Considering how much they were offering for my head the last time I was in Antiva? I am surprised no one had decided it would be worth the risk. It'd be easier for them to do so, now.
[ Down an eye, not sleeping well, alone in his room, unarmed more often than not, shaken to the bone, uncertain of his reality-
He's easy pickings. Only a mix of respect, fear, and loathing for the Crows kept those he brought with him from doing the same. ]
[ Difficult to tell. A man never knows his own limits until they're reached. But they weren't far off. The fracture lines were there, plain as...
Well.
He draws back, far enough to see the shadow play over the patch he's got covering his eye. ]
And I'd do it again. What happens now is up to you. But you get the choice, at least. Besides, wouldn't want those bastards knowing they'd won, would we?
[ He tries to tilt his face away for a moment before giving up on the attempt. It does not matter- not to Bull. This is his vanity at work, nothing more.
With more hesitance than it probably deserves, Zevran tugs the patch off, blinking in the light. Nothing on the one side but a milky, film over his eye, scars along his cheek and brow. ]
I have spent most of the past decade living in spite of them and what they made me to be. Letting them win now...would be a poor end.
[ He could have lost it, without the swift intervention of the mage. He shivers under Bull's hand- unaccustomed to contact from the blind side. To having it bare. Tentatively he reaches up to rest his hand under Bull's eyepatch- not demanding, not asking. ]
And the cut was not meant for the face. They were attempting to slice Alistair's throat. I always tell him to mind his left flank. He's never learned.
[ There's a moment's pause before he bends his head, just enough that the elf could pull the patch aside if he wished. It's a mess underneath, but he's sure Zevran's seen worse.
Tends to make most people flinch, though. Knotted scar tissue dipping low into an empty socket. Doesn't even feel like anything, anymore, though he sure as shit remembers the pain.
Remembers where he took it, too. Which was more important than a missing eye. ]
[ He moves the patch aside without hesitation once he's given leave to do so- and he has seen worse. Has caused worse. At least he has his eye. At least he still has a lid to blink.
But it is as Bull said. That's why they have two. Suddenly all his knotted, gnarled vanity feels horribly foolish. Moved, he leans up as much as he can reach, moving slow as it is on Bull's blind side- and presses his lips to the scarred mass before letting the patch fall back into place. ]
The more he apologizes for it the more I am tempted to let him take the blame if only so he would stop apologizing.
I would question your taste? [ He tips his face into Bull's hand, a hooked smirk settling on his face. ] I was trained to keep myself without flaw, more or less. To be appealing.
[ Sex was part of the job, part of his training, part of his identity for the better part of thirty years. ]
You're saying my scars don't make me look pretty? That hurts. That's hurtful.
[ Said even as his palm curves, cupping against his cheek, warm and calloused. It's not a lie, either. Zevran could definitely learn to work with the new mystique of his scars, learn to build a new mask for himself.
Those walls made things safer, or at least made it a little easier to be around people without snapping. ]
A ruggedly handsome Qunari is a different sort of pretty than an elf. For you it adds to the allure- for myself? It is a flaw. A defect. I'd not get away with charging near as much in a brothel as I would without.
[ But he could attempt to own it, he supposes. Wear it with as much pride as Bull does. ]
Pretty sure you could still charm a lady right out of her petticoats.
[ He doesn't point out that Zevran's not a whore, because when you spend your life honing your sexuality for the job the differences really don't amount to much. ]
[ He arches a brow, testing the idea. Speaking with someone over the stones- being intimate in that way- that he has done happily to sate the renewed urge. Having someone with him like this-
If anyone would be kind, if anyone would be able to understand him twitching away in the middle of it- it would be Bull. ]
Couple of drinks. None of that shit they serve down in the tavern, either.
[ He sees it there, a flicker in his gaze. It's potentially dangerous, nothing he'd suggest on his own, not with Zevran still riding high on paranoia.
Then again, they have an understanding here, in this room. He has an out if he wants it, always. And he wasn't kidding about the scars being incredibly attractive, either.
Bull's lips curve, his head tilting as his fingers graze down the edge of Zevran's face. ]
And after that...whatever you need. Wherever you need it.
[ One word and he's out if he needs to be. He hasn't-
Not with someone else, anyone else, since he'd been taken. He hasn't wanted to. He hasn't felt desirable enough to reach out- to contact anyone that might indulge him.
