Fic: "Two Roads" Dragon Age Alistair/Loghain - Chapter 12
Authors: ac1d6urn and sinick
Summary: In which Alistair finds a new religion.
Rating: Adult
Alternative links: AO3 ffn
Chapter 1: The Spirit Charm
Chapter 2: The Ruins of Lothering
Chapter 3: The Canticle of Shartan
Chapter 4: The Map Case
Chapter 5: Of Cheese and Chasind
Chapter 6: The Fade
Chapter 7: Names
Chapter 8: Flames
Chapter 9: Two Swords
Chapter 10: Pyrrhic Victory
Chapter 11: Life and Death... And What Comes After
Two Roads
Chapter 12: Sanctuary
Alistair's head was pillowed on a warm, breathing body. Short, coarse hairs tickled his nose. His nostrils twitched. A hazy thought drifted through his still-sleepy mind: Dog needs a brush.
One eye slowly cracked open, treating Alistair to a blurry close-up of chest hair.
That's not Dog!
Alistair froze, eyes wide, heart racing: he was lying right beside Loghain, with the man's arm still draped around his waist. His head rested on Loghain's shoulder, his cheek against taut, warm skin. Alistair gulped, but Loghain's breathing continued in an uninterrupted rhythm, slow and deep, almost snoring. A very ordinary sound, but Alistair was relieved to hear it; he'd spent far too long straining to hear faint, shallow breaths.
Alistair cautiously eased his head up, without daring to move the rest of his body, and peered at the sleeping man. Loghain's eyes were closed, and Alistair couldn't resist a rare opportunity to stare freely. A thin braid trailed back from Loghain's temple, exposing a large, pale ear; tangled hair spread over the pillow. Long, dark eyelashes cast a deep shadow on gaunt cheeks. Alistair's gaze drifted down to the stubble lining the sharp angle of Loghain's chin, the cords of sinew in his neck, the prominent adam's apple and the ridge of collarbones. Alistair's heartbeat picked up, as guilty as if he were a thief: stealing first one glimpse and then another, without permission.
Loghain didn't stir, and Alistair's neck was starting to protest the awkward angle, so he slowly eased his head back down. Muscle padded Loghain's shoulder so thickly it was surprisingly comfortable.
What's wrong with me? Pillows are comfortable! Not Loghain! Alistair bolted upright, turning to sit on the edge of the bed. He would've got to his feet, but as he moved, Loghain's arm tightened around him, holding him back. Alistair looked over his shoulder, and saw pale eyes blinking up at him from under heavy lids.
"Um." Alistair felt his face heating up. "Morning," he croaked in what he hoped could pass as a normal tone.
Loghain rumbled. Or maybe he grumbled. Whatever it was, it was low and wordless and grumpy, and it reminded Alistair of a disgruntled panther. The arm around his waist tightened, and Loghain's other arm slid round to join in. Alistair was pulled steadily away from the edge of the bed and gathered close. His back came to rest against a sleep-warm chest, his feet left the ground. Loghain tangled his lower legs with Alistair's, and a pointed nose nuzzled into his nape, ruffling his hair with one last huffing grumble.
Apparently, as far as Loghain was concerned, 'Morning' was something that happened to other people.
It was a clever way to trap a man. Extricating himself from the double weight of blankets and Loghain's limbs would've taken far too much effort. Alistair twisted his neck to look back at Loghain, drawing breath to speak, but his tongue was tangled with so many questions: questions which no longer seemed important.
"I... um..." he stammered, starting to turn in Loghain's embrace, but as he moved his elbow jabbed into the bandages on Loghain's lower chest. Loghain gave a sharp, annoyed grunt.
Alistair winced, horrified. "Ouch! I'm so sorry! Your ribs! You'd think I'd know better! Maker, I'm terrible at this whole -"
Alistair had half-turned to face Loghain, pushing the blankets down as he moved, instinctively trying to check for damage. Now that he was awake and concentrating, he could feel Loghain in the taint. He was no longer a faint, fading spark: now he was a strong, steady warmth, a balm blissful as the sun on Alistair's sore nerves. He'll be fine in no time. Thank the Maker for Warden resilience.
Alistair's fumbling explorations, his stammered explanations, were met with a determined look, a sigh, a warm hand cupping his cheek and jaw, turning his head even further, and then his frantic apologies were cut off mid-word.
By a kiss.
Loghain.
Was kissing him.
