He’d found it in the garden and, like a child, brought it inside. It bumped gently against the edges of the bowl he’d put it in and scrabbled its claws against the smooth copper side.

“We are to make love with that noise?” Zevran asked, half amused, half annoyed.

Alistair raised eyebrows at him.  “Sieges, crowded taverns with paper thin walls, that one time right next to Wynne while she was sleeping, and this puts you off?”

The tortoise made it nearly to the edge, lost purchase, and slid back down.

“I would of course make love in the pit of an untuned orchestra, should you be there with me,” said Zevran. “It is the sad desperation that discomfits me. Let it go.”

“I want to keep it,” said Alistair. “As a pet.”

Zevran opened his mouth to protest but Alistair chose that moment to strip out of his shirt. “You are cheating,” he said.

Alistair smirked a little, both embarrassed and smug. “Maybe.”

“Two can play this game, caro,” said Zevran. He leaned back against the bedpost and tugged slowly, deliberately at a buckle of his leathers. “Are you sure you wish to challenge me?”

Alistair laughed. “No,” he said. “No, I think I won’t challenge you to a duel of seduction.” He came over and unfastened the buckle with his long, strong fingers. “I’d lose,” he said softly and kissed Zevran, also softly.

“You’d win,” said Zevran, when Alistair drew back. He put a thumb to Alistair’s lips.

“I like it when we both win,” said Alistair, pulling Zevran’s leathers away, tugging impatiently on his shirt.

The tortoise banged its shell against the copper and the bowl tipped a little.

“Just kiss me,” said Alistair, smiling.

“Caro,” said Zevran.

Alistair wound up beneath him, as was often the case. Fucked or fucking, Alistair liked Zevran on top. Zevran spread Alistair’s legs, nestled between them, and spent a long, luxurious time sucking his beautiful cock. Alistair sighed and moaned and whimpered and muttered hoarse encouragements, and eventually Zevran applied himself with determination and fervour, driving Alistair into wordless, gasping writhing …

Clunk. Skitter. An irritated reptilian hiss.

Zevran reared up, leapt naked from the bed and reached the table in three irate strides. With an assassin’s speed and perfect ecomomy, he seized the bowl, flung open the window, and tipped the tortoise out. 

“Hey!” said Alistair, sitting up, his hair all askew, his cock glistening.

“Two choices,” said Zevran. “Go fetch your new friend back from the garden, or come down my throat.”

“I - you -” Alistair looked at the window, at Zevran, at his cock. “Throat,” he said.  “Please.”

“Your wish,” said Zevran, tossing the bowl aside, “is ever my command.”