The Antivan had come in bloodied, this time. Actually bloodied. That was a rare enough thing to be remarkable. He took bruises, of course. Even the best armour left the odd bruise here and there if ou were actually using it, and well-loved and cared-for as his kit was, it had obviously seen a fair amount of use. But it did its job, too, apparently. Because times like this, when Jack sat in the warm-lit back room, tugging stitch after stitch into place with clean and meticulous hands? These were rare.
"Lucky it didn't catch a tattoo," he quipped, looking up with a crooked little smile. "Tougher to keep the scar from showing on those, and I hear it's a trick to put the ink to it right after it heals."
"There are few I would trust to take a needle to me in that fashion." There are few he would trust to take a needle to him period, but a healer is a healer and Jack is, while strange and soft, kinder than most. And much easier on the eyes. He remains still for every stitch, barely grunting at the tug.
"Seriously? You do the ones you can reach yourself, then?" Jack pauses, little fine-pointed wisp of a curved needle perches between his fingers, smile turning incredulous before he looks back at his work. Just one or two more, and he imagines he can call it a good day's work. "Even the face?"
"As much as I am able." He would shrug but- needle in his skin. Or close to his skin. Either way the shrug is audible if not visible. "How often is it you think I take a blow to the face, mm? I know better than to risk ruining perfection."
Charmed as he is, even with a flush rising to his cheeks as his eyes linger on the bit of strong frame and lean-muscled arm in his immediate vision . . . Jack snorts.
He can't help laughing. He's never been able to, and especially with his patient preening so matter-of-factly, taking all of it seriously becomes essentially impossible.
"Of course. You and that sculpted, godlike visage," he replies, snugging the last knot and snipping the tails before reaching for the ointment and bandage to finish the dressing. "Vandalism to put a scuff on that."
And there it was. The bright warm sound of Jack's humor. Something to push the bruises and blood from the past job at bay, to help him forget how close the call had been. He poses all the more, stretching and flexing once the last knot has been made, lingering in such a way as he twist like this to make the shadows strike him in a manner he knows to be at least somewhat attractive.
"It has all that it needs. Why meddle with what the Maker granted me so graciously?"
"Classic Antivan theology." His eyes linger, not quite unashamed - there's a hint of a flush rising under the freckles dappling his cheeks - but not making any real attempt at subtlety. The lamps in the room light his work well enough, but away from where they've been aimed they throw shadows across countours, and tattoos twine out of those shadows like dark vines from the black earth.
"Mmm. Finish applying the poultice and I'll positively drown them in sweet wisdom." He tilts a smile over his shoulder and while the light is predominantly on him- he can see well enough to know that Jack is feeling warmly flustered.
A lovely little shiver sneaks down Jack's spine, and he finishes the bandaging with careful, precise hands, smoothing the wrap down snug to skin in slow, lingering passes.
As soon as he's certain the binding is finished he turns, clever hands slipping along Jack's wrists to his shoulders to the nape of his neck, tugging him in for a slow, sweet kiss. While Jack is not the oldest or most experienced healer in Denerim- he is the sweetest and the most discreet.
That he blushes so nicely is only a benefit. "Perfect work as ever, bello."
The kiss parts my gradual, soft degrees, and Jack breathes slowly, laughing under his breath. He wouldn't usually, not with a patient, but he has a sense about this one. A sense that there's no twisted-around gratitude, no mistaken intentions behind the gesture.
Zevran - Zevran always knows what he wants.
"Funny," he murmurs, coaxing at the corner of his mouth with a warm little kiss of his own. "I was about to say the same to you."
"You do not even know my work." Though he could probably guess at it, considering the coin and veritable plethora of injuries he had treated. But Jack is a clever elf, clever and soft and kind in ways that are fun to enjoy now and then. Zevran is fairly certain if he was exposed to this sheer depth of caring for an extended stay, well. He may lose his mind.
Here, though, there are better things to lose. His lips glance across jack's and trail up his jaw to his ear lobe, fingers combing back the fine strands of copper there to get to the more sensitive tip.
