Reverse-Cowgirl Diplomacy

The moment they walked through the massive doors to Redcliffe Castle, Zevran knew he would be passing the night without the Warden's company. Even if she hadn't warned him on the approach to the castle that she'd likely be sleeping with Bann Teagan that night, the heated expression in the bann's eyes when he saw her spoke volumes. The bann practically devoured her with his gaze, and Zevran smirked at proof of yet another of the Warden's conquests. He wondered how many that made, but he'd long since lost count.

"Have you found the Urn?" Teagan asked anxiously.

"No," Elissa replied. "Brother Genitivi was not in Denerim, and his assistant had been murdered. We found some notes that said he was heading into the southern Frostback Mountains, to a small village called Haven. We'll be departing tomorrow to go into the mountains ourselves in search of him. We're merely stopping here in Redcliffe to resupply and beg for baths and a night's rest in a proper bed before we continue on."

"Redcliffe Castle is at your disposal, whatever you need," Teagan vowed fervently and summoned a servant.

For such a grand castle, supper was a simple affair. Managing things in the arl's stead, Teagan explained, he had decided to conserve what resources he could. There would be no more lavish suppers until the Blight was stopped, he'd decreed. Instead, as much food as possible was being preserved and laid away in storage to feed the army they would gather to fight the darkspawn horde. Elissa nodded in approval, listening closely to the bann's plans and the measures he was putting in place, asking questions, making suggestions. They discussed training regimens for the knights and Redcliffe militia, the numbers of their forces, which other banns and arls had sided with Teagan in opposition of Loghain and how the civil war progressed.

As she and Teagan talked, Zevran's attention turned to Alistair, who was watching Elissa in fascination. He wondered if the other Grey Warden had ever realized before that, whatever her sexual skills might be, Elissa Cousland had been born and bred to be a ruler of men and a master of affairs of state. She understood the intricacies of estate management, and the bann's conversation made sense to her in a way that it did not to the rest of them. He thought upon the things Elissa had told him, about the plans she and her parents had made before they had died, and realized that had she succeeded she would have made a frightfully good queen.

Zevran wondered if the bastard prince was aware of that, as well.

When supper was concluded, Bann Teagan rose and invited Elissa to join him in the arl's study to continue their discussion of the state of Redcliffe's readiness. Knowing he'd not likely see her until morning, he decided to turn his attention to other matters. Namely, a certain challenge that had been laid before him.

Like an assassination, a well-conducted seduction relied largely on becoming familiar with the mark. Learning her routine, her preferences, where she would be and what she would be doing, then waiting for the perfect moment to catch her alone. Thus it was that he made his way to the the library of Redcliff Castle, pausing briefly and silently outside the arl's study to listed as the Warden explained to a perplexed Bann Teagan that it was not his child she carried. He did not linger, but made his way on, finding himself in a large but strangely crowded room lined with tall bookcases and littered with comfortable chairs and chaises. He perused the spines of dusty tomes that held little interest for him. The library seemed particularly sparse on racy material, and moldy histories were not to his taste. Nonetheless, he finally chose a volume at random and settled in one of the chairs to await his mark.

Presently, she arrived, bundled up so very properly in her concealing robes. She had laid aside her staff and instead bore a bottle of wine and a silver goblet no doubt borrowed from the Redcliffe cupboard. She paused as she entered, spying him.

"Zevran!" she exclaimed, startled. She looked flustered for a moment, but quickly regained her equilibrium. "I...hope I'm not intruding."

"Not at all," he said, leaning back casually in his chair. "There are plenty of books to go around, yes?"

"I must say I'm rather surprised to see you here," Wynne said, choosing a chaise far from him and setting her wine bottle upon the small table beside it. "I had assumed you would be with the Warden."

"Ah, no, I am afraid she will be warming Bann Teagan's bed tonight, not my own," he sighed.

Her eyebrows arched at that. "And...you're not upset?"

"Why should I be?" he shrugged. "I have no claim on the Warden, nor she on me. We pass our time together on the road because it is more pleasant than sleeping alone in the cold, nothing more."

"I see." she frowned a bit, as though displeased by his answer. "I had assumed the two of you had...feelings for one another."

"And so we do," he said with a smile. "We enjoy each other's company greatly. I have tremendous respect and affection for the Warden and I believe she is fond of me as well. But there is no quaint cottage in the country in our future."

