DA:O - Leave Me Be| Alistair/Morrigan
Title: Leave Me Be
Word Count: 3272
Rating: M
Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins
Pairing: Alistair/Morrigan
Warnings: Nudity, strong sexual content, mild violence
Disclaimer: Dragon Age (c) Bioware & EA
Written for secretbraintwin on tumblr for Alistair porn week. :)
“Leave me be!”
Morrigan’s scream carried over the camp, but it was not an uncommon occurrence. What followed after her scream faded away was however. The Warden felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, and he turned just in time to see a fireball hurtling through the air towards Alistair’s back. There was a moment where Mahariel was sure Alistair would be barbecued. He wasn’t sure if it would be humorous or tragic, but it would likely be a mixture of both.
Luckily for Alistair he managed to duck the flame. It passed over his head and smashed into a small pond of water. Steam rose into the air, and for a few moments everything was quiet.
Then Wynne was fussing at Morrigan and Zevran was helping Alistair to his feet and laughing and Mahariel’s hound was barking and running around the steaming pond and Leliana was trying to calm everyone down.
“Her aim’s getting’ a little shoddy,” Oghren murmured to Mahariel.
“Creators,” Mahariel groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, “All I want is a little peace and quiet. Shemlen, I swear.”
***
Alistair was usually joking around the campfire -- he seemed to see it as his duty to the group to bring a bit of levity to the situation, considering the solemnity of their quest -- but that night he was quiet and brooding.
Zevran attempted to lift his spirits, but the elf only earned the sharp side of Alistair’s tongue and left in a huff, rolling his eyes as he did so. He quirked an eyebrow at Mahariel and pointed towards the tent they shared, but Mahariel shook his head, letting Zevran climb inside alone.
He could have followed the elf and let Alistair steep in his own misery for the rest of the evening. In fact, Mahariel should have done that. The last thing he wanted to do was involve himself in the sordid affairs of humans, whom he had never understood and believed he never could understand. But he needed his companions to be strong, he needed them to be a cohesive unit if they had any hopes of dealing with the Blight and Archdemon that led it across Ferelden.
Mahariel shifted a little closer to Alistair. He meant to nudge the man with his boot, but he ended up kicking Alistair in the shin roughly.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“Care to tell me what that was all about?” Mahariel asked. “I’ve seen Morrigan angry before, and certainly at you, but this is the first time I’ve seen her actually attempt to kill you.”
“She’s just being a grouse,” Alistair muttered, sinking down with his arms crossed over his chest. Mahariel thought he looked like a pouting child, but he kept the opinion to himself. “I only went over there to tell her that I was sorry her mother wanted to kill her. I mean, think about that, it’s bloody awful, isn’t it?”
“What were your exact words?” Mahariel asked.
“Er, well, I don’t really remember? I’m sure it was something close to that, at least. All right... Maybe I said something along the lines of ‘it must be terrible that even your own mother can’t love you because you’re such a bitch’, but I swear I meant it in the nicest way possible.”
“Alistair,” Mahariel sighed, cupping his face in his hands. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, don’t give me that,” Alistair snapped, “She walks around all the time calling me stupid and comparing me to your blighted hound. She’s rude and mean and just a big... just a big rude mean lady.”
Morrigan did have a certain... charm, but that didn’t mean that what Alistair had said hadn’t crossed the line. Mahariel understood that Morrigan’s relationship with her mother was a delicate subject for her, and not one she broached unless it was absolutely necessary.
Of course, Alistair hadn’t been there when Morrigan had asked Mahariel to kill Flemeth for her. He hadn’t seen how her lips had trembled, briefly but noticeably. He hadn’t seen in her eyes how terribly she wished that she or Flemeth could change, that for a moment they could be two entirely new people without so much bad blood and long kept secrets between them.
I wonder what would have happened if that little girl with the mirror had kept running, Mahariel had thought, but as he had bitten his tongue with Alistair he had done the same with Morrigan. I wonder if she’d be happier, or if she could ever stop running.
“You should go and apologize,” Mahariel suggested.
