This week's prompt (Wardrobe Malfunction) nudged my brain into gear almost immediately. And I was in the mood for something silly anyway...
If timeline stuff is of interest, this comes between Knots 10 and 11, probably a bit closer to the latter.Tight Leather ClothingAuthor: jenovaWord Count:
nothing really, though there are some implications at the end. XD
The shrieks' attack on the camp in the dead of night had left them all shaken. Leliana and Ovden had managed to rouse the others to fight, but springing from deep sleep into combat against screeching, horrifyingly quick darkspawn who could disappear from sight instantly was no easy thing. It had been surreal, an incredibly detailed nightmare.
Fortunately, they'd managed to kill the sharlocks without taking any serious harm. Alistair and Sten had moved the bodies some distance away, and there was some shuffling of the campsite to put the tents farther away from the evidence of the short battle. It was far too late (or too early,
Alessar thought) to pull up camp now and move; they would get what rest they could and leave early in the morning.Not that I think any of us are going to be able to sleep, after this,
the elven Warden thought glumly as he built up the fire.
"May I ask a favor, my dear Warden?"
He looked up at the familiar voice, meeting Zevran's inquisitive look with a small smile. "Of course."
The assassin gestured down at his leathers, the clothes he'd quickly slithered into before charging into the battle. The trousers, Alessar now noticed with a wince, were slashed, presumably by the shrieks' jagged blades. "Maker's mercy, Zevran, are you all right?"
"I am fine, cielo,
" the other elf reassured him with a smile. "Shallow scratches only, and our dear enchanter has taken care of them already. My leathers, however, have seen better days. Ah... Might I borrow something of yours until I can mend these?"
Alessar knew Zevran had another pair of breeches besides this pair — but then he remembered that those had been shredded to ribbons during a recent fight with an immense blighted bear, and were probably not worth saving. With his current pair ruined too, the assassin was left with nothing besides his armor leathers, which weren't exactly comfortable for downtime. And since Zevran's downtime was of particular interest to the Warden...
"Of course," he repeated. "I'll—"
"Excellent," the assassin said briskly. "Thank you, my dear Warden. I will try to keep the time I am wearing them to a minimum." Alessar saw the flash of a grin before he turned and ducked into the Warden's tent.
It took a moment for the potential meanings of what Zevran had said to sink in; Alessar sat down and hoped no one was paying him any mind, and that the flickering firelight would obscure his sudden blush.
Zevran was, of course, quite familiar with how Alessar usually laid out his tent, and where he kept his clothes. He chuckled to himself as he carefully rooted through the Warden's pack. The soft, chestnut-brown doeskin breeches... he would leave those to Alessar. They fit the other elf beautifully and Zevran would rather enjoy the view than wear the things himself. The darker calfskin trews, on the other hand, would do quite nicely.
In a matter of moments, he stepped back outside, torn breeches in hand, and simply waited
, restraining the grin that threatened to form on his lips. Alessar sat on the ground, staring distractedly into the fire, his mind perhaps dwelling on the surprise attack. That was certainly not a pleasant line of thought, and tired as they all were, probably not a productive one, either. Zevran could think of a few other things perhaps more worthy of the Warden's attention.
"Much better," he said out loud, in a tone of satisfaction. "I must say, my dear Warden, while you do not seem overly concerned with drawing attention to your attire, you certainly have an eye for quality." That was the simple truth; the calfskin trousers he now wore were unassuming, but very well-made.
Alessar turned to glance up at him, and then the glance turned into something better described as a stare. Zevran knew exactly why, as he approached the Warden with slow, deliberate steps.
The other elf was very slightly taller than Zevran, but most of that extra height was in his torso; their legs were much the same length. Their builds, however, were quite different. The Warden was broad in the shoulders and chest, that width tapering to a slender waist and legs. Zevran, though, had a more compact frame, like a tumbler, and while he hadn't Alessar's breadth of shoulder, his legs were more muscular.
It was therefore only to be expected that trousers that fit Alessar well were tighter on the Antivan elf.
"Well? Perhaps when we get to Denerim, you can show me where you find such quality goods, hmm?" he prompted the Warden.
Alessar was slow to respond. "I..." With an almost palpable effort, he raised his eyes to meet the assassin's gaze. "Are those comfortable for you, Zevran? I know we're not precisely the same—"
Zevran waved his hand dismissively. "It is no problem, I assure you, cielo.
" He could guess at the other elf's unspoken reply: It may not be a problem for
you... "The fit is just fine." A bit of contrivance came to mind, and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking at the thought. "Are you keeping the watch for the remainder of the night, my dear Warden?" he asked, though he knew the answer.
"Hm?" Alessar's mind had clearly been wandering. "Oh. No, Sten will still take the last shift." That had been decided after supper. "I just... don't expect to be able to sleep," he added with a wan smile.
"Understandable," the assassin murmured, meaning it. Between the Warden's penchant for terrible dreams and this nightmarish attack, he imagined that restful sleep would be difficult to come by for the rest of the night. But he had some ideas along those lines... "I do not know that sleep is in my immediate future, either. Might I keep you company for a little while?"
Alessar hesitated for just a moment, then nodded. "If you were going to be awake anyway..." he said with a small grin.
"And I would be, I assure you," Zevran chuckled. "Let me leave these in my tent, then." He gave the damaged leathers an additional, unnecessary fold before sauntering towards his tent, counting on the Warden's eyes to be drawn to how the borrowed trousers fit over his backside.
He glanced around the camp as he went; most of the others had retreated to their tents, though Morrigan sat in front of her own fire, gazing into its depths. Sten walked the outside perimeter of the camp, slow and grim and inexorable as the tide. Neither of them was any obstacle to his quickly-formulated plans for the rest of the night, however, and he allowed himself a grin of anticipation as he left the torn trousers on top of his pack. Perhaps he would mend them tomorrow night, but for tonight, he intended to take full advantage of his borrowed attire — for as long as he was actually wearing
He managed to keep a neutral expression as he returned to his lover's side, sitting close and leaving no space between them. It started with quiet conversation — it nearly always did, with Alessar — but the Antivan elf's hands began to wander, almost from the start. The Warden made no complaint, however. Perhaps he was aware of the distraction being offered, and was happy to accept it... or perhaps Zevran's gambit with the trousers had been the thing to convince him. Either way, he was both charmingly flushed and clearly eager when the assassin finally suggested, murmuring into a delicately pointed ear, that they adjourn to his tent.
It crossed Zevran's mind a few minutes later, as hands not his own nimbly untied the laces of the borrowed trousers, that perhaps he should keep a pair of leathers cut to this slightly smaller size. It seemed they'd be useful from time to time.