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Gahruil laughed and Zevran’s chest felt like it was stuffed with clouds or something equally embarrassing to admit. They clamped their hand over their face and he drew it back towards him. “You mock your poor teacher?” he asked, clasping their palm to his chest.
You’re the one who fell over.
“You are the one who marked their target correctly for the first time,” he said, dragging them bodily over to kiss. Kisses weren’t a standard part of Crow training— unless they were, but he would not be going over any of that with Gahruil. Tonight he would teach them how to mark their targets during battle, and perhaps more if they continued to perform so well.
He promised them to make it fun and so far Gahruil was flushed and ready to fight. They seemed to enjoy the kisses much more than they would willingly admit, and they had been veritably showered with them. He was simply… excited, perhaps. He had promised to make it fun for them to learn what he had suffered to know, without realising that he would also have the opportunity to enjoy himself.
And he was.
There was something invigorating about throwing knives when the only penalty was more laughter— not even aimed at him! Gahruil laughed because they were enjoying themself, because they liked watching him do all his knife work, and because he was endlessly impressed with the nimble brutality of their style. They reminded him of Taliesen, before… everything.
That was putting a damper on the fun, so he tried to refocus onto his elven friend.
He pulled them back to front, kissing their neck as he stretched their arms out in front of them. They snorted, taking their hands back so they could sign. Do you always train people like this?
“What can I say? I like to take a hands-on approach,” he teased against their ear. They were both facing a training dummy looking a little worse for the wear and made of one of Alistair’s old shirts. Most of their wrath would be directed at the poor fellow, who was a much better target than Zevran. “Now, look at our poor straw man. He is your target— what shall we call him?” he asked.
They thought about it far too long. He was about to call the thing something silly in Antivan to try and lighten the mood, but Tabris opened their mouth and whispered Vaughan before he could. He rested his chin on their shoulder. “You don’t sound fond. Will we be meeting him in our great and terrible journey?” he asked.
Not without a shovel, they returned, not allowing their gaze to falter. He grinned, which seemed to shake them out of the mood they’d dropped into.
“Hardly an appropriate target, if he has already been dealt with.” He was a little apprehensive, honestly, of what Gahruil would be capable of if their blossoming skills were directed with so much ferocity. The backfire could cause injury at best. “Note that I am making this suggestion quietly so our bastard friend does not hear, but you seemed… less than fond of Arl Eamon,” he suggested.
Shem cock, they agreed.
“Suppose the opportunity to fight him came about…” he suggested. One brief, deep breath like he’d taught them, followed by a short anchoring in front of him, and then… again. They cast their mark again, perfectly, like they were born to do so. The red burn of it glowed like embers on the sad fool, and he grinned. “You are a natural,” he told them proudly, urging them to relax again. Too much repetition caused a sort of stiffness in the limbs that he hoped to avoid— the burning was… unpleasant.
Can we keep going? They shot their hands out again but he caught them.
“Relax, Tabris. Tomorrow night we will practice again the mark, and then perhaps move on.” He hadn’t thought they could go so quickly, but neither had he thought an Alienage elf would even be interested in the skillset of an assassin. “You have talent that many young hopeful Crows would kill for.”
Are we gunna go through everything you learned? They followed him to the bedrolls, fairly buzzing still as he helped them out of their armour.
“Many of the things I learned… would not serve you, I think,” he offered tactfully, undoing a buckle and letting their chestpiece fall. Beneath, their shirt was wrinkled and some shade of brown, which was exactly what he had expected of Ferelden fashion.
Like the whole… sexy thing? He snorted, momentarily ducking his head to try and pretend as if he hadn’t.
“Yes, that,” he conceded. “Although it is not a talent all Crows possess. Many couldn’t flirt their way out of a wet paper bag.” Taliesen, for one. Rinna, for another. He had carried the sex appeal for that relationship.
I could do that. They even looked fairly confident, which… was not how he had envisioned them when the topic of seduction had come up. The Warden did not have sex— he had trouble envisioning them as a sexual creature at all, frankly.Good looking, certainly, and well within his standards for a partner, but not sexual.
“Oh?” He sat still as they climbed up on him, still half in and half out of armour, putting their arms on his shoulder and grinning at him. “I like your direction,” he told them, coaxing them in to kiss him. They did, slow for his tastes but thoroughly. They were no expert kisser, admitting that Zevran was the only one to give them so much practice, but… it was good. It was the appeal of another’s mouth, the appeal of Gahruil even if they were a bit shyer than he would usually have the patience for outside a job.
They had to stop once they set to laughing, and Zevran was trying not to join them. He had no idea what was so amusing about the situation, but Tabris was trying to smother sounds that bordered dangerously on giggles into his collarbone while he looked up at the night sky, grinning like a fool.
“A natural,” he declared again.
“I’m awful,” they whispered against his neck, still laughing.
“Oh, no. Tonight I have been thoroughly seduced,” he assured them, rolling over and leaning over them (like he’d been taught, but with less… purpose, he supposed, less intent). He remembered, suddenly, that they were only on the bedrolls by the fire and not in their quiet, private tent. No doubt Wynne would have some finger wagging to do when Gahruil next went to sit with her, and the lecture Zevran would have to listen to from Alistair about his intentions towards Tabris. “A skill any Crow would kill for,” he assured them, deciding the ignore the others.
Don’t worry. You’re already pretty good, I’m sure we can teach you, they promised.