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Wynne set the bottle aside and braced herself on her hands, leaning back as she sat in the grass near the fire. She eyed Zevran appraisingly, then nodded. "Fine, young man. Time to put your money where your mouth is."
Zevran waggled an eyebrow at her. "I'd rather put my mouth where my…" He trailed off, blinking in confusion. "What did you just say?"
Wynne nearly doubled over laughing until she saw the way Zevran was frowning at her. She sighed and grabbed for her bottle again, taking a large swig before speaking again. "You're constantly propositioning me, talking about my bosom, trying to get a reaction out of me." She shrugged, handing him the bottle. "Well, you've succeeded. I'm reacting. It's been a while, you know, and I could use some…attention." She raised an eyebrow as she met his gaze. "Are you truly interested, or was it all merely idle chatter?"
He held the bottle in his hand for a long moment while he stared at her, considering. "My darling Wynne," he began, waiting a long second to see if he corrected her use of the word 'darling' again, as she had in the past. When she did not, he continued, "While I would be more than happy to give you all the attention you require and deserve, are you certain that you wish to do this? I do not wish for you to have any regrets."
Wynne laughed again, much softer this time. "I am quite drunk, as it happens, and I am certain that one or both of us may regret this in the morning, but yes." She reached over and took the bottle back from his hands, finishing it in one long sip. "Let's see if you can keep up with me, young man."
Zevran's eyes danced with delight in the reflected light of the campfire. "Oh! Never too old to be a saucy minx, I see," he teased. "Go to your tent, then. I will find someone to take the watch and join you."
He spotted Alistair's tent first and went inside, kneeling next to the Warden's bedroll. "Alistair. Wake up."
Alistair sat up abruptly. "Zevran! What is it?" He shook his head, trying to chase away the cobwebs in his head. "Are we under attack?"
Zevran chuckled softly. "Nothing of the kind, my dear Warden. I merely need you to take over the watch."
The other man narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Why?"
Zevran considered lying, but there didn't seem to be much point. He assumed Alistair wouldn't believe him, anyway. "I am going to fuck Wynne, and I need someone else to take over the watch."
Alistair blinked at him for at least ten full seconds. "What?"
Maybe he was being too crude for the virginal young Warden? "Wynne has invited me to her tent," he explained, helpfully adding, "For sex."
"Fine, don't tell me," Alistair said gruffly, throwing off his blanket. Zevran was intrigued to see that the man slept only in his smalls. "Do you mind?"
Zevran stared at the man, his attention exactly where Alistair didn't want him looking. "No, I don't mind at all," he teased.
Alistair glared at Zevran, and his next words dripped with sarcasm. "Would you kindly leave my tent? I will be out to relieve you in a moment."
The assassin nodded and left the tent, chuckling. He sat on a log by the fire for a few minutes until Alistair emerged, fully dressed and looking rather grumpy. Without a word, Zevran grinned and headed towards Wynne's tent. He watched the stunned, slack-jawed look on Alistair's face with amusement as he opened the tent.
"I began to think you had changed your mind," Wynne said softly. She was sitting on her bedroll, which had been layered with a folded quilt. Her silver hair fell in loose waves around her shoulders.
"Never, my dear," he told her earnestly. "I have been waiting for this night, as you must know."
She chuckled softly. "No, Zevran, I always assumed you were joking. We travel with quite an attractive group, most of them much closer to your age. Why would you want to bed an old woman like me?"
He moved closer to the bedroll and knelt in front of her. Zevran reached out and put his hand alongside her face, caressing the soft skin with his thumb. "You are no less deserving than our companions, my dear. I told you of my friend, no? Salvail, in Antiva?"
"You did," she confirmed. "He appreciates maturity and experience, isn't that what you said?"
His hand traveled down to the slope of her shoulder. He ran his hand under the strap of her nightgown, sliding the silky fabric between his fingers. "Yes, that is what he told me." He smirked. "We are, as it so happens, of a like mind on the subject."
She let her head fall back as he moved his hands across her body. "I think you're overdressed, young man."
He glanced down at his leathers. "You may be right, my dear Wynne, but do have patience. We have all night, yes? I wish to take my time with you." He shook his head. "We do not know what the morning will bring. No doubt something very nasty, considering our line of work. Let us enjoy our time while we have it."
She smiled and raised one of her own hands, placing it on his chest. "You are a smart lad."