"I know some of it. I can see all these tattoos you've put down. I've- mm." He opens to the lips seeking his ear, skin goosepimpling anticipation to have such exquisitely tender skin vulnerable to not only lips but teeth as well. He has more than a sense that Zevran is a dangerous man, but the fingers combing through his hair have never been anything but mindful and deliberate in their efforts to bring him pleasure. And talented. Quite talented. "-I've seen a few of your other talents."
"Oh ho?" His tongue darts out to wet the sensitive skin, blowing softly after to twist another sweet shiver from Jack. The young, hopeful ones are always so responsive but Jack? Is another level entirely. He simply cannot be anything but responsive to anything- a joke, a touch, an exciting tale. But Zevran's favorite responses are when they are like this, press closed and simply exploring.
"Mmhm." He shivers palpably at the flash of wet, hot to cool, turning to Zevran fully and letting his fingertips trace up under his shirt. Every angle and curve of him is sweet submission and readiness, cant of his head to bow of his shoulders to arch of his back. They've danced to this tune enough times before to have built a store of memories, and Jack's voice thrums with the pleasure of one in particular. "Dab hand with a lockpick, aren't you?
"Mmm, do you wish to revisit that?" Jack had been beautiful, twisting and aching and keening under his hands with every twist and flick of the slim pick of metal inside him. Had Zevran been a weaker man he'd have tied him to the bed to repeat the performance until Jack was a boneless, senseless mass. But now would be just as precious. In fact- he drags his teeth along the tip of Jack's ear as his hand slides out to his toolbelt, set aside for the moment, and draws one out of it's slim sheath.
"Yeah." It's a breath and intention and a bit of a plea, and Jack shifts on the low, narrow bed with a shuddering gasp at the sparking drag of teeth. Almost too much, so close to that edge that it's perfect instead, just like Zevran's always been an expert at. Once they're clear he draws back to nuzzle the angle of his jaw, kiss the soft line of his throat as he swings astride his hips. A position they're both more than familiar enough with, and one that gives him the freedom to shuck his shirt, baring freckle-dappled shoulders and a chest untouched by ink or scar.
"Yes what, gazza?" He murmurs, looping an arm around Jack's waist to support him as they move. It's a subtle thing, the dip of his voice, the weight to his hand, the slow trace of the tip of that pick from the curve of Jack's ear to his jaw o his lips and ever downward. Along his chin and the side of his throat, following the line of his sternum and the slender arcs of his ribs, dipping into his navel.
"Yes Ser." He leans enough weight into the strong arm to bow and watch the little slip of metal trace down the length of his own body, toward the bulge rising in his trousers as Zevran takes his sweet time working his way there. His voice hushes, but there's a deliberate effort to speak properly, too. To speak as he might be bid by a man of status. "An' it please you, Ser."
"Good boy." It's not as soft and sweet and breathless as Jack could be- but they are only beginning. Part of the allure is anticipation and if there is one thing that he can weave like a tapestry- it's anticipation. The faintly curved tip of the pick dips and glides into the lacing of Jack's trousers- loosing the knot and releasing the tension bit by bit, giving just enough pressure to tease the trapped erection below. "It pleases me well, Gazza."
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antivanleather) wrote2015-06-05 09:11 pm
Alienage AU!
"Lucky it didn't catch a tattoo," he quipped, looking up with a crooked little smile. "Tougher to keep the scar from showing on those, and I hear it's a trick to put the ink to it right after it heals."
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He can't help laughing. He's never been able to, and especially with his patient preening so matter-of-factly, taking all of it seriously becomes essentially impossible.
"Of course. You and that sculpted, godlike visage," he replies, snugging the last knot and snipping the tails before reaching for the ointment and bandage to finish the dressing. "Vandalism to put a scuff on that."
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"It has all that it needs. Why meddle with what the Maker granted me so graciously?"
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He smiles, a glint of mischief in it.
"Any more wisdom for these heathen ears?"
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"There, good as new. Give or take a few weeks."
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That he blushes so nicely is only a benefit. "Perfect work as ever, bello."
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Zevran - Zevran always knows what he wants.
"Funny," he murmurs, coaxing at the corner of his mouth with a warm little kiss of his own. "I was about to say the same to you."
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Here, though, there are better things to lose. His lips glance across jack's and trail up his jaw to his ear lobe, fingers combing back the fine strands of copper there to get to the more sensitive tip.
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