"And is the Warden aware of these facts?" she asked sharply.

"Insistent upon them might be a better description," he answered frankly. "Which is why she is with Bann Teagan tonight, and why when the day comes that I again sleep alone on the road, it will be because our beautiful Warden will be in Alistair's tent, rather than my own."

"I see," Wynne said again. She sat very erect on the chaise as she uncorked her bottle of wine and filled her goblet. "At least Alistair will be pleased. In a way I'm happy to hear you say that," she told Zevran, sampling the rich red wine, unaware of the way his eyes darkened when she licked a droplet off her lips. "It certainly makes matters less complicated."

Zevran gave her a sly smile, "You need have no fear that she'll be jealous of my passion for you, my darling Wynne."

She gave him a repressive look, then shook her head in resignation and took another drink of her wine. With a sigh, she mused, "That still leaves me wondering why you're here in the library. I hadn't taken you for much of a reader."

"It's true, I am not," Zevran said, sitting up and tossing his book aside. "Perhaps I merely came for the company."

Wynne paused, then, and Zevran could see her working out the various ways she could respond; whether to pretend she hadn't noticed the attempt at flirtation, or to discourage it, or even to respond to it.

"But you were alone when I got here," she said at last, cautiously.

"This is also very true," Zevran acknowledged, rising and crossing the room slowly, advancing toward her. "However, I happen to be aware of the fact that Sten carries an extra pack when we travel, because it is too heavy for its owner to manage--as books and bottles of wine so often tend to be. If I wished to find the owner of that pack while we are here in the castle, where might I first consider looking?"

"And why on earth would you wish to find me?"

Zevran bent low over the table upon which her goblet rested and lifted it. "Perhaps I simply wanted to sample your vintage," he said with a smile, taking a sip of the wine.

Wynne stared at him for a long moment, aghast. And then she began to laugh, clutching her sides with tears streaming down her cheeks. When she finally subsided to breathless giggles, Zevran was still watching her with a calm smile curving his full lips.

"Maker's breath!" she gasped, wiping her eyes. "That may be the very worst line I've ever heard, and I've heard a great many in my day."

"Ah!" he answered brightly, pleased with himself. "But I finally succeeded in making you laugh, yes?"

Without invitation, he perched on the foot of her chaise, forcing her to choose between moving her legs aside or bearing contact with him. After a long moment, she moved, curling her legs up beneath the skirt of her robe.

"Yes," she said with a smile, taking back her goblet. "Yes, you did at that. Now honestly, Zevran, what's all this about?"

"You don't believe I wish to be with you."

"I believe very little you say, and with good reason."

"I have been a very accomplished liar in my past, it is true," he conceded. "But if the Warden trusts me, then why should you not?"

"The Warden is young and rather wild. Her preference for your company has, I suspect, very little to do with your honesty or lack thereof," Wynne answered, frowning again.

Zevran took the goblet from her hand. "And that is where you are wrong. This is good," he announced, taking another sip before offering it back to her. "The Warden's preference for my company has everything to do with my honesty. She knows that when I say I will not complicate her life with unreasonable demands, and that I will step aside when she finds her affections engaged elsewhere, I am sincere. Now, thus having proved my honest intentions, I shall tell you quite frankly that I very much desire your company tonight, Wynne."

"Zevran, I have a son older than you are."

He gave her a wolfish smile. "All that means to me, my dear mage, is that you have lived long enough to understand how and when to find pleasure."

"You're not serious!" she said incredulously, finishing the wine in a single gulp. She gave him a narrow look. "Why?"

"Can it not be because I find you desirable?"

"No, I don't think it can. If you merely wanted a pretty bedmate in the Warden's absence, you could try to exercise your wiles on Leliana or Morrigan."

"Truthfully, I have always had a bit of a weakness for mature women," he said at last. "There is an honesty and openness to their desires that is very refreshing. No little girl games. Then there is also the fact that I find myself quite distraught by your situation."

"My...situation?"

"Yes," he nodded gravely. "Since you made it known that you did, in fact, die in your fight with the demons at the Circle Tower, and that you are being kept alive by a Fade spirit and have no idea how long you have remaining, I cannot stop thinking what a tragedy it would be if you were to pass from this life without having known at least one last night of glorious passion."