Alistair froze, body and brain, as the kiss engulfed him, like Lake Calenhad when he swam in summer: deep and liquid, warm and overwhelming. A shiver ran down his spine, and all of a sudden the world made sense. Everything did: Loghain's hand on his cheek, cradling Alistair's face as if it was something precious; the weight of Loghain's body half-stretched over Alistair's; the way Loghain sighed into Alistair's mouth, quiet, lost; and the thud of Alistair's heart, beating in his throat.
Suddenly Alistair's arms were full of the man, and he couldn't even hold on, couldn't move a muscle, couldn't say a word as the kiss went on. It was slow, deep, the slide of lips surprisingly soft, then the scrape of stubble around his mouth and ...ohhh Maker, his tongue...
Loghain eased lingeringly out of the kiss, inhaling Alistair's gasp, breathing "Shhh" against Alistair's lips. He reclined back against the pillow. His eyes drifted closed, and there was a satisfied, 'so-there' curl to his lips.
Kiss-reddened lips.
Andraste! Alistair stared. He was vaguely aware of the ragged sound of his breathing, the drumbeat in his chest, the heat of blood in his face. He swallowed down confusion and the foreign taste on his tongue. He forced his stare from that taunting mouth to Loghain's eyelids, the deep shadow of his lashes. "Why?" he croaked.
Why now? Why me?
Loghain exhaled a huff and those lips curled into a lopsided smirk. One eye opened in a sidelong look. "Why not?" he husked, and that was it.
Why not? In the beckoning silence, the question echoed in Alistair's mind, and he found himself leaning in, mesmerised by the simple sight of Loghain's lips moving. So close. Both of them shared breaths now, deep and steady and healthy, when just last night Alistair had strained to hear ragged, barely-there gasps, paralysed by the horrifying fear that every breath he heard would be Loghain's last. But Loghain survived! The joy of the moment was intoxicating, and yet so simple it was pure instinct. He's alive! We're alive!
As abruptly as if he'd heard the thought, Loghain's eyes snapped open, transfixing Alistair with a vivid blue gaze. "And someone very wise told me that life's too short."
Too short. Yes. For two Wardens like us, more than anyone. Not a second to waste.
The intensity and closeness of that stare struck Alistair like a bolt of lightning from a clear blue sky; it electrified him, awoke the sudden urge to do something, anything, now!
Why not?
Alistair closed the last distance between them in a single impulsive lunge, mashing their mouths together in his first attempt at giving someone a real kiss. On the lips. Like this. Maker! He drew a deep, juddering breath through his nose and tried desperately not to panic. It all seemed so complicated: what to do with his lips and tongue, and how to tilt his head so their noses didn't jab and their teeth didn't clash...
This is so important. It changes everything.
Loghain's lips moved in response, slow and deliberate, every tiny movement as sure as Alistair wasn't. Alistair panted, dizzy with the eagerness of the challenge, desperate to keep up, to make it as perfect for Loghain as it was for Alistair.
It was so hard... difficult, so difficult to think it all through, so Alistair stopped thinking. Instead, he slid his arms around Loghain's shoulders and closed his eyes and inhaled, felt, tasted his way through.
Loghain took over then. His mouth captured Alistair's; his tongue slipped along Alistair's parted lips, slowing the pace. The solid body under Alistair's hands craned up toward him, leaning against him: such an incredible sensation.
Alistair slid his hand up over the taut, muscled mass of Loghain's chest, pressed his palm to the curve of that sinewy neck. His fingers traced the sharp, stubbled angle of that jaw. It was vital for Alistair to learn the texture, scent, and taste of Loghain's bare skin, the shape of his body, the way Alistair already knew the shape of his armor.
By touch. So instinctively that he'd know it anywhere. Even in the dark.
Loghain had expected more startled, frantic excuses. More shying away. After the rejection at Ostagar, it was clear that Alistair wanted nothing at all to do with him - as a man rather than a Commander - not even the simplest touch. He'd decided that he'd never raise that issue with Alistair again; it'd be pointless to even try.
But then he'd found his way back to the waking world by following the beacon of Alistair's life force. That was hard for even a cynic like Loghain to ignore, especially when the exact same warmth was so clear to him now: in the taint, in the living heat of the body so close to his own, in the welcoming amber of Alistair's gaze.
So Loghain had taken one last chance. He'd reached out to Alistair one last time, by using a much more intimate way to quiet Alistair's flustered apologies than he'd ever risked before.