He turns his face into Bull's hand, lips pressing against his palm, his fingertips. ]
You. Here. No ropes, not this time.
[ He'd been bound and hung like meat fit for carving in that room. It'd be a long, long while before he could take it. ]
[ Reasonable requests, considering. This isn't like the last time. What Zevran needs now is something different. And Bull's not a one-trick pony. Whatever it is, he can meet that need. ]
Please. [ He's still feeling out the raw edges of the wounds they'd carved into him. More than the cuts on his skin- what he can take, what he can enjoy. If they've tortured this out of him as well-
He won't throw himself from the battlements but he'll be frustrated himself for a fair while. ]
[ Bull gives a quiet nod, gaze reflective for a moment. His hand falls away, just for a moment. ]
Remember the word? Still works the same. You want to stop, we stop. No questions.
[ Truth be told, he wouldn't be all that surprised if he did, this time. Lot of tripwires and traps laid out there by what the Crows had done. But this isn't just solving a puzzle anymore.
This is trust, at a time when Zevran doesn't have a lot of that to spare. ]
[ Katoh. One word and it would stop, no questions asked. Not that there'd be much question as to why with all the little cuts and fine wires they'd threaded through his mind. He wanted to fall.
This is the safest way he can think of to do so.
As tentative as he's been before, Zevran squares his shoulders before sidling around- less at Bull's side and more straddling his lap, hands resting lightly on his chest. It is as good a place to start as any. ]
[ There's a low hum in the back of his throat as Zevran slides around into his lap, and one hand cup against the curve of his hip to draw him in, give him balance. And alright, maybe to get his fingers curled in the hem of that borrowed shirt.
Alistair's? Probably. If they were sharing a room, sharing shirts doesn't seem far off.
Not important right now. Far more important is leaning in, grazing his lips against Zevran's temple with a warm huff of breath. ]
...really wasn't joking about it looking good on you.
[ He goes where he's pulled, ignoring the odd twist in his stomach at Bull coming in close on his bad side. But it is only Bull, only someone he has come to trust likely a touch more than is wise. Bull is a spy and a danger in his own right-
But honest enough. Such thoughts have no place here. He melts little by little at the touch of his lips, listing into them easily enough. ]
I have not seen myself in a mirror since- so I shall take your word for it.
[ There's a husky note to the chuckle that follows, before Bull's hand slips up beneath Zevran's shirt and palms skin, the lines of lean muscle at his hip. ]
Course, I think I'll need to see all of you to get the full picture. To say for certain.
[ And teeth nip gently at the lobe of his ear. Nothing too sharp, nothing intended to hurt. Not tonight. These are tentative steps he's leading him in by. ]
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[ There's not so much as a flicker behind his eye, just the certainty there. ]
Every shadow hides an agent. Every person you think you know? Might be another knife waiting for you to turn your back.
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[ Down an eye, not sleeping well, alone in his room, unarmed more often than not, shaken to the bone, uncertain of his reality-
He's easy pickings. Only a mix of respect, fear, and loathing for the Crows kept those he brought with him from doing the same. ]
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[ More or less, in any sense of the word. But he could come back from this. It'd have to be his choice, and things would never be the same again.
But it was possible. There was fight in him still. ]
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[ A near thing, that. How much longer could he have held out? ]
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Well.
He draws back, far enough to see the shadow play over the patch he's got covering his eye. ]
And I'd do it again. What happens now is up to you. But you get the choice, at least. Besides, wouldn't want those bastards knowing they'd won, would we?
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With more hesitance than it probably deserves, Zevran tugs the patch off, blinking in the light. Nothing on the one side but a milky, film over his eye, scars along his cheek and brow. ]
I have spent most of the past decade living in spite of them and what they made me to be. Letting them win now...would be a poor end.
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[ The corner of his lip twitches up, and his fingers brush away a lock of hair, tucking it behind one pointed ear. ]
You don't get so lucky with flails. Wasn't much left when they got around to patching it up.
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[ He could have lost it, without the swift intervention of the mage. He shivers under Bull's hand- unaccustomed to contact from the blind side. To having it bare. Tentatively he reaches up to rest his hand under Bull's eyepatch- not demanding, not asking. ]
And the cut was not meant for the face. They were attempting to slice Alistair's throat. I always tell him to mind his left flank. He's never learned.
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[ There's a moment's pause before he bends his head, just enough that the elf could pull the patch aside if he wished. It's a mess underneath, but he's sure Zevran's seen worse.