"I don't want sympathy, Zevran," Wynne said stiffly.

"Not sympathy," he grinned, "self-pity. The tragedy would not be yours, but my own."

She laughed again at that, shaking her head in disbelief. "I can't decide which of us is madder, you for proposing this or me for considering it."

He moved closer to her then, scooting up the chaise. His hand fell upon her ankle and very deliberately began sliding up under the hem of her robe. "I wish to give you pleasure, Wynne," he murmured, his voice low and husky with passion. "I wish to bury my face against those magnificent breasts while you let your hair down to cascade over us in all its silver glory. I wish to sip the nectar from between the soft, pale thighs you hide so well beneath these robes as you thrash and moan above me."

Wynne's eyes drifted shut, and sensing his advantage, Zevran pressed further, leaning over her as his hand moved past her knee, past the top of her practical woolen stocking to the silky flesh of her thigh. "Tell me you do not want it as well, sweet Wynne. Tell me you do not want to taste passion again, to feel lips pulling on your nipple, or the thrust of a man between your thighs once more."

When she opened her eyes again, Zevran was a mere breath above her. He could have claimed her lips but instead he hovered there, awaiting her move. She stared at him, her pale blue eyes wide and solemn for a long moment, and then she turned, uncurling her legs to give him better access, and pushed herself up to meet his lips.

She tasted of wine and cinnamon, at once spicy and earthy. Her lips were soft and full and talented as they slid across his. With a sigh, the mage lifted her arms, let them twine around his neck and Zevran gave a small, satisfied moan into her mouth. The skirt of her robe began to bunch before the progress of his hand as he pushed further, moving up between her thighs, and his finger lightly stroked the wet crotch of her smallclothes.

The effect was immediate. Her thighs fell open and her hips lifted, her back arching, seeking more pressure. Instead, he teased her with another light stroke, and then another, until she gave a frustrated growl and grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand up as she ground against it firmly.

"Do you not wish to go to your room, or mine?" he asked with a small laugh at her eagerness.

"No," she answered firmly, pushing him away. "If we stopped long enough to do that, I might have time to rethink this entire foolish notion."

"Ah, but what should happen if someone comes running because I have made you scream?"

Her eyebrows arched at that. "Considering how many nights you and the Warden have kept the entire camp awake, I suppose that is a very valid consideration. However," the air pressure in the room suddenly increased and he heard a low hum. When her hand reached out to touch the skin of his face, he could feel the cool vibrations of her power, "how do you know it won't be the other way around?"

Zevran gave an eager chuckle. "Oh, I can only hope it will be!"

She rose, looking flustered, but then she set her jaw in determination and met his eyes squarely. "Come along, then."

She did not acknowledge him as he followed her to her room. The door to the arl's study stood open as they passed, revealing the room was dark and empty. A soft cry from behind the door to the bann's bedchamber when they later passed that as well told the rest of that particular tale.

She closed the door of her chamber behind him after he entered, and when he turned, she reached up and released the modest bun pinned at the back of her head. Her hair was exactly as he'd imagined it, a soft, flowing fall of silver than spilled down over her shoulders and tumbled past her bosom. He sighed happily when he saw it, stepping close to her, lifting a lock to let the soft strands trickle through his fingers. He leaned in to smell it and realized she must have bathed once she'd been shown to her chamber, for it was still slightly cool and damp in places and smelled strongly of the lavender soap he'd found in his own chamber. He buried his face in the softness and breathed deeply, and then turned his head to place a soft kiss on her neck, just below her ear.

Wynne tipped her head to the side, giving him better access, and Zevran took that as his cue to continue trailing kisses down her neck until he came to the damnably high collar of her robe. He lifted one hand to the tie there, but paused, lifting his head and searching her eyes for permission.

She pushed him away and kept pushing, steering him toward the edge of the bed. It bumped the back of his knees and when she continued to push, he let himself fall upon it, let her tower over him. Not content to allow herself to be passively seduced, was Wynne, he thought with a smile, settling back and giving over his role as aggressor. She opened the front of her robes and spread them wide; beneath, her dark nipples strained against the thin white shift she wore. Her eyes intent upon his, Wynne lifted her chin proudly, as though daring him to find fault.

