Fourth Step - back from that ledge my friend, you could cut ties with all the lies that [action]

[antivanleather]

[He'd been living in...a state of frustration the past month. Of denial. But with a week and some spent in the wilderness in tail end of winter Zevran sought to reconnect with the cold hollow that the Crows instilled in him at an early age, one that time with the Warden and several months here had worn away. Filled with food and restful sleep and pleasurable company. With sentiment. It was not something he could afford, that sentiment, that desire for companionship beyond the odd body in his bed or verbal spar. To want comrades was something a Crow did not do, and as much as he wasn't pleased by the guild wanting him dead back home he was still very much one of them. Old habits died hard after all.

Hunting, tracking, setting a spartan camp and keeping mobile- avoiding all others that might have been hunting, forsaking the company of his fellow villagers did little more than weigh upon the elf and leave him far too much time to think over the events leading up to and just after that odd valentine's shift. How he'd handled it, or rather hadn't. The conversation he'd had with Isaac just before leaving, or rather the argument. The time between then and now did little to sooth the ire it'd caused. He'd lost something there.

He didn't know he cared enough to get it back.]

[Days away and he'd intended to remain so for awhile longer but the fall of snow urges him back to the village. Bundled along with his camping gear on his back are furs that need to be trimmed and roots, dried meat and bundles of flesh from what animals he'd trapped and butchered while hunting.  It's a fairly sizable stash of hunting loot if he did say so himself, and he's far too much to keep to himself.  Perhaps after he cleans up he'll offer the finished furs or bits of wrapped meat to his neighbors, or any that stop him along his path. He waves his way in from the south, past the battle dome and up through the plaza to stop in the grocery store for a few vegetables, perhaps a bottle of wine to go with the meat he's still carrying, and then he makes his way back to community house 7.

The normally boisterous and cheerful elf is weary and quiet, without any quick smile or laugh to crack at those he passes. His leathers are grubby from time in the woods, his boots scuffed, his hair a loosely braided mess. He'll make conversation if someone engages him, and he will be polite enough, perhaps even offer a cutlet of venison or dirty joke if the company is pleasant.]

Comments

[antivanleather]

[Everything seemed to slide into place just as Jack settles against his side. Two parts of a three part puzzle that just click and match exactly how they ought to. How presumptuous of him is it to want this to be his, honestly and earnestly? To want to cling to Jack and Eugene and insert himself into what they share and have an equal stake in it? Terribly. But he is a weak, selfish elf and he wants this all the same. So he'll wrap his arms around Jack, smooth his fingers through that shaggy hair and brush his lips against his temple. Hold him close and just revel in having this for himself for a moment.]

There is not enough money in this village for me to invite that trouble upon myself otherwise. But for l-sentiment. [No. No he is not saying that word, ignore it.] For Sentiment? I would slaughter thousands were they responsible.

[It's said so light, so smug, and he's entirely sincere. It shouldn't sound romantic. It shouldn't. But somehow with the way his voice washes over slaughter it softens the horror of it. That and the hand he has against Jack's cheek and the way he's looking at him as though Jack holds almost all of his world- it could help.]

Ah, yes. You have finally caught onto my wicked plan to have you both as my personal bed warmers from now until the end of days.

[250mhzwabl]

[In no way does Jack catch that almost-slip. Honestly. He just almost-smiles to himself at something private and completely unrelated. Even the following commentary, though it settles the look of pleasure, doesn't fall entirely sour. It's a common sentiment, and honestly, he doesn't know anymore what he might be capable of if something were to happen to Eugene. Maybe he would do something unforgivable too.

Leaning his head into the work-hardened strength of Zevran's palm is comforting, though. Those things are gone, or in the past, and he's too spent to put further energy into reaching far enough to grasp either. finally breaking into a crooked, tired grin, he settles a hand over the curve of Zevran's forearm, nudging up the loose cuff of the bathrobe to trace lines of tattoo with his fingertips.]

Ever the true outdoorsman. Not a thing in the woods that you don't have a use for.

[antivanleather]

[He'll marvel at this later- how he could glut himself of his one true regret, the most painful moments of his life and so quickly slide into comfortable, cozy banter. It's Jack. It has to be. Something in that trickster's grin and teasing voice that smooths all the rougher edges away into something bearable. Smiling and warm again and so very pleased he tugs Jack close, leaning in to press their lips together in a surprisingly chaste kiss all his own.

Well.

Not entirely chaste he might dip his tongue in there along the seam of Jack's lips for a moment but honestly who could blame him?

When he pulls back Zevran rests their foreheads together, eyes crinkled at the corners and crackling a low laugh.]