Alistair's answer already exceeded his most optimistic hopes.
That maddening air of panicked innocence and shocked shame was wonderfully absent. Instead, Alistair's expression was absorbed, rapt: golden-brown eyes wide and intent, his gaze devouring Loghain instead of flinching away. And his touch... Loghain rolled onto his back, sighed and stretched, languid and shameless as a cat, soaking up the slow stroking as Alistair's hands moved unhurriedly over his skin, with a gentle attention that felt achingly like reverence.
It wasn't even done deliberately to arouse, but that didn't matter a damn; arousal was building, purely as a fringe benefit: a slow burn, spiced with the pang of anticipation. Morning erections had become daily problems for Loghain after the Joining, just like a second adolescence. But this was beyond compare. Loghain luxuriated in sensation, revelling in the simple fact that for once he had a real reason for the rising ache of hardness in his cock.
Alistair knelt beside him on the bed, drawing the blankets down and away, his gaze focused solely on the body under his hands. His muscled arms reached for Loghain, sword-callused palms sliding carefully over his skin, as if he was moulding the contours of Loghain's muscles, like a sculptor shaping clay. Alistair's touch was gentle, curious, conscientiously avoiding the bandages that bound Loghain's lower ribs, even though the bones barely hurt at all: clearly Alistair's treatment had left them well on the way to healing.
Loghain watched Alistair covertly from under heavy eyelids. He was reminded of the way Alistair studied Loghain's maps by the campfire: with the same fascinated, surprised look of discovery at the spidery, uneven lines of the roads, at the unfamiliar writing. Alistair's fingers traced the raised ridges of old scars on Loghain's arms and chest, as if navigating them would lead him somewhere he actually wanted to go.
No-one had ever paid so much attention to his body, to his scars. To him. No-one had studied him before, with such absolute focus.
Ever.
He thought back to the few times in his past that he'd lain with another. Even his married life hadn't exactly been busy between the sheets. The time he'd spent at court, and Celia's reluctance after her trouble birthing Anora, had both seen to that. During his few trysts with Celia, everything had been focused on her pleasure. Even his one, unforgettable night with Rowan had been covert and silent, shrouded in the dark of the Deep Roads.
But now, nothing was as it had been.
He's studying me. As if I'm something worth watching.
That thought brought an unique sense of visibility, vulnerability. Loghain swallowed, and hoped that the heat he felt in his face wasn't a blush. That'd be too bloody ironic!
Still, he'd never been one to back away from a challenge. Now, more so than ever: now that the two people he trusted the most had given him some very wise advice: Life's too short. So live it!
So he forced down the impulse to shut his eyes to avoid that intent scrutiny. Instead he lay still, stretched out on the bed, basking in a gaze as warm as a sunbeam.
The reddish light of dawn streamed through the shutters, limning Alistair in a rosy glow, gilding his clearly defined muscles, kindling his short coppery hair to a fiery halo.
In that moment, with that beaming smile, Alistair looked like a god in human form, like the fire of the sun made flesh. But as far as Loghain was concerned, Alistair was better than any god or golden idol or distant, burning sun. He was human, warm and alive and in Loghain's arms.
Because that was where Alistair wanted to be.
As that realisation sank deep into Loghain's being, it allowed him to set the past aside for the first time, to let his old wounds heal. This was just what he needed after spending most of his life alone and in mourning. This unprecedented treat: the knowledge that this strong young warrior was rapt in contemplation of him. The living warmth of his touch was given freely to Loghain, without the pressure of expectations.
Loghain sighed contentment and stretched lazily, arching up into that touch, in mute thanks for the treatment that left once-cracked ribs bearably numb and on the mend. A warm, dark gaze met his, and Alistair gave him a lopsided smile, and a quiet huff of breath, not quite a laugh.
After a moment of shared understanding, Alistair's eyes narrowed in a satisfied, pleased way and he lowered his head, bringing his mouth down to Loghain's neck and simply growing still. It was a moment of immense focus, private contemplation; Alistair's head was bowed like a believer in the Chantry pews, or a Templar receiving a blessing from the Divine.