Finding fault was the last thing on Zevran's mind, so close to the paradise he'd dreamed of. "May I touch you, sweet Wynne?" he asked softly, and she sat beside him, perched on the edge of the bed and turned to face him. Zevran rolled up on his side to face her more fully, still compliantly below her leave, and his hand came up. His palm cupped her full, pliable flesh. His thumb brushed over the nub of her nipple and felt it rise and grow hard. He closed his eyes, learning her softness by feel, gauging her reactions by the intensity of her sighs. Beside him, he felt her shift restlessly when he gently tweaked her nipple, not quite pinching, but pulling firmly with his fingertips. When he looked at her again, her eyes were closed, her head back, and she moved, rising and falling, arching into his hands in slow, wavelike movements with each deep breath.

"Ahh, beautiful," he murmured as he beheld the crests of her nipples firm against her shift, as though seeking to burst through. "These breasts have haunted my dreams," he confessed. "They should be immortalized on statues, not buried beneath dowdy robes."

"If you keep that up," she answered tartly, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, "I'll start to doubt your sincerity again."

"You may check for yourself to see just how sincere I am," he answered, nudging her with his hips. Almost of their own volition, her eyes flicked toward the kilt of his leather armor, which unfortunately was too concealing to allow for a proper demonstration of his...sincerity. He was debating whether or not to take a more active approach when her hand pushed its way up under the leather pleats and found his cock straining for freedom within the protective pouch that contained it. She found the tie at his hip by feel and then her hand stroked him with firm pulls.

Zevran let himself be passive, let himself be pleasured, lying back with no more effort to control her actions than the occasional gentle push of his hips to meet a particularly pleasurable caress.

Her hand abandoned his cock, extracting from him a low moan of disappointment, but Wynne pushed herself to her feet. She untied the sash that kept her robe wrapped at her waist. The long garment fell open and she shrugged it off her shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in heavy folds. Then quickly, as though afraid she might change her mind, she set her jaw stubbornly and lifted the hem of her shift, tugg it up and over her head.

She was not young, and though she was fit and trim, she had not the uplifted firmness of a young woman. Hers was a body that had been comfortably lived-in for decades, no hard edges or ridges. No, she was all soft, pliant curves and exquisitely silken, fragile white skin. It was a body he could sink his fingers into, could mold with his hands, one which could cushion his weight or settle softly above him.

Her jaw was still defensively rigid when he pushed himself up off the bed, sliding to the floor and sinking reverently to his knees before her. His hands stroked up her soft white thighs above the practical black woolen stockings. He placed a kiss on the very slight, gentle ripple of loose skin at the bottom of her belly as he rolled her stockings down her legs. Then he peeled away her damp smallclothes and the aroma of her struck him, earthy and rich and nearly overwhelming with his face so close to her steel-colored curls. When she stepped out of her smallclothes, his hands came to rest on her hips, his fingers kneading a backside that sagged surprisingly little. Her hands cupped his head and drew him in, and he breathed deeply of her scent as his lips brushed her damp curls.

His tongue began questing, seeking, and he knew he found his goal when she bucked her hips in a sharp spasm and gripped his head more tightly. She tasted as divine as she smelled, like the air off the Rialto Bay in Antiva City at high tide, salty and fresh and alive. His fingers squeezed and pulled softly at the malleable flesh of her backside as his tongue delved, sliding between her slick folds as her knees inched farther apart, granting him greater access. He closed his eyes and gave himself over to his endeavor, sweeping over her sensitive nub with the flat of his tongue before tracing slow, firm circles around it with the tip. Her hips began to move more urgently, soft sighs trickling from her lips, and he felt her skin begin to grow warm and damp beneath his fingers. The rhythm of her hips increased, growing more irregular, and then she gave a quiet gasp. Her body shuddered and the hands holding his head were suddenly bracing more of her weight, aiding his hands on her hips in keeping her upright.

When she could support herself again, Zevran pulled back, licking her nectar from his lips. For a long moment she simply stood there, her head thrown back, breathing deeply. A flush had spread across her shoulders and chest, giving her pale skin a rosy glow. He stared up at her, waiting for her to open her eyes and make her desires known to him. He almost thought perhaps she was reluctant to look down and see him there; perhaps she was imagining or remembering someone else, another lover from another time. Or perhaps she simply did not want to recall that it was an unrepentant murderer of whom she thoroughly disapproved who had just given her pleasure.