“Andraste’s grace, you must think I’m stupid. Do I have stupid painted across my forehead? If I go over there she’s going to kill me. And that’s not a metaphor. You will be picking out my insides from your hair for weeks.”
“Tomorrow then,” Mahariel said, “Give her time to calm down.”
“Won’t make a difference,” Alistair muttered, “She’s always ready to kill me.”
***
Morrigan wasn’t afforded the chance to kill Alistair, or at least she had to wait several days before making another attempt. She was wounded the following morning in the Brecilian forest as their group marched back towards the Dalish camp. Mahariel left with Leliana and Zevran to find a healer, while the others stayed behind.
Alistair was the first to go to Morrigan. No one was more surprised than him, save for the lady herself, who looked up at him as if he had grown two heads.
“You’re hurt,” Alistair said.
“Oh, give the idiot boy a medal,” Morrigan muttered, “‘Tis a miraculous day! He has stated the obvious.” She waved her hand at him when he attempted to examine her wound. “Keep those filthy hands away from me, mage hunter, ‘twould end poorly for you if you touched me.”
“Do you think there’s poison in your wound?”
“No,” Morrigan said, “I will kill you if you touch me.”
“I have some herbs in my pack,” Alistair said, “If you’ll just let me... It won’t heal you, but it will stop the bleeding at least.”
“I would sooner die here with my dignity, thank you,” Morrigan said.
“Stop being so stubborn,” Alistair snapped, “I’m trying to help you. Now lie still and let me---”
“Leave me be,” Morrigan sighed.
For the first time since Alistair had met the Witch, he refused to listen to her request to be left alone. “No,” he said, “I’m going to stop the bleeding. If you want to throw a fireball at my head or turn me into a toad or... do whatever it is a Witch like you is capable of, that’s fine. I’m not going to sit here and watch you die.”
“Boy’s got some balls on him,” Oghren muttered to Sten.
“Indeed,” Sten agreed.
***
That night as they rested outside the Dalish camp, Morrigan found Alistair sitting by himself alongside a brook. He was a fair distance from where the others rested, and with her injuries barely healed the walk was painful for her, but she was a woman of principle and of pride; she owed the silly boy a thank you, and perhaps an apology. Neither of those things came easily to her tongue.
“What do you want?” Alistair asked. He probably wanted to sound angry, or at the very least terse, but he sounded only curious and surprised.
Morrigan moved to the water’s edge and sat down slowly. She didn’t expect to feel the hand at the small of her back helping her down. She appreciated it, though she never said so.
“You were kind to me,” Morrigan said, “I am not used to people... being kind to me. Least of all a mage hunter.”
“I was never a templar,” Alistair reminded her, “I never took my vows. Never got addicted to Lyrium. Never donned the fashionable skirt, none of it.”
She hadn’t come to argue about his past, or to get into a heated debate over the fact that he had been a templar the moment he had entered the Chantry and had his heart and his head filled with their lies. What Morrigan had come to do was to thank Alistiar and to apologize for she had treated him -- at least the previous night when she had thrown a fireball at his head.
“Yes, well... I came here... That is to say, I felt that I should...”
It wasn’t everyday that Morrigan expressed her gratitude. Her tongue was out of practice with soft words; if her tongue had ever known soft words at all. She was determined to get through with it, not for Alistair’s benefit, but for her own sake. She would not allow the man to have his compassionate act dangled over her head for the rest of their time together.
“Thank you,” Morrigan said, softly, “For tending to my wound.”
“It’s fine. Someone had to. The dwarf would’ve just poured liquor on it, and I think the Qunari would have just taken the entire arm.”
Morrigan didn’t understand. He wasn’t lording his act of kindness over her head. Wasn’t that what people did when they tended to someone, particularly someone with whom they had a tumultuous relationship? Morrigan had never pretended to understand the complexities of people and the inner machinations of their funny little heads, but she felt sure that she wasn’t mistaken about that.
What point did such a deed have if not to make her feel terrible about how she had treated him? Had Alistair been kind simply to be kind?
“Yes, well... Thank you.”
“You said that already,” Alistair said, “You’re welcome.”