He felt a warmth spread through him at her words and touch. "May I kiss you? Or would you prefer to keep this more…impartial?"
She answered by curling her fingers against his leather chestplate and pulling him closer. He nearly lost his balance, but caught himself with one hand. He pressed his lips to hers, and she responded, kissing back eagerly. He moved around until he was kneeling astride one of her thighs and pressed his own thigh against her smalls. He smoothed the nightgown up around her hips, and she responded by pulling it off over her head.
"Hmm," he murmured appreciatively, one hand moving to cup one of her breasts. "I was right about these. Lovely." They were still fairly full and round, despite her age. He trailed his hand down to her soft belly, his fingers tracing the thin, white stretch marks he found there. She self-consciously moved her hand to cover them, but he took her wrist gently and moved it away. "None of that, cara mia. All of these marks, these scars, they all tell your story."
"It's not a happy story," she began to argue, but stopped when he moved further down her body to kiss and lick at the marks. She lay back on the bedroll to give him more access.
"I do not expect that anyone in our little band of adventurers has a happy story," he observed with a smirk. "Do not concern yourself, Wynne. Try to relax." He moved his mouth to her thigh, kissing softly towards the edge of her smalls. The assassin's fingers trailed after his mouth, making her shiver. "I must admit, dear Wynne, that you surprised me tonight. I had feared you were somehow resistant to my many charms."
He looked up to see Wynne's frown, but her sparkling eyes betrayed her amusement. "My dear boy, do you ever stop talking?"
Zevran blinked, stunned by the way her words sent a shiver through him. Dear boy. He hadn't really expected that, or the way it made him feel. He grinned as he tugged at Wynne's smalls, and she lifted her hips to allow him to slide them off. "Hmm, yes, from time to time. Mostly when my attentions are occupied elsewhere, as it were."
At that, he turned those attentions fully to the body in front of him. He took two of his fingers into his mouth, wetting them, and then slid his fingers along her folds. When she began to moan and writhe, desperate for more contact, he pushed his fingers inside. He leaned over to flick his tongue against her clit, and was delighted to feel her hand tangling in his long hair.
All too quickly, she was clenching around his fingers. She moaned loudly as she came, and he pulled back, sitting back on his heels to look at her. "So, my dear," he said as she was beginning to catch her breath, "is that all you desire tonight? Or would you put me to further use?"
Instead of answering, Wynne sat up. He assumed he was being dismissed and began to get up, but the woman's hands moved to his belt and began to remove his leather armor.
There were no more words between them as he fucked her, just soft moans and murmurs as he rocked into her. She clutched at his back, her long nails digging in just enough for him to feel the marks she was leaving on his skin.
When they were finished and cleaned up, she settled back on her blankets and held out her arm in invitation. He curled up against her, his smaller frame tucked in against her tall one, his head on her shoulder. She stroked his hair with her free hand as they both began to drift to sleep.
"Tell me, Wynne," Zevran began sleepily, "Do you still think that you will regret this in the morning?"
"Yes, I believe I will." She chuckled softly and pressed a kiss to his forehead. "That doesn't mean that I did not enjoy it, nor that I would not do it again."
Satisfied with her answer, he let himself sleep.
When the sunlight streamed in through the flap of the tent, Zevran pressed a kiss to Wynne's sleeping cheek. She barely stirred as the elf left the bedroll, pulling on his clothes and replacing his daggers before he left the tent.
Alistair was glaring at him, but he didn't seem to be the only target of the man's ire. He flicked his eyes between Zevran and his fellow Warden, Darrian Tabris, who seemed to be emerging from Morrigan's tent.
The other Warden blinked as he tried to place which tent Zevran had been leaving. His eyes widened, and then he broke out into giggles. Giggles. Zevran winked at him and went to sit down on a log next to Alistair, while Darrian went to sit at his other side.
Alistair shook his head, clearly still annoyed from his lack of sleep the night before. "Don't talk to me, either of you. I don't want to talk to you right now, or look at you, or, Maker help me, think about either of you."
Zevran couldn't help but laugh again, and neither could Darrian. With one last glare, Alistair stood, said, "I'm going to sleep, but just know that I hate you both," and stalked off to his own tent.
Zevran shrugged and gave Darrian another broad grin. "These humans are so uptight, no?"
Darrian threw an arm around Zevran's shoulders as they continued to laugh. The sound mingled with Alistair's mumbled complaints as their companions began to stir.