"Thank you, dear mage," Zevran purred. "I have dreamed of doing that since I first saw you."

"If that is what you dream of in the Warden's tent, then you are a very great fool," she said, looking down at him at last. Her words lacked some of the chiding bite she might normally have given them, however.

"Perhaps," he acknowledged with an expansive shrug. His hands slid from her hips up her torso to cup those gently swaying breasts that had been fascinating him for so long. "I am your humble servant, sweet Wynne. I will worship you, just tell me what you would have of me."

She paused, as though weighing a great decision. Would she thank him for the service and ask him to leave, or see it through? Then a hard, imperious look came over her face and she ordered, "Take off your armor."

She stood still before him while he undressed, her hands folded before her in a manner that might have been called prim, had she not been so utterly and gloriously nude. He stripped without ceremony, without showmanship, unwilling to drive her away a display of with gratuitous flamboyance. When he was as bare as she was, she let her eyes sweep over him, thoughtfully, as though judging his worth.

"Lie down," she said slowly, and he crawled onto the bed, and lay in the center of his, his cock standing up in bold testament of his desire. And still she studied him, finally placing one knee upon the mattress and crawling up to loom over him.

"What was it that fascinated you so?" she asked softly. "My bosom, wasn't it? I believe you mentioned something about wishing to bury your face in it?"

"Yesss," he hissed, his gaze riveted to those full, heavy, swaying breasts so temptingly near. He attempted to lift his hand, wishing to touch her, and suddenly found he could not move.

"No hands," she said with a very small, satisfied smile. So intent on her breasts had he been that he hadn't noticed the creep of her power over him until he was paralyzed by her spell. He could feel every brush of her body as she crawled over him, bringing her breasts to his face, and he discovered he still had the use of his mouth as she lifted her own breast and brought the nipple to his lips and pressed down onto his face.

"You may have your wish," she said, amusement coloring her tone.

Thrilled with her game, Zevran eagerly opened his mouth and took her dark nipple inside, greeting it with his tongue. He heard her sigh and set to work within the stricture of her spell, drawing on her nipple with hard, firm sucks, releasing it to stroke it firmly with his tongue. He rolled her nipples to taut peaks between his tongue and palate, used his teeth, gently scraping. She shifted and brought her other breast to his face, and he gleefully lavished the same attention upon her other breast, listening to her soft moans, feeling them vibrate in her chest. Unbound, her breasts were every bit as magnificent as he'd known they would be, and as he'd promised, he worshiped them as she arched her back and pressed closer, burying his face in her soft flesh.

He was thoroughly enraptured with the work of his mouth at her breasts, but then her weight shifted, so that she lay propped on one arm beside him, rather than kneeling and hovering above. Freed from the need to support her weight, her hand slid down her body and Zevran felt the shift of her hips as her thighs parted, felt the motion of her fingers against his side as she stroked herself, heard her moans get louder and more urgent. He redoubled his efforts at her breasts, sucking and biting and licking with every ounce of his considerable skill to please her, and he felt the shudder of her climax ripple through her body. He felt some small regret that he had not been able to watch her face as she brought herself to completion, and hoped before all was done that he'd have the opportunity again.

As her trembling subsided, so did his efforts at her breasts. He focused less on giving her pleasure and more on reveling in being so close to her bosom. He nuzzled her soft skin, rubbed his face like a cat against the pliant mounds, placed gentle kisses along the slopes and curves.

His ignored cock was twitching and throbbing with need when her fingers, still slick with her own moisture, found it, curled around it, stroked down its length. He would have pushed up into her hand but he was still held immobile, forced to lay there at her mercy as she teased and caressed him. She moved away from him, down his body, watching not his face but his cock as she pumped her hand up and down, her breasts swinging with the motion of her body. The sight nearly drove him wild and soon he was begging her for more.

She looked up and a playful gleam lit her eyes as she studied him. His skin began to prickle a split second before he heard the soft sizzle of electricity. She removed her hand from his cock and dragged it up his body. Her fingers traced along his arm, raising the hairs there and Zevran moaned softly as she found his nipples. Small, tingling arcs of power passed between her fingertips and his chest, causing him to gasp and twitch.