Loghain stilled too in anticipation, focused only on that warm, maddening breath right in the crook of his neck and shoulder. Then, finally, he felt the heat of an open mouth, the wet slide of lips, right below his adam's apple, and it amazed him that such a simple caress could feel so damn good. Loghain's head rolled back and he exhaled a quiet moan, arching his throat up into the sleek, wet strokes of Alistair's tongue. The tiny fragment of Loghain's mind that wasn't lost in the languid sensation of being touched and tasted like that, noted the sweet irony. When I did the same to him, at Ostagar, it scared him off. But now... His thought trailed off in a happy sigh and a slow, triumphant smile.
Until that moment, he'd held himself back. Though he'd been basking in the joyous surprise of Alistair's regard and his touch, Loghain's own hands had been clenched in the sheets. He'd tried desperately to restrain his instinctive impulse to return the caresses, in case his touch startled Alistair into sudden, blushing retreat. But when Alistair bent his head to Loghain's skin, and his lips began for the first time to follow where his fingers had led, then Loghain made another leap of faith.
He untwisted his fists from the bedding, and slid one hand up Alistair's arm, pulling him closer, kneading appreciatively at the strong curves of arm and shoulder muscle. His other hand settled on Alistair's thigh, the flat of his palm rubbing the thick sinew in coaxing strokes that drew nearer, with tantalising slowness, to the promising bulge of Alistair's erection.
Alistair panted hotly against his skin, a desperate, wanting sound. The body in Loghain's hands was trembling with tension, every muscle locked hard; then Loghain's fingertips just brushed the line of that hard shaft, and Alistair exploded into movement. He lunged for Loghain with his whole body, falling onto him, his arms sliding around Loghain, his erection pushing hotly into Loghain's hand. He buried his face in Loghain's neck, folded himself fully against Loghain's body, clutched Loghain's back as he ground unselfconsciously, groin-to-groin.
The jagged, uneven thrusts were maddening, teasing, and Loghain growled in triumph and frustration, and rolled Alistair onto his back, feeling every gasp, every shiver in the muscled body sprawled beneath him. He hauled Alistair's shirt up, tore at the laces of his trousers, slid his hands inside and for the first time in his life, touched another man's cock. He closed his fist on the thick length and pumped, slow and tight. Alistair gave a choked, shocked, needful cry; his eyes were so wide, so dark as he arched up into Loghain's hold. For once, the redness burning in that fair skin had nothing to do with shame. Alistair panted and shuddered, lost in need, and Loghain knelt over Alistair and drank in the sight of him: every gasp, every glimpse of that flushed skin offered up so freely for tasting, every bead of sweat on Alistair's face, every desperate clutch of his hands.
Alistair's broken, incoherent whimpers of lust sped Loghain's strokes, until with a snarl he pulled one hand out of Alistair's trousers and tore open his own, hindered as much as helped by Alistair's fumbling hands. He stretched out to lie at full length on Alistair, letting his weight press the other man into the bed. He angled his hips and deliberately ground his own neglected cock against Alistair's, hissing his pleasure at the hot slide of flesh on flesh, before spitting into his palm and pushing that hand between their bodies, gripping both cocks tightly in one fist.
"Yess..." Alistair moved, tried to push his hand between their bodies to cover Loghain's fist. Tried. With their bodies so close, with his weight plastered over Alistair, Loghain could feel the tension turning Alistair's muscles to stone, the steady rocking friction between them. Alistair's wandering hands finally settled on Loghain's back, clutching him close.
He's still healing, Alistair tried reminding himself, so I should have been more careful, and he's my Commander, and we're sharing a bed that doesn't belong to either of us, together, and I'm so hard I could burst - he is too, I can feel him against me - and we shouldn't... Oh, there are so many ways this must be bad!
So very bad!
And somehow that thought of improper and badwrongshouldn't only gave Alistair a powerful jolt of guilty, embarrassed need and his hands strayed, down, down, down, like lodestone to steel, impossible to lift off Loghain's bare skin.
...so good!
Loghain's hair hung down, framing his face. His braids dragged over Alistair's neck like silken ropes. He loomed over Alistair as if they'd struggled and wrestled and Loghain had somehow won, and Alistair had let Loghain overpower him, let Loghain win him over: if not right now then long before, word by word, deed by deed, day by day. And perhaps that was just what had happened, after all: victory in a subtler sort of struggle. Seduction.
And Alistair fell for it with every touch, every breath, every heartbeat: overwhelmed and mesmerized. The lightning-strike burst of sensation every time their eyes met, made Alistair wonder if Loghain could feel his excitement: not just through their bodies pressed together, but radiating from him through the taint.