Mmmm. I can imagine a great many uses for you and Eugene, Argento.

warning for suggestive language and boys laying on top of boys

[250mhzwabl]

[For his own part, Jack takes the lightened tone with a measure of gratitude, relaxing bit by bit as he rests atop Zev and follows the pattern of ink running in indecipherable circuits through his skin. The awful things are still there, of course, waiting. Maybe he's just gotten used to laughing with nightmares just out of sight, putting off facing them until he's sure of a strong arm or he can't put it off a moment later. These things will be back, but for now, there's a little breathing room, and he hums a quiet rise and fall of surprised appreciation for the darting insinuation of wet heat into the sweet press of mouths. He licks his lips when they part (if it can even be called that, brows still touching and hands grasping such clear points of leverage); they taste of him, just barely: bitter coffee and spices, apples and ethanol. Eugene could put the sensation and taste into three gorgeous paragraphs, he's sure, a symphony in the key of need.

Even before Zevran speaks, both of those thoughts heat him enough to deliberately inch closer with an intrigued smile, enough so the man can settle his head back - and if there's a bit of friction between them as he moves? It's to be expected, Zev wearing such loose clothing and all.]

Mmm. And how imaginative are we feeling today?

and doing boy things whilst laying on top of boys.

[antivanleather]

[He is tempted. So. So terribly tempted to roll Jack over and forget everything he'd said, everything he'd remembered, to wipe away every dark thought and smear the streaks of blood from Jack's heart and hands that need not be there. Some people were not suited to killing- in the Crows? They died quickly. Jack...should not have to die, but he should not have to raise his hand in violence either. It's an odd thought, the desire to prevent this illness, to keep the rest of that sort of war tucked away from him and Eugene. To wrap both of them up in silk and baubles somewhere warm and safe and far from slaughter.

It's an impossible thought, one sidetracked by a somewhat deliberate (he's certain) roll of Jack's hips. And want spikes, pure and heated and so very certain.

He does want.

But he doesn't know if he can handle what the wanting might pull from him.

It's odd, to clear his throat and let his head fall back with what will be the first flustered laugh Jack will ever hear from the elf.]

Quite, actually. But. The mind is willing, the body is sore and tired, yes?

[250mhzwabl]

[The note that enters Zev's voice is strange, and definitely unfamiliar, though Jack wouldn't say that it's necessarily bad. But it does make him pause, elbows propped against Zevran's shoulders as he leans up, carding his fingers slowly through his hair. He watches him with a different sort of stillness before - it's calmer, steadier, and he tilts his head with a low murmur only after several moments of that idle observation.]

. . . all right. [He allows himself a pinkened little smirk, and the way he settles in is positively smug, down to the picky lightness with which he evens out Zev's hair. The material end of this all is that he still has a whatever-Zev-is to bring home to Eugene, and he's not going to let him forget it in all this rubbish about being no-one important.] Don't think this means you've escaped coming back to the bed, though.

[antivanleather]

[Zevran allows himself to relax when Jack relents, enough to truly enjoy the fingers in his hair, the odd, cozy comfort of that casual affection. It's almost something he needs at this point. Something simple. Not at all demanding or harsh or scathing. Gentleness. Perhaps that was what he missed with Isaac. Rough was well and good but when that is all one has when in someone's company in any way, shape, or form? It can be trying. ]

You may have to carry me down. I did something unpleasant to my ankle yesterday and the poultice I applied this morning has worn off.

[250mhzwabl]

[Whatever Zev did to his ankle must have been ugly indeed, for it to still be bothering him even after he'd been wearing those boots of his. Jack twists around slightly, tugging up the fur to (hopefully) expose their feet. It's instinctive to want to look, and doubly so when he's checked injuries for open skin more times than he can count, in the last few years of his life.]

As long as I don't have to carry you down a rope and through a window, I think I can manage. Which one is it?

[antivanleather]

No, no. The stairs will be fast enough I suppose.

[The skin around his right ankle is a deep purple, the skin unbroken but slightly swollen like much the rest of the leg from the knee down. It'd been a rough fall, not from so high a distance but enough to be embarrassing for the assassin. Then again he had not been sleeping well.]

[250mhzwabl]

Ooh, right side? I'm not sure I'm trained for that.

[It's a valiant effort at joking on Jack's part, delivered through the wince that comes with really having a good look at the leg. It doesn't look obviously broken, but he makes a mental note to badger Zev into getting it looked at tomorrow. A poultice isn't going to do a hell of lot for anything that's burst or fractured.

Carefully, he insinuates himself out from under the fur, just enough to stretch out and grab for his mug. He can't carry his cider down and cart a man on his back simultaneously. Not without courting tragedy, anyway.]

[antivanleather]

I'm certain you will manage.

[Zev reaches over to pluck up his mug and drain it in one quick swig, taking the time to rearrange the bathrobe he wore so he'd at least be somewhat protected from the chill during the walk down. His own clothing could wait, as could the skins. Comfortable company and a warm bed took priority, after all.]

[250mhzwabl]

Picture of manly perseverance that I am? How could I not.

[Jack follows suit, downing his own drink and leaving the mug beside the empty thermos - and pausing. It's natural to not want to dwell too long and too deeply on the terrible, but he can't just sweep everything that's been said under the rug without a parting word or acknowledgement. It feels unfinished.]

