Zevran
“You would trust an assassin with a blade to your throat?” Zevran’s accented voice was low above you. Although you knew he didn’t care to catch the attention of the others at the camp, even took pleasure in drawing eyes and disturbing others sleep, you knew he at least kept it down for the sake of you. That and he knew if too many were aware you would cut this scene short before it even began. And it had take him so long to work you down into trying something new, something that took more time than the quicker romps in your tent you were used to. He was straddling you already nude from the shared bathing you had done earlier. Taking your time in the cool stream allowed you to watch days worth of traveling dirt from your flesh and ease the worry of what was to come from your mind. Politics meant you were always on edge, being a Gray Warden meant you were always directly involved in major politics. Everything else just felt like a bonus. Including the fact only days ago you had to deal with the Werewolves in the forest at the hands of the Dalish and the curse that littered the land from their involvement. You weren’t normally someone for negotiating, rather to use your axe as a negotiator like your family in the underground had done before you. Dwarves weren’t entirely known for their patience. Especially not in politics.
Thankfully, when your temper just edged on too much, the soft and slim Elf you’ve found yourself drawn to knew just what to do to help you relax.
“As much as I probably should.” You muttered from where your cheek was pressed to your crossed arms. It had started with a massage of his hands tracing the muscles you’ve honed from years of carrying an axe almost as big as you. Zevran was a gentle lover. A surprising fact you hadn’t been expecting from the assassin when he first took you to bed. But you found a softer reproach wasn’t worth complaining about considering there was nothing else soft in the daily. He chuckled above you and one of his hands disappeared from your back. You knew already where it was going and found the immediately urge to tense and reach for the weapon at your side.
“Green?”
“Green.” You said. Zevran brought the flat, cool length of a dagger, one of his, along the curve of your back and you shivered. Goosebumps lined your spine and you fought the initial urge to jerk to the side. That would have definitely ended this little experiment sooner than either of you would have liked. Zevran hummed in approval when you dug your nails into the fabric of the leather you were spread across. He dragged the other flat end to the opposite side of your back.
“You hold too much trust in me, dear, though I can’t say the notion isn’t appreciated, no?” His dagger was edged further up and you closed your eyes when the sharper edge caught the skin. The initial sting had your fingers twitching. It didn’t hurt like you had expected, the shallow cut more than likely not even bleeding, but it was a sharp enough sting to remind you just how sharp the weapon to your back was. The tip was lifted and pressed to your shoulder and he drew it along the length of your shoulder muscles. He outlined them, then the bumps of your spine, then to the curve of your lower back where he paid attention to freckles gathered in a spot there.
Then he dragged it back up and added more pressure on the next slow pull. It stung but didn’t cut and you mouth parted as you released the softest gasp. Then another sharp drag and this time it did sting. He didn’t cut the entire length of your back, just the upper portion before he stopped it and dragged it right back up.
“You’re so pretty with my marks on you.” He whispered.