She had done what she had come to do, save for apologizing for what she had done the previous night, but that felt unnecessary. Alistair seemed to have forgotten all about it and Morrigan was in no mood to remind him and start the whole thing over again. As fun as it was to argue with the man and throw insults back and forth with him, Morrigan was tired, and in pain, and a little confused about why Alistair was being so nice.
“You shouldn’t move around so much,” Alistair told her, watching Morrigan struggle to her feet. She used her staff as a cane, none too happy about it, but it was better than sprawling on her face and reopening her wound. “You’ll make it worse. Let me help you back.”
I need no help from a stupid boy, Morrigan thought, but she bit her tongue. If Alistair wanted to pretend he was a White Knight, who was Morrigan to stomp on his harmless little dream?
Alistair stood and offered her his arm. Morrigan accepted it, though not without looking him up and down for a few moments to gauge his seriousness.
The others looked at them curiously, except for Wynne who eyed the pair of them with a level of disdain and disapproval only she was capable of.
“Oh good,” Zevran murmured. He was sitting between Mahariel’s legs as the other elf braided his hair.
“What?” Mahariel asked.
“They’ll be sharing a tent soon,” Zevran said, “That means we will have an extra. Your hound will finally be able to have his own space and stop sleeping on my head.”
“You’ve lost your mind,” Mahariel said, “Alistair and Morrigan? I would sooner bet a sovereign on Oghren sharing a tent with Sten.”
He wondered though.
***
“Leave me be,” Morrigan whispered, even when her hands were sliding under Alistair’s shirt and pushing it from his shoulders.
“I can’t,” Alistair said. Maker, he wanted to sound sexy, or even masculine, but he sounded closer to a little boy. His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “If you really do want me to, though, I could---”
“Idiot boy,” Morrigan said. Her lips curled up and she dragged her nails across Alistair’s shoulders and chest. “Be quiet. You will ruin everything with that mouth of yours.”
Oh, Alistair wasn’t so sure about that. A few minutes later and a few layers freer and Morrigan had to agree with him. His mouth was doing wonderful things, his tongue and his teeth sending shockwaves of pleasure through her groin and stomach. Morrigan clutched Alistair’s hair, pulling his face tighter against her pussy. Alistair grunted into her slick skin, his tongue slipping and flicking at her labia as his thumb pressed in and rocked on her clit.
Morrigan’s back arched. Alistair reached up and grabbed her breast, pinching her nipple, rolling it against his callused thumb.
She gasped, but the noise was choked. Morrigan could hardly breathe. The pleasure was too intense, too much, and it only became sharper when Alistair’s tongue was inside of her. He fucked her with his tongue, too impatient and too unskilled to bother with finesse or teasing or any other multitude of things Morrigan probably preferred.
“Stop,” Morrigan panted, roughly tugging at Alistair’s hair until he pulled back from her. His chin was wet, and he was smiling in the most idiotic way Morrigan had ever seen. No one, certainly not Alistair, would ever know just how much she needed him and wanted him in that moment. No one save for her understood her heart, or even believed that she had one. But in that moment her heart was on fire and alive and so close to bursting she could hardly stand it.
“Was that not good?” Alistair asked, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “I mean, did I do something wrong? Is there... Was there something else that you---?”
“Shut up and fuck me,” Morrigan said.
Alistair blinked up at her.
“‘Tis a sad day indeed when a man does not know what to do with a woman’s body,” Morrigan said, running her hands up from her hips to cup her breasts. “Should I please myself, then?”
Alistair flushed and huffed, but at least it got him moving. He shifted onto his knees, pulling down his sleep pants low on his hips. Morrigan admired the shape of his cock through the thin cotton, lips curling higher the lower his pants rode on his hips. It was probably the first time Alistair had disrobed in front of a woman, or in front of anyone for that matter. Morrigan could see his hands were trembling a little.
He needn’t have been so shy. There was nothing about his cock that Morrigan could see him being apprehensive about.
Morrigan licked her lips and opened her thighs. Alistair moved forward on his knees, a little awkwardly, taking hold of her calves and lifting them up to rest on his shoulders. He leaned forward and pinned her knees to her chest, turning his head to graze his lips and tongue over her calf.
