F!Amell/Alistair - Amell reacts to seeing Alistair in templar armour
anonymous
March 11 2014, 09:43:08 UTC
So, I'm sure tons of us love to put Alistair in the templar armour from the Circle Tower, right?
I'd like to see a F!Amell who either finds herself scared/unsettled by the sight and is eventually comforted by Alistair; or a F!Amell who is shamefully, confusingly aroused. Somehow meshing both is also fine.
Porn always welcome but not necessary. I have no squicks or triggers. If there is porn, would loooove dom!Alistair.
"It's not about any of that," she said, finally, lifting her arms so Alistair could peel her out of her own armor. "It's...."
"I won't think you any less valorous for whatever it is."
She could deflect: I doubt your mind ever strays far from my valor. She could drag him off behind some bushes and work the unsettled feeling in her stomach out; she could lie and say it was nothing, then challenge someone to a fight. Sten would do nicely: he was strong, slow, refused to pull his punches, and recognized that he needed practice fighting mages.
But none of that would fix anything. "My upbringing in the Circle of Magi was comfortable," she said. "I had a roof over my head. I had enough to eat, once I could bring myself to eat it. I was bright, and I had teachers. And I had templars watching my every move, waiting for me to show an inclination toward blood magic. Or demonic possession. Or a wavering in my devotion to the light of our Maker. I was bright, you see, and gifted, and a gifted mage is a dangerous mage
( ... )
"I didn't understand 'curfew.' There was a templar on patrol on the second floor, and he caught me by the back of the neck while I was sneaking -- and he picked me up, and held me in the air while he questioned me. Like I was a bundle of wheat. But he was wearing gauntlets, you see, and in the morning I had the most frightening necklace of bruises
( ... )
"Fine Orlesian cheeses," he said, when she leaned back and he recovered his voice. "A new horse. Might we go out shopping for dancing shoes next time we're in Amaranthine, dearest?" She tried her damnedest to remain stern and indifferent when he trailed the tips of his fingers over her breasts, down her front, to tease at the pearl between her legs. "However, I will settle for a thorough ravishing at the hands of the beautiful renegade Grey Warden."
There he went -- pulling her back when she became too serious. She was being handled, and the knowledge that someone loved her enough to see when she was prepared to go too far into her own head, and loved her enough to play with her, was enough to make her forget her teasing and seat herself on him fully and in one smooth motion. And then she did not move at all, enjoying the fullness. She could go one hundred years and not get sick of watching him struggle not to simply take, to pound into her, until she said so
( ... )
"You were very much in control. Of yourself, I mean. Besides, it's a badge of honor. I'll show it off in taverns: 'Look, I survived making love to the Warden-Commander of Ferelden!' And I'll never have to pay for a drink again."
"Warden-Commander," she said. She sat bolt upright and pulled the blanket up to her chest. "Warden-Commander?""I rather thought it went without saying," Alistair said. "As ranking Grey Warden in Ferelden, I stand behind the appointment. And above it. And beneath it. And, you know, that thing where we're both on our sides -- " She stabbed a finger into his burn
( ... )
I'd like to see a F!Amell who either finds herself scared/unsettled by the sight and is eventually comforted by Alistair; or a F!Amell who is shamefully, confusingly aroused. Somehow meshing both is also fine.
Porn always welcome but not necessary. I have no squicks or triggers. If there is porn, would loooove dom!Alistair.
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"I won't think you any less valorous for whatever it is."
She could deflect: I doubt your mind ever strays far from my valor. She could drag him off behind some bushes and work the unsettled feeling in her stomach out; she could lie and say it was nothing, then challenge someone to a fight. Sten would do nicely: he was strong, slow, refused to pull his punches, and recognized that he needed practice fighting mages.
But none of that would fix anything. "My upbringing in the Circle of Magi was comfortable," she said. "I had a roof over my head. I had enough to eat, once I could bring myself to eat it. I was bright, and I had teachers. And I had templars watching my every move, waiting for me to show an inclination toward blood magic. Or demonic possession. Or a wavering in my devotion to the light of our Maker. I was bright, you see, and gifted, and a gifted mage is a dangerous mage ( ... )
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There he went -- pulling her back when she became too serious. She was being handled, and the knowledge that someone loved her enough to see when she was prepared to go too far into her own head, and loved her enough to play with her, was enough to make her forget her teasing and seat herself on him fully and in one smooth motion. And then she did not move at all, enjoying the fullness. She could go one hundred years and not get sick of watching him struggle not to simply take, to pound into her, until she said so ( ... )
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"Warden-Commander," she said. She sat bolt upright and pulled the blanket up to her chest. "Warden-Commander?""I rather thought it went without saying," Alistair said. "As ranking Grey Warden in Ferelden, I stand behind the appointment. And above it. And beneath it. And, you know, that thing where we're both on our sides -- " She stabbed a finger into his burn ( ... )
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