"Ah, I knew you were a wicked woman," he said in satisfaction. "You've decided to torture me for your pleasure, yes?"

"I think 'torture' is overstating it," she answered dryly, her crackling fingers moving down his belly.

"Not even if I beg prettily?"

Raising a challenging eyebrow, her hand closed around his cock again and he went rigid as the power she channeled made him feel each one of a thousand tiny sparks dancing along his member. Her paralysis spell released him and his entire body arched and tensed as he groaned. When the sensation finally passed, he collapsed back onto the bed.

"Is that what you had in mind?" she asked with a sweet smile that did nothing to disguise the twinkle in her eye.

"You must do that again," he said, panting heavily. To his delight, she did. The hot current ran up and down his cock with each stroke of her fist, and he couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything at all except lie in a rigid arc and experience that her power.

"Again! Please!" he gasped when the power subsided. And then the next time, "More!"

"Zevran, I don't want to hurt you," she said, frowning slightly.

"Please do," he begged, and again electricity crackled along his cock, fierce as hundreds of small knives plunging into his engorged member all at once. When her other hand cupped his balls, he howled, his entire body seizing beneath her. It was like an endless orgasm, minus the sense of release, and ten times more powerful. On it went, and on, until she finally let go of him and waved her fingertips as though shaking away the residual charge.

"You are a goddess," he panted, his body shivering and covered in sweat. Whatever misgivings she might have had with using that much power on him faded and she smiled in satisfaction, pleased with his praise.

He was still recovering when she leaned down, letting her breasts surround his cock, and Zevran groaned helplessly, pushing eagerly up into channel created by that softness. "Ah ah!" she chided, as though he were nothing more than a misbehaving child, and immediately he felt her power locking him down again, pinning him to the mattress. He struggled and strained, yearning to thrust his cock up between her breasts again, but he was held immobile.

It was Wynne who pressed her breasts down onto him, pushed them together with her hands until his cock was engulfed by her soft flesh. Wynne who watched his face as she moved, sliding up and down above him as Zevran moaned and begged and praised her and her marvelous bosom, painting with lurid words a portrait of how beautiful he found her and how badly he wanted her. Just when he thought surely he could not resist coming all over her chest, a heavy weight locked around the base of his cock and squeezed tightly.

Wynne pulled away, but the pressure surrounding his cock did not. He went from being on the brink of orgasm to being unable to come even if his wanted to. He'd experienced devices that would accomplish much the same feat, even used the ring of his own fingers to stave off an impending orgasm, but never magic.

"What have you done?" he asked, his voice strangled. The tightness that clamped around the base of his cock surged, and Wynne looked mischievously smug.

"A very small touch of the Crushing Prison spell," she answered almost academically. His cock twitched, dark red and aching with the need for release. Without her spell he would surely have come just at the suggestion of having something so powerful it could crush the life from a hurlock wrapped around his cock. He knew without being told that she could injure him very badly indeed unless she was careful, and the thought only aroused him further, the danger thrilling him.

"Please," he begged shamelessly, his cock throbbing agonizingly. "I must come."

"Must you?" she taunted. "I could keep you all night here if I wished."

"Then do what you wish with me," he pleaded. "I will pleasure you all night, obey your every command, only let me find release inside you."

Suddenly he was able to move again, though the stricture on his cock remained in place, making each motion its own torture. Wynne crawled to the head of the bed and reclined there, opening her thighs. "Then pleasure me," she said, and Zevran eagerly set to the task.

His hand slid between her thighs, seeking her moist depths. She gave a gasp when his finger slid within her, and he realized she was exquisitely tight. Even one finger within her felt snug, and he wondered how long it had been for her. He ignored the frustrating friction of the bedclothes against his cock as he slowly worked his finger in and out, his hand growing wet as his palm rubbed against her mound. She hissed between her teeth when he added a second finger, and he paused, letting her adjust, creeping up to lavish attention upon her breasts as his fingers simply rested, buried deep within her.

The shifting of her hips and the easing of the tension in her thighs told him when she wanted more, and his fingers began to thrust gently, his palm rubbing against her nub with each deep stroke. As he'd promised himself he would, he laid his head against her breasts and looked down, watched his fingers working between her thighs, disappearing into her body. A brush of his thumb across her clitoris caused her body to tighten, clenching around his fingers, and he waited for her to relax again, opening to him, loosening around him.