Zev, I've just got to say thanks for telling me all of that. It . . . [He pauses, studying the idle weaving and twisting of his fingers, and finding the right words elusive.] . . . well. The confidence just means a lot to me, that's all.

[antivanleather]

[Honestly Zevran would rather leave it all behind for the moment. Jack's painful sincerity is sweet but...it's been said. He does not wish to linger upon it. And here is that painful sincerity brought up again and he's not certain how to handle it- so he doesn't. He leans in, quick as a snake, and presses a kiss to Jack's lips. Warmth and pressure and breath and just a flicker of tongue, intent on distracting him.]

Let us get down to your Eugene, mm? He must be wanting for company.

[250mhzwabl]

[Even if the circumstances of the kiss are bittersweet, Jack catches a shivery breath on reflex, mind blanking for a blissful split-second before reality fuzzes back in. Hell, Zev's good at those.]

. . . point taken.

[He draws back with a rueful little smile, then leand his elbows onto his knees, patting his back in invitation. He'll stand once Zev is settled.]

Hop on, then. Not too much kicking, please.

[antivanleather]

Good.

[Zev presses a soft aftershock to Jack's lips, soft and sweet and slightly chaste to show that he does appreciate this, appreciate him. And then he's crackling a laugh- he hasn't been carried like this in...well. Ever. But the logistics are similar enough. He loops his arms around Jack's shoulders and locks his legs around his waist. It leaves him sliiiiiiightly exposed in the nether regions, rubbing ever so pleasantly against Jack's back but he's ignoring that.]

[250mhzwabl]

And what, exactly, is so amusing?

[The question is all arch good humour, and Jack levers himself up with a quiet grunt of exertion, taking a second to steady as he gets a good grip under Zev's thighs and knees. It's just one more reminder that a bathrobe is probably not the ideal clothing for this, and he can only hope the little girl who lives down the first floor hall isn't out.]

[antivanleather]

I've never been carted about like this before. Even as a child I walked on my own.

[Whores did not have time to coddle him, after all. It's a funny thought, and one that keeps him far more occupied than the knowledge of the bathrobe slipping open again against Jack's back.]

[250mhzwabl]

[That's probably not too surprising, for someone who was raised into the assassination business, but there's a poignancy in having that upbringing put into such personal detail. He nuzzles against one of the arms wound across his collarbone, then sets off, carting Zev out the door and toward his own flat.]

Really? You'll have to give me your non-nostalgic analysis of the experience, then.

[antivanleather]

The Whores in the brothel where I spent my first few years did not believe in carrying or coddling the children that lived there. [He shrugs, an awkward thing to do whilst riding a man's back, but he manages.]

It's certainly a bit strange. I feel off center. My defenses are limited by our proximity and the fact I have to add you to whatever plan of attack I might need to make. Unless I use you as a shield- add in the stairs and it's a tactical nightmare.

[250mhzwabl]

[Jack would comment on the first part, save for the more interesting fact that every observation that Zev subsequently makes is absolutely spot on. He picks his way down toward the flat with deliberate steps, slow but accustomed to carrying more or less his own weight in person, pausing only to glance up over his shoulder with a careful, curious look.]

. . . you're always doing that?

[It's barely a question, but just blurting out a small epiphany seems sort of rude, somehow.]

[antivanleather]

I've been raised to do so since I was seven, Jack.

[He leans forward, resting his chin on jack's shoulder.]

If you are not constantly aware- you can be caught unawares, and you'll be fast aware of nothing ever again, yes? If you are mindful you live. If you are not, you die.

[250mhzwabl]

Well . . . your chances are better, at least.

[The words are out before Jack can think better of them, drawled in the rueful way he delivers things that he doesn't like but is awfully sure are true anyway. Comfortably, he rests his temple against Zev's.]

But I get your meaning.

[antivanleather]

That is reassuringly cynical coming from you, Argento.

[And that simply would not do, not after the talk and distractions. So Zevran rests his cheek against that of his...whatever Jack is to him and lets a hand slide down to pick at the collar of his shirt, perhaps delve inside to flick a nipple.]

Cynical and brooding is my job.

[250mhzwabl]

It's true! Back in my world, for instance, you can be the best there is, but it's still all over if you step down the wrong street or chance across a-

[Jack's earnest, ever-so-slightly-affronted defence of his cynicism is derailed by that subtle hand and quick jolt of sensation; he breaks of mid-sentence with a soft gasp and an appreciable hesitation in his walk.]

Ahn . . . Christ, Zev, that is not fair. [This is a completely mature reproachful look, with no trace of a pout. Really.] You can't do that after you beg off with a headache.

[antivanleather]

I'd forgotten they were so sensitive.

[He truly had- if only for the sake of his own sanity. He rests the full of his hand against Jack's chest, allowing the warmth of his calloused palm to make up for that spark of sensation.]

I'm sorry.