Tends to make most people flinch, though. Knotted scar tissue dipping low into an empty socket. Doesn't even feel like anything, anymore, though he sure as shit remembers the pain.
Remembers where he took it, too. Which was more important than a missing eye. ]
Let me guess. He feels responsible.
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But it is as Bull said. That's why they have two. Suddenly all his knotted, gnarled vanity feels horribly foolish. Moved, he leans up as much as he can reach, moving slow as it is on Bull's blind side- and presses his lips to the scarred mass before letting the patch fall back into place. ]
The more he apologizes for it the more I am tempted to let him take the blame if only so he would stop apologizing.
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[ Bull chuckles, thumb tracing against Zevran's cheekbone, before one eyebrow hikes higher. ]
So...how bad would you take it if I said you still look hot? I mean really hot.
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[ Sex was part of the job, part of his training, part of his identity for the better part of thirty years. ]
But I suppose I could...learn to work with this.
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[ Said even as his palm curves, cupping against his cheek, warm and calloused. It's not a lie, either. Zevran could definitely learn to work with the new mystique of his scars, learn to build a new mask for himself.
Those walls made things safer, or at least made it a little easier to be around people without snapping. ]
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[ But he could attempt to own it, he supposes. Wear it with as much pride as Bull does. ]
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[ He doesn't point out that Zevran's not a whore, because when you spend your life honing your sexuality for the job the differences really don't amount to much. ]
I'd still buy you dinner.
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[ He arches a brow, testing the idea. Speaking with someone over the stones- being intimate in that way- that he has done happily to sate the renewed urge. Having someone with him like this-
If anyone would be kind, if anyone would be able to understand him twitching away in the middle of it- it would be Bull. ]
And what more than that?
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[ He sees it there, a flicker in his gaze. It's potentially dangerous, nothing he'd suggest on his own, not with Zevran still riding high on paranoia.
Then again, they have an understanding here, in this room. He has an out if he wants it, always. And he wasn't kidding about the scars being incredibly attractive, either.
Bull's lips curve, his head tilting as his fingers graze down the edge of Zevran's face. ]
And after that...whatever you need. Wherever you need it.
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Not with someone else, anyone else, since he'd been taken. He hasn't wanted to. He hasn't felt desirable enough to reach out- to contact anyone that might indulge him.
He turns his face into Bull's hand, lips pressing against his palm, his fingertips. ]
You. Here. No ropes, not this time.
[ He'd been bound and hung like meat fit for carving in that room. It'd be a long, long while before he could take it. ]
No knives either.
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Want to take this slow?
[ It's not a derisive question by any means. ]
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He won't throw himself from the battlements but he'll be frustrated himself for a fair while. ]
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Remember the word? Still works the same. You want to stop, we stop. No questions.
[ Truth be told, he wouldn't be all that surprised if he did, this time. Lot of tripwires and traps laid out there by what the Crows had done. But this isn't just solving a puzzle anymore.
This is trust, at a time when Zevran doesn't have a lot of that to spare. ]
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[ Katoh. One word and it would stop, no questions asked. Not that there'd be much question as to why with all the little cuts and fine wires they'd threaded through his mind. He wanted to fall.
This is the safest way he can think of to do so.
As tentative as he's been before, Zevran squares his shoulders before sidling around- less at Bull's side and more straddling his lap, hands resting lightly on his chest. It is as good a place to start as any. ]
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[ There's a low hum in the back of his throat as Zevran slides around into his lap, and one hand cup against the curve of his hip to draw him in, give him balance. And alright, maybe to get his fingers curled in the hem of that borrowed shirt.
Alistair's? Probably. If they were sharing a room, sharing shirts doesn't seem far off.
Not important right now. Far more important is leaning in, grazing his lips against Zevran's temple with a warm huff of breath. ]
...really wasn't joking about it looking good on you.
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But honest enough. Such thoughts have no place here. He melts little by little at the touch of his lips, listing into them easily enough. ]
I have not seen myself in a mirror since- so I shall take your word for it.
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[ There's a husky note to the chuckle that follows, before Bull's hand slips up beneath Zevran's shirt and palms skin, the lines of lean muscle at his hip. ]
Course, I think I'll need to see all of you to get the full picture. To say for certain.
[ And teeth nip gently at the lobe of his ear. Nothing too sharp, nothing intended to hurt. Not tonight. These are tentative steps he's leading him in by. ]
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