Soon her hips were rocking to meet his hand; somewhere in the process her arm came around him, holding him close to her body, his head pillowed on her breasts. "Harder," he heard her murmur, and he obeyed, increasing the tempo. His fingers plunged into her slick channel, his hand bumping her mound with a wet, clapping sound. Wynne began to moan low in her throat, lifting her hips to meet his plunging fingers, encouraging him with throaty, growled commands.

Faster.

Harder.

More.

His thumb on her clit brought her bucking and writhing to climax, clutching at him as she thrashed and trembled. Afterward he sat with his fingers still within her, listening to the hammering of her heart between her breasts as she caught her breath.

His cock throbbed and ached, begging for relief, trapped within her dangerous spell, but again, he waited. No sooner had her shudders subsided then he found himself once more lying on his back as she pushed him down and rose above him, straddling his thighs.

She stared down at him for a long, inscrutable moment, then she shifted above him, positioning his imprisoned cock between their bodies, and slid slowly down upon him. So sensitized was he from the power she'd channeled through his cock that each inch of her sheath engulfing him was a delightful torment all its own. Her eyes fluttered closed as she rippled and twitched around him, adjusting to the feel of him inside her. Once she was fully settled upon him, she gave an experimental roll of her hips, and they moaned in unison.

She began to flex her thighs, to move, to ride him, slowly at first, taking her time, and then with more urgency. Her hands came down behind her, bracing on his thighs, arching her back and thrusting her swinging breasts forward as she sought a more pleasurable angle. Her glorious bosom swayed and moved as Zevran thrust up into her with each roll of her hips. Her fingernails dug painfully into his thighs, scored his flesh, and he growled in approval, relishing the pain. The need to come was agony, but still he could not find release. Gritting his teeth, he thrust harder, listening to her moans, seeking to bring her more pleasure.

Her power flared to life again, hot and cold all at once, causing shivers to chase across his skin. Her hand glowed with golden light as she brought it forward and reached down, stroking herself urgently. Zevran gripped her hips hard and slammed up, panting and sweating with effort, faster, harder, pulling her down into his thrusts as she flexed and clenched. Wynne began to moan, loudly, desperately, the frantic caressing of her fingers upon her clit increasing until finally she stiffened above him with a strangled cry. He watched her as she rode the waves of her climax, fearless and unrestrained, her silver-white hair whipping around her as her head tossed from side to side. She was every bit as magnificent as he'd ever imagined she would be.

Then suddenly the stricture of her spell was gone from his cock and he lost himself, thrusting up wildly as the last of her spasms milked him, exploding within her with a force that practically left him unconscious.

She did not collapse against him into his arms, though a part of him wished she would. Instead, she sat very still above him as he shrank and softened inside her, her head bowed almost solemnly as her trembling subsided.

"Thank you, Zevran," she said at last, softly. It took a long moment, but finally she raised her head to meet his eyes. "I'm not entirely certain why you chose to pursue that, but I appreciate it. I think I needed that more than I believed I did."

For a very short moment, he had considered being cruel, considered revealing to her that he'd been dared to seduce her. Something about her honesty and goodness left him feeling vulnerable and uneasy, not sure how to respond to her with his masks of sarcasm and mockery disposed of. But she did not deserve his cruelty or cynicism. He would not spoil the moment, no matter how confused it left him.

"It was my very great pleasure," he said at last, foregoing his characteristic banter in his confusion.

After a moment, lifted herself off him, settling on the bed beside him, and he hesitated, unsure whether to stay or go. We was not certain he would be welcomed to stay, but he found he did not want to be alone. Perhaps so many nights in the Warden's company had spoiled him.

Finally, a resolute look came over her face and she drew a deep breath. "Would you like to remain for the night?"

Zevran grinned, relaxing upon the bed. "Can you do that thing with the electricity again? Only harder."

Wynne laughed, and the moment of awkwardness and tension passed. "I may have a few other tricks you'll enjoy as well," she said with a satisfied smile.

"Ah! You mages are marvelous, wicked beings! No wonder the Chantry keeps you locked away. If everyone knew what you were capable of, you'd have all of Thedas at your feet, begging for your favors...." his steady stream of flamboyant praise and flattery was soon muffled as she pressed against him once more.