So wrong. The taint is a tool to fight darkspawn, it's not for pleasure. Wrong!
Wow! There it was, that word again, that made Alistair's heart race, that brought more heat to his face; and the guilty, giddy need flooded him again, like a huge, hot tide; sweeping him away.
I shouldn't even want him. I should want someone young and pretty and pure and polite and noble and female, because that's how love's always supposed to go. And Loghain's none of that!
Alistair drew a deep breath, jaw tensing in determination and head lifting to take in the sight of Loghain, and everything he wasn't, and everything he was. So what? He's better than all that! He's a great warrior and he saved my life and I saved his and I want him!
Alistair's breath caught as the realisation hit him with all the force of a blow... or a kiss.
...I can have him!
Alistair writhed, glorying in the feeling of a hard body stretched over his own. He struggled just for the instinctive joy of testing his strength against a worthy challenge. Loghain's fists tightened their grip; broad shoulders bunched and he lowered his head like a bronto gathering strength for a thunderous charge. Alistair was caught in a blue stare brighter than the forge's fiercest heat.
Ohhh.
He's got me!
Loghain's weight was heavy and comforting, and he was breathing deep, fast. His urgent growl reverberated through Alistair's body, his mouth was hot against Alistair's flushed skin, and his cool, controlled mask was long gone! Both of them were out of control; Alistair had forgotten what control even felt like. It was incredible and improper, and Loghain was his Commander - a fellow Warden, as close as the taint in his own blood, a heat inevitable as the horizon, forever coiling at the edge of Alistair's senses - and Alistair only wanted him more for it. He wanted all of Loghain, right down to the poison in his blood, the darkness and the damage of him: the muscled weight and hard grip holding him down, the cynical mind and bitter tongue and the erection like an iron bar against his own. It was all just another part of the man he wanted to learn: every deviant, daring, dirty, and brilliant side. He needed it all. All of him. Now!
Maker! Alistair exhaled shakily, staring up in pure amazement as Loghain's fingers trailed over his hipbone. Then the curl of his fist around Alistair's shaft brought a shiver to his skin, a jolt to his senses, and he thought of the Maker no more. Everything else took second place to Loghain's steady, gliding grip, his fiercely triumphant smile, the lightning-flare intensity of eyes in stormcloud-dark eyesockets. From then on it was only Loghain on his mind.
He's got me. For good.
Loghain was on top of him, heavy and hot, and Alistair wasn't in control at all. Why hadn't he realised for so long that this was what he needed? Why hadn't he known before how wonderful it could be, to let someone he trusted with his life take control of his body? He needed this, exactly this: the freedom of letting go, so unexpectedly powerful, so infinitely intoxicating.
Yes! He's got me.
Alistair moved then, his body arching into pleasure, every thrust a struggle, every breath a cry of need. His eyelids fluttered closed and all he saw was pulsing red through his eyelids. Their mutual awareness of the taint enfolded them: they were sheltered from the world in a shared cocoon of warmth. He reached blindly, openmouthed, tasting only Loghain's body, the salt of his sweat as personal and intimate as the hot push of his shaft against Alistair's and - oh, wow! - Loghain's grip felt nothing like Alistair had ever felt before. It was all so good, so different, so much better than alone: together, with someone else, with Loghain. With someone Alistair could trust.
Yes! Oh, yes! Like this. Just like this. Please! Eyes shut, lips parted in a breathless cry, arms around another man, every hard thrust gave Alistair just what he'd never even known he needed. Until it was all too much, and the cry tore from him and he caught fire and soared. YES!
Alistair's throat was temptingly within reach, drawing Loghain toward it; he craned to reach it, laving it with licks and slow, biting kisses, revelling in the heat of flushed skin, the salt of Alistair's sweat and the wild drum of his pulse, beating under Loghain's lips. This was what living was all about, this instinctive, earthly need. This. As his own lust flared higher and hotter, Loghain panted and growled, openmouthed and urgent against Alistair's throat, rocked by the thrusts of the taut, strong body in his arms. Alistair arched and wailed, and Loghain felt the surge in Alistair's cock a moment before ohfuckYES! bliss blazed in him and he shuddered and shouted and pulsed come onto Alistair's skin.
