust from Alistair had Zevran crying out as his sweet spot was struck. It was enough to drive him over the edge and soon his seed was spurting over Alistair's chest. He felt the slightest bit of embarrassment that he hadn't lasted very long, but it was soon forgotten as Alistair cried out Zevran's name loudly and came hard deep inside the elf.

Panting hard, Zevran gingerly raised himself off of Alistair and reached over to grab the warrior's shirt. He methodically cleaned himself and Alistair, and then tossed the soiled shirt into a corner. Alistair grabbed Zevran about the waist and pulled him close. Zevran curled around him, twining their legs together. He wasn't normally one to cuddle, but apparently Alistair was, and he found that he actually kind of enjoyed it.

"Thank you," Alistair murmured sleepily. "I didn't know it could feel that good."

Zevran chuckled lowly. "I am glad you enjoyed yourself, caro." Even if you will regret it in the morning, he thought to himself, but did not say aloud.

Alistair muttered something incoherent, his eyes already drifting closed. A few moments later and he was snoring softly. Zevran smiled as he rested his head on Alistair's shoulder. Maker only knew what was going to happen in the morning, but for now he was content just to drift off to sleep, comfortably enveloped in the arms of his new lover.