She had no patience for his slow and steady approach. Morrigan reached down between her thighs and took hold of Alistair’s cock, tugging on him until he slipped a little closer. Alistair gasped and sank his teeth into her calf, bucking his hips forward.
“Get inside of me,” Morrigan purred, moving her own hips to slick the head of Alistair’s cock against her pussy.
“Ah, you... Uhh... Yes, I’ll do that... Just, ah, let me---”
“Now,” Morrigan ordered, “I need it now.”
Alistair needed it as well, but he had never done... ‘it’ before. He had no idea how one went about doing ‘it’, and doing ‘it’ well. The first step, he assumed, was getting inside. That was awkward and more than a little scary because when he pressed forward and the head of his cock pushed into her Morrigan made a noise in her throat that sounded pained and he was forced to stop.
“Keep going,” Morrigan said, playing with her nipples and arching her back, “Do not stop, you stupid boy.”
He pushed in deeper, feeling Morrigan’s warm, wet skin stretch around him. A shiver ran down his spine, and he bit down again on Morrigan’s calf to keep his groaning to a more appropriate level and frequency. The last thing he needed was the Witch telling everyone that he was a screamer.
The feeling of it... Alistair had never imagined anything could feel that good. Hot, slick, tight. He closed his eyes tight to keep them from fluttering, or at least to keep Morrigan from noticing. If Alistair allowed himself to think about the fact that he was balls deep in a woman who had, just a few days earlier, thrown a fireball at his head, he would have questioned his sanity.
Lucky for him, Alistair could think of nothing past Morrigan’s pale, soft, beautiful body. She felt right in his hands, she felt right wrapped around his cock, she felt right all over.
“Faster,” Morrigan whispered. Her nails curled against his hip; sharp, mixing a little bit of pain with his exorbitant pleasure. Alistair’s breath caught, his head swam dizzily. Colors blurred and his vision narrowed. All he could see was her. All he could feel and taste and touch was her. The world outside didn’t matter. The Blight didn’t matter. Duncan and Cailan and the throne and Loghain’s betrayal and the whole of Ferelden didn’t matter.
What mattered was her body and his body becoming one body. What mattered was her voice, sultry and a little sweet, guiding him. What mattered, more than anything, was the way she slid her legs from his shoulders and gripped his hips with her thighs and reached up for him.
Alistair moved into her arms with no hesitance, letting Morrigan touch him and hold him, letting her lips press against his brow and cheeks and mouth. She tasted sweet. Alistair whined against her mouth, bucking his hips fast and hard, only aware that he was moving by the burning in his groin and the sound of their flesh slapping together.
She was suddenly tighter, wetter, her breathing far more ragged. Alistair felt her nails deep in his back, opening him up. Oh, Alistair thought, Battle scars.
“More,” Morrigan panted, “Yes. More. Again.”
What in Andraste’s name did she want again?
Whatever it was Alistair couldn’t give it to her. He slapped his hips against her a few more times before slipping out of her and coming on her stomach. It wasn’t the most graceful act, and truth be told Alistair wanted nothing more than to come inside of her, to feel her slick pussy around him when he came; but he was no fool.
Or not that big of one.
He was too exhausted to do more than fall beside her and lay panting on his side. He should have made a hasty excuse and left for his own tent, but it was hot and humid inside the tent, and he was sweaty and his muscles ached pleasantly and he could hardly keep his eyes open.
“You are not sleeping here,” Morrigan said.
“Just... resting my eyes,” Alistair murmured, “Mmm. Just give me... yes, a few moments.”
“The others will gossip,” Morrigan said, “I care not a wit for what they might think, but I know you have a reputation to think of.”
“Mmno,” Alistair grumbled, “Don’t care. Sleepy. ‘Night.”
Morrigan shifted a little closer to him, pressing her back to his chest. Even half-asleep, Alistair slung his arm over her middle, cozying up against her.
The man really was an oaf. She had absolutely no reason to allow him to remain in her tent.
“Goodnight,” Morrigan said, closing her eyes.