Loghain rode out the aftershocks that shook them both, then sprawled bonelessly, heaving a sigh of relief deep enough to make his bandaged ribs twinge with a faint reminder of injuries already almost healed. The pang faded swiftly, lost beneath the glow of rare relaxation; he felt as though he wouldn't want to move for a week. It took an effort to pull his hand out from between their bodies, hold it up to his face. His fingers were wet with their mingled come, and that knowledge prompted a satisfied smile. Alistair watched him, his stare dark with the same raw satisfaction. It looks good on him, Loghain decided.
Suddenly Alistair reached up and his fingers closed around Loghain's wrist. Alistair tugged Loghain's hand down, and pressed the back of it to his cheek. His eyes closed. He turned his head and then his lips left a warm, gentle imprint against Loghain's knuckles. Only when Loghain ran the fingers of his other hand through the top of that cropped copper hair did Alistair turn back, open his eyes, and let go.
Loghain craned to lick his fingers clean, slowly and deliberately, giving an assessing 'hmm' at Alistair's unfamiliar taste mingled with his. Then he leaned down and shared his discovery, sinking into a slow kiss, stroking Alistair's tongue with his own, in deep wet surges slick with earthy salt. In its strange way, the kiss felt as intimate as their shared pleasure. Loghain drank in the quiet whimpers Alistair breathed into his mouth, and smiled into the kiss when he felt Alistair's hands steal carefully down his back, ever so gradually sneaking lower, coming to a stop at last with the fingertips just barely resting on the upper curve of his arse.
The slowness might've been the last traces of Alistair's shyness. It might've been a tentative first attempt at teasing. Whatever else it was, Loghain found it oddly endearing.
All those years in the Chantry, Alistair had felt like the outsider looking in. Discarded by his childhood mentor, he'd tried to offer them everything he had, only to feel rejected, inadequate and lost. Now, pinned down under that blue-lightning stare, caught up in that white-fire bliss, at long last he was purified, by a blaze very different from the holy flame he'd wasted years chanting about but never once felt. Now the time for old chants and empty devotions was over, forever. Now he'd been uplifted into new realms of delight he'd never known existed, back when he'd been alone with his only his own thoughts, his own hands.
They'd always told Alistair that the Chant would give him this: a profound, life-changing jolt. But as steady and lifesaving as the verse could be in battle, it had never been this personal, never this human. Never had it touched him this deeply, body and heart and soul.
Summary: In which Alistair finds a new religion.
Rating: Adult
Alternative links: AO3 ffn
Chapter 1: The Spirit Charm
Chapter 2: The Ruins of Lothering
Chapter 3: The Canticle of Shartan
Chapter 4: The Map Case
Chapter 5: Of Cheese and Chasind
Chapter 6: The Fade
Chapter 7: Names
Chapter 8: Flames
Chapter 9: Two Swords
Chapter 10: Pyrrhic Victory
Chapter 11: Life and Death... And What Comes After
Two Roads
Chapter 12: Sanctuary
Alistair's head was pillowed on a warm, breathing body. Short, coarse hairs tickled his nose. His nostrils twitched. A hazy thought drifted through his still-sleepy mind: Dog needs a brush.
One eye slowly cracked open, treating Alistair to a blurry close-up of chest hair.
That's not Dog!
Alistair froze, eyes wide, heart racing: he was lying right beside Loghain, with the man's arm still draped around his waist. His head rested on Loghain's shoulder, his cheek against taut, warm skin. Alistair gulped, but Loghain's breathing continued in an uninterrupted rhythm, slow and deep, almost snoring. A very ordinary sound, but Alistair was relieved to hear it; he'd spent far too long straining to hear faint, shallow breaths.
Alistair cautiously eased his head up, without daring to move the rest of his body, and peered at the sleeping man. Loghain's eyes were closed, and Alistair couldn't resist a rare opportunity to stare freely. A thin braid trailed back from Loghain's temple, exposing a large, pale ear; tangled hair spread over the pillow. Long, dark eyelashes cast a deep shadow on gaunt cheeks. Alistair's gaze drifted down to the stubble lining the sharp angle of Loghain's chin, the cords of sinew in his neck, the prominent adam's apple and the ridge of collarbones. Alistair's heartbeat picked up, as guilty as if he were a thief: stealing first one glimpse and then another, without permission.
Loghain didn't stir, and Alistair's neck was starting to protest the awkward angle, so he slowly eased his head back down. Muscle padded Loghain's shoulder so thickly it was surprisingly comfortable.
