for dwc :) 26. The smell of Cologne/Perfume on warm skin, any pairing you like!
Some Zevriana for @dadrunkwriting
Mentions of nudity and sex, but not necessarily NSFW.
Zevran flung the windows open, the drapes billowing around his svelte, chestnut form, closing his eyes as the chilly mountain air cooled the sweat on his fevered and flushed skin.
Leliana watched him from the tangled sheets of her luxurious four poster bed. The colors of her room were muted compared to the garish Orlesian fashions, but what little the room contained was just as opulent. The heavy desk, towering wardrobe and bed frame were immaculately carved with matching nightingales and curling ivy. The drapes and linens were a deep, rich purple like the night sky, shot through with gold and silver threading and embroidery to match the furniture’s imagery.
Zevran returned to the bed, reclining with a shameless stretch. The room was still quite stuffy after their impromptu tryst, but Leliana had enough good sense to wrap the sheet around herself, at least. A strong arm came around her with the ease of a decade of friendship, and she let him pull her closer, resting her head on his warm, steady chest. He smelled of spices, citrus oil, and leather, undercut by the distinct tang of sex. It wasn’t even because they’d just had sex; he somehow always managed to smell like he’d just finished a rough tumble in the bed sheets.
There were very few vices she allowed herself, first as Left Hand of the Divine, and now as the Spymistress of the Inquisition. Her luxurious, if small bedroom; pretty shoes; her nug breeding; and him. She glanced up at him through the tangled red fringe around her face, blue eyes tracing the strong line of his jaw, watching his neck expand and contract as he breathed. He’d let his hair grow long, kept it in a loose braid that fell nearly to his waist, but she’d ripped the tie out almost before anything else. Now it fanned out behind him on the pillows, long tendrils sticking to the dried sweat on his chest and neck.
He was a vice she made time for. They’d been meeting like this since the Archdemon had been defeated. They never discussed it, never put a name to it. She would simply send a bird out with a time and place, and he would be there. Sometimes clothed, most times not, but always ready to jump right in. He could sense what she needed each time. Rough, haphazard, perhaps dangerously so; or gentle as a flower, tortuously slow and attentive. Either way, he was always more than happy to accommodate her.
She lifted on one elbow and stretched up to plant a sweet kiss on his jaw. His eyes fluttered open and he smiled at her, rolling into her arms and melding his mouth to hers. “Are you ready to go again, querida?” he rumbled against her lips.
She hummed and let her head fall to his shoulder, her eyes drifting closed. “Let’s just stay like this for a moment,” she decided.
“But of course, mi amore…” His fingers wove themselves through her hair, his chin rested on top of her head. She inhaled that spiced, tangy citrus again, and let the breath out with a contented sigh.