Word Count: 3272
Rating: M
Fandom: Dragon Age: Origins
Pairing: Alistair/Morrigan
Warnings: Nudity, strong sexual content, mild violence
Disclaimer: Dragon Age (c) Bioware & EA
Written for secretbraintwin on tumblr for Alistair porn week. :)
“Leave me be!”
Morrigan’s scream carried over the camp, but it was not an uncommon occurrence. What followed after her scream faded away was however. The Warden felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, and he turned just in time to see a fireball hurtling through the air towards Alistair’s back. There was a moment where Mahariel was sure Alistair would be barbecued. He wasn’t sure if it would be humorous or tragic, but it would likely be a mixture of both.
Luckily for Alistair he managed to duck the flame. It passed over his head and smashed into a small pond of water. Steam rose into the air, and for a few moments everything was quiet.
Then Wynne was fussing at Morrigan and Zevran was helping Alistair to his feet and laughing and Mahariel’s hound was barking and running around the steaming pond and Leliana was trying to calm everyone down.
“Her aim’s getting’ a little shoddy,” Oghren murmured to Mahariel.
“Creators,” Mahariel groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, “All I want is a little peace and quiet. Shemlen, I swear.”
***
Alistair was usually joking around the campfire -- he seemed to see it as his duty to the group to bring a bit of levity to the situation, considering the solemnity of their quest -- but that night he was quiet and brooding.
Zevran attempted to lift his spirits, but the elf only earned the sharp side of Alistair’s tongue and left in a huff, rolling his eyes as he did so. He quirked an eyebrow at Mahariel and pointed towards the tent they shared, but Mahariel shook his head, letting Zevran climb inside alone.
He could have followed the elf and let Alistair steep in his own misery for the rest of the evening. In fact, Mahariel should have done that. The last thing he wanted to do was involve himself in the sordid affairs of humans, whom he had never understood and believed he never could understand. But he needed his companions to be strong, he needed them to be a cohesive unit if they had any hopes of dealing with the Blight and Archdemon that led it across Ferelden.
Mahariel shifted a little closer to Alistair. He meant to nudge the man with his boot, but he ended up kicking Alistair in the shin roughly.
“Ow! What was that for?”
“Care to tell me what that was all about?” Mahariel asked. “I’ve seen Morrigan angry before, and certainly at you, but this is the first time I’ve seen her actually attempt to kill you.”
“She’s just being a grouse,” Alistair muttered, sinking down with his arms crossed over his chest. Mahariel thought he looked like a pouting child, but he kept the opinion to himself. “I only went over there to tell her that I was sorry her mother wanted to kill her. I mean, think about that, it’s bloody awful, isn’t it?”
“What were your exact words?” Mahariel asked.
“Er, well, I don’t really remember? I’m sure it was something close to that, at least. All right... Maybe I said something along the lines of ‘it must be terrible that even your own mother can’t love you because you’re such a bitch’, but I swear I meant it in the nicest way possible.”
“Alistair,” Mahariel sighed, cupping his face in his hands. “You didn’t.”
“Oh, don’t give me that,” Alistair snapped, “She walks around all the time calling me stupid and comparing me to your blighted hound. She’s rude and mean and just a big... just a big rude mean lady.”
Morrigan did have a certain... charm, but that didn’t mean that what Alistair had said hadn’t crossed the line. Mahariel understood that Morrigan’s relationship with her mother was a delicate subject for her, and not one she broached unless it was absolutely necessary.
Of course, Alistair hadn’t been there when Morrigan had asked Mahariel to kill Flemeth for her. He hadn’t seen how her lips had trembled, briefly but noticeably. He hadn’t seen in her eyes how terribly she wished that she or Flemeth could change, that for a moment they could be two entirely new people without so much bad blood and long kept secrets between them.
I wonder what would have happened if that little girl with the mirror had kept running, Mahariel had thought, but as he had bitten his tongue with Alistair he had done the same with Morrigan. I wonder if she’d be happier, or if she could ever stop running.
“You should go and apologize,” Mahariel suggested.
“Andraste’s grace, you must think I’m stupid. Do I have stupid painted across my forehead? If I go over there she’s going to kill me. And that’s not a metaphor. You will be picking out my insides from your hair for weeks.”
“Tomorrow then,” Mahariel said, “Give her time to calm down.”
“Won’t make a difference,” Alistair muttered, “She’s always ready to kill me.”
***
Morrigan wasn’t afforded the chance to kill Alistair, or at least she had to wait several days before making another attempt. She was wounded the following morning in the Brecilian forest as their group marched back towards the Dalish camp. Mahariel left with Leliana and Zevran to find a healer, while the others stayed behind.
Alistair was the first to go to Morrigan. No one was more surprised than him, save for the lady herself, who looked up at him as if he had grown two heads.
“You’re hurt,” Alistair said.
“Oh, give the idiot boy a medal,” Morrigan muttered, “‘Tis a miraculous day! He has stated the obvious.” She waved her hand at him when he attempted to examine her wound. “Keep those filthy hands away from me, mage hunter, ‘twould end poorly for you if you touched me.”
“Do you think there’s poison in your wound?”
“No,” Morrigan said, “I will kill you if you touch me.”
“I have some herbs in my pack,” Alistair said, “If you’ll just let me... It won’t heal you, but it will stop the bleeding at least.”
“I would sooner die here with my dignity, thank you,” Morrigan said.
“Stop being so stubborn,” Alistair snapped, “I’m trying to help you. Now lie still and let me---”
“Leave me be,” Morrigan sighed.
For the first time since Alistair had met the Witch, he refused to listen to her request to be left alone. “No,” he said, “I’m going to stop the bleeding. If you want to throw a fireball at my head or turn me into a toad or... do whatever it is a Witch like you is capable of, that’s fine. I’m not going to sit here and watch you die.”
“Boy’s got some balls on him,” Oghren muttered to Sten.
“Indeed,” Sten agreed.
***
That night as they rested outside the Dalish camp, Morrigan found Alistair sitting by himself alongside a brook. He was a fair distance from where the others rested, and with her injuries barely healed the walk was painful for her, but she was a woman of principle and of pride; she owed the silly boy a thank you, and perhaps an apology. Neither of those things came easily to her tongue.
“What do you want?” Alistair asked. He probably wanted to sound angry, or at the very least terse, but he sounded only curious and surprised.
Morrigan moved to the water’s edge and sat down slowly. She didn’t expect to feel the hand at the small of her back helping her down. She appreciated it, though she never said so.
“You were kind to me,” Morrigan said, “I am not used to people... being kind to me. Least of all a mage hunter.”
“I was never a templar,” Alistair reminded her, “I never took my vows. Never got addicted to Lyrium. Never donned the fashionable skirt, none of it.”
She hadn’t come to argue about his past, or to get into a heated debate over the fact that he had been a templar the moment he had entered the Chantry and had his heart and his head filled with their lies. What Morrigan had come to do was to thank Alistiar and to apologize for she had treated him -- at least the previous night when she had thrown a fireball at his head.
“Yes, well... I came here... That is to say, I felt that I should...”
It wasn’t everyday that Morrigan expressed her gratitude. Her tongue was out of practice with soft words; if her tongue had ever known soft words at all. She was determined to get through with it, not for Alistair’s benefit, but for her own sake. She would not allow the man to have his compassionate act dangled over her head for the rest of their time together.
“Thank you,” Morrigan said, softly, “For tending to my wound.”
“It’s fine. Someone had to. The dwarf would’ve just poured liquor on it, and I think the Qunari would have just taken the entire arm.”
Morrigan didn’t understand. He wasn’t lording his act of kindness over her head. Wasn’t that what people did when they tended to someone, particularly someone with whom they had a tumultuous relationship? Morrigan had never pretended to understand the complexities of people and the inner machinations of their funny little heads, but she felt sure that she wasn’t mistaken about that.
What point did such a deed have if not to make her feel terrible about how she had treated him? Had Alistair been kind simply to be kind?
“Yes, well... Thank you.”
“You said that already,” Alistair said, “You’re welcome.”
She had done what she had come to do, save for apologizing for what she had done the previous night, but that felt unnecessary. Alistair seemed to have forgotten all about it and Morrigan was in no mood to remind him and start the whole thing over again. As fun as it was to argue with the man and throw insults back and forth with him, Morrigan was tired, and in pain, and a little confused about why Alistair was being so nice.
“You shouldn’t move around so much,” Alistair told her, watching Morrigan struggle to her feet. She used her staff as a cane, none too happy about it, but it was better than sprawling on her face and reopening her wound. “You’ll make it worse. Let me help you back.”
I need no help from a stupid boy, Morrigan thought, but she bit her tongue. If Alistair wanted to pretend he was a White Knight, who was Morrigan to stomp on his harmless little dream?
Alistair stood and offered her his arm. Morrigan accepted it, though not without looking him up and down for a few moments to gauge his seriousness.
The others looked at them curiously, except for Wynne who eyed the pair of them with a level of disdain and disapproval only she was capable of.
“Oh good,” Zevran murmured. He was sitting between Mahariel’s legs as the other elf braided his hair.
“What?” Mahariel asked.
“They’ll be sharing a tent soon,” Zevran said, “That means we will have an extra. Your hound will finally be able to have his own space and stop sleeping on my head.”
“You’ve lost your mind,” Mahariel said, “Alistair and Morrigan? I would sooner bet a sovereign on Oghren sharing a tent with Sten.”
He wondered though.
***
“Leave me be,” Morrigan whispered, even when her hands were sliding under Alistair’s shirt and pushing it from his shoulders.
“I can’t,” Alistair said. Maker, he wanted to sound sexy, or even masculine, but he sounded closer to a little boy. His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. “If you really do want me to, though, I could---”
“Idiot boy,” Morrigan said. Her lips curled up and she dragged her nails across Alistair’s shoulders and chest. “Be quiet. You will ruin everything with that mouth of yours.”
Oh, Alistair wasn’t so sure about that. A few minutes later and a few layers freer and Morrigan had to agree with him. His mouth was doing wonderful things, his tongue and his teeth sending shockwaves of pleasure through her groin and stomach. Morrigan clutched Alistair’s hair, pulling his face tighter against her pussy. Alistair grunted into her slick skin, his tongue slipping and flicking at her labia as his thumb pressed in and rocked on her clit.
Morrigan’s back arched. Alistair reached up and grabbed her breast, pinching her nipple, rolling it against his callused thumb.
She gasped, but the noise was choked. Morrigan could hardly breathe. The pleasure was too intense, too much, and it only became sharper when Alistair’s tongue was inside of her. He fucked her with his tongue, too impatient and too unskilled to bother with finesse or teasing or any other multitude of things Morrigan probably preferred.
“Stop,” Morrigan panted, roughly tugging at Alistair’s hair until he pulled back from her. His chin was wet, and he was smiling in the most idiotic way Morrigan had ever seen. No one, certainly not Alistair, would ever know just how much she needed him and wanted him in that moment. No one save for her understood her heart, or even believed that she had one. But in that moment her heart was on fire and alive and so close to bursting she could hardly stand it.
“Was that not good?” Alistair asked, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. “I mean, did I do something wrong? Is there... Was there something else that you---?”
“Shut up and fuck me,” Morrigan said.
Alistair blinked up at her.
“‘Tis a sad day indeed when a man does not know what to do with a woman’s body,” Morrigan said, running her hands up from her hips to cup her breasts. “Should I please myself, then?”
Alistair flushed and huffed, but at least it got him moving. He shifted onto his knees, pulling down his sleep pants low on his hips. Morrigan admired the shape of his cock through the thin cotton, lips curling higher the lower his pants rode on his hips. It was probably the first time Alistair had disrobed in front of a woman, or in front of anyone for that matter. Morrigan could see his hands were trembling a little.
He needn’t have been so shy. There was nothing about his cock that Morrigan could see him being apprehensive about.
Morrigan licked her lips and opened her thighs. Alistair moved forward on his knees, a little awkwardly, taking hold of her calves and lifting them up to rest on his shoulders. He leaned forward and pinned her knees to her chest, turning his head to graze his lips and tongue over her calf.
She had no patience for his slow and steady approach. Morrigan reached down between her thighs and took hold of Alistair’s cock, tugging on him until he slipped a little closer. Alistair gasped and sank his teeth into her calf, bucking his hips forward.
“Get inside of me,” Morrigan purred, moving her own hips to slick the head of Alistair’s cock against her pussy.
“Ah, you... Uhh... Yes, I’ll do that... Just, ah, let me---”
“Now,” Morrigan ordered, “I need it now.”
Alistair needed it as well, but he had never done... ‘it’ before. He had no idea how one went about doing ‘it’, and doing ‘it’ well. The first step, he assumed, was getting inside. That was awkward and more than a little scary because when he pressed forward and the head of his cock pushed into her Morrigan made a noise in her throat that sounded pained and he was forced to stop.
“Keep going,” Morrigan said, playing with her nipples and arching her back, “Do not stop, you stupid boy.”
He pushed in deeper, feeling Morrigan’s warm, wet skin stretch around him. A shiver ran down his spine, and he bit down again on Morrigan’s calf to keep his groaning to a more appropriate level and frequency. The last thing he needed was the Witch telling everyone that he was a screamer.
The feeling of it... Alistair had never imagined anything could feel that good. Hot, slick, tight. He closed his eyes tight to keep them from fluttering, or at least to keep Morrigan from noticing. If Alistair allowed himself to think about the fact that he was balls deep in a woman who had, just a few days earlier, thrown a fireball at his head, he would have questioned his sanity.
Lucky for him, Alistair could think of nothing past Morrigan’s pale, soft, beautiful body. She felt right in his hands, she felt right wrapped around his cock, she felt right all over.
“Faster,” Morrigan whispered. Her nails curled against his hip; sharp, mixing a little bit of pain with his exorbitant pleasure. Alistair’s breath caught, his head swam dizzily. Colors blurred and his vision narrowed. All he could see was her. All he could feel and taste and touch was her. The world outside didn’t matter. The Blight didn’t matter. Duncan and Cailan and the throne and Loghain’s betrayal and the whole of Ferelden didn’t matter.
What mattered was her body and his body becoming one body. What mattered was her voice, sultry and a little sweet, guiding him. What mattered, more than anything, was the way she slid her legs from his shoulders and gripped his hips with her thighs and reached up for him.
Alistair moved into her arms with no hesitance, letting Morrigan touch him and hold him, letting her lips press against his brow and cheeks and mouth. She tasted sweet. Alistair whined against her mouth, bucking his hips fast and hard, only aware that he was moving by the burning in his groin and the sound of their flesh slapping together.
She was suddenly tighter, wetter, her breathing far more ragged. Alistair felt her nails deep in his back, opening him up. Oh, Alistair thought, Battle scars.
“More,” Morrigan panted, “Yes. More. Again.”
What in Andraste’s name did she want again?
Whatever it was Alistair couldn’t give it to her. He slapped his hips against her a few more times before slipping out of her and coming on her stomach. It wasn’t the most graceful act, and truth be told Alistair wanted nothing more than to come inside of her, to feel her slick pussy around him when he came; but he was no fool.
Or not that big of one.
He was too exhausted to do more than fall beside her and lay panting on his side. He should have made a hasty excuse and left for his own tent, but it was hot and humid inside the tent, and he was sweaty and his muscles ached pleasantly and he could hardly keep his eyes open.
“You are not sleeping here,” Morrigan said.
“Just... resting my eyes,” Alistair murmured, “Mmm. Just give me... yes, a few moments.”
“The others will gossip,” Morrigan said, “I care not a wit for what they might think, but I know you have a reputation to think of.”
“Mmno,” Alistair grumbled, “Don’t care. Sleepy. ‘Night.”
Morrigan shifted a little closer to him, pressing her back to his chest. Even half-asleep, Alistair slung his arm over her middle, cozying up against her.
The man really was an oaf. She had absolutely no reason to allow him to remain in her tent.
“Goodnight,” Morrigan said, closing her eyes.