What's wrong with me? Pillows are comfortable! Not Loghain! Alistair bolted upright, turning to sit on the edge of the bed. He would've got to his feet, but as he moved, Loghain's arm tightened around him, holding him back. Alistair looked over his shoulder, and saw pale eyes blinking up at him from under heavy lids.
"Um." Alistair felt his face heating up. "Morning," he croaked in what he hoped could pass as a normal tone.
Loghain rumbled. Or maybe he grumbled. Whatever it was, it was low and wordless and grumpy, and it reminded Alistair of a disgruntled panther. The arm around his waist tightened, and Loghain's other arm slid round to join in. Alistair was pulled steadily away from the edge of the bed and gathered close. His back came to rest against a sleep-warm chest, his feet left the ground. Loghain tangled his lower legs with Alistair's, and a pointed nose nuzzled into his nape, ruffling his hair with one last huffing grumble.
Apparently, as far as Loghain was concerned, 'Morning' was something that happened to other people.
It was a clever way to trap a man. Extricating himself from the double weight of blankets and Loghain's limbs would've taken far too much effort. Alistair twisted his neck to look back at Loghain, drawing breath to speak, but his tongue was tangled with so many questions: questions which no longer seemed important.
"I... um..." he stammered, starting to turn in Loghain's embrace, but as he moved his elbow jabbed into the bandages on Loghain's lower chest. Loghain gave a sharp, annoyed grunt.
Alistair winced, horrified. "Ouch! I'm so sorry! Your ribs! You'd think I'd know better! Maker, I'm terrible at this whole -"
Alistair had half-turned to face Loghain, pushing the blankets down as he moved, instinctively trying to check for damage. Now that he was awake and concentrating, he could feel Loghain in the taint. He was no longer a faint, fading spark: now he was a strong, steady warmth, a balm blissful as the sun on Alistair's sore nerves. He'll be fine in no time. Thank the Maker for Warden resilience.
Alistair's fumbling explorations, his stammered explanations, were met with a determined look, a sigh, a warm hand cupping his cheek and jaw, turning his head even further, and then his frantic apologies were cut off mid-word.
By a kiss.
Loghain.
Was kissing him.
Alistair froze, body and brain, as the kiss engulfed him, like Lake Calenhad when he swam in summer: deep and liquid, warm and overwhelming. A shiver ran down his spine, and all of a sudden the world made sense. Everything did: Loghain's hand on his cheek, cradling Alistair's face as if it was something precious; the weight of Loghain's body half-stretched over Alistair's; the way Loghain sighed into Alistair's mouth, quiet, lost; and the thud of Alistair's heart, beating in his throat.
Suddenly Alistair's arms were full of the man, and he couldn't even hold on, couldn't move a muscle, couldn't say a word as the kiss went on. It was slow, deep, the slide of lips surprisingly soft, then the scrape of stubble around his mouth and ...ohhh Maker, his tongue...
Loghain eased lingeringly out of the kiss, inhaling Alistair's gasp, breathing "Shhh" against Alistair's lips. He reclined back against the pillow. His eyes drifted closed, and there was a satisfied, 'so-there' curl to his lips.
Kiss-reddened lips.
Andraste! Alistair stared. He was vaguely aware of the ragged sound of his breathing, the drumbeat in his chest, the heat of blood in his face. He swallowed down confusion and the foreign taste on his tongue. He forced his stare from that taunting mouth to Loghain's eyelids, the deep shadow of his lashes. "Why?" he croaked.
Why now? Why me?
Loghain exhaled a huff and those lips curled into a lopsided smirk. One eye opened in a sidelong look. "Why not?" he husked, and that was it.
Why not? In the beckoning silence, the question echoed in Alistair's mind, and he found himself leaning in, mesmerised by the simple sight of Loghain's lips moving. So close. Both of them shared breaths now, deep and steady and healthy, when just last night Alistair had strained to hear ragged, barely-there gasps, paralysed by the horrifying fear that every breath he heard would be Loghain's last. But Loghain survived! The joy of the moment was intoxicating, and yet so simple it was pure instinct. He's alive! We're alive!
As abruptly as if he'd heard the thought, Loghain's eyes snapped open, transfixing Alistair with a vivid blue gaze. "And someone very wise told me that life's too short."
Too short. Yes. For two Wardens like us, more than anyone. Not a second to waste.
The intensity and closeness of that stare struck Alistair like a bolt of lightning from a clear blue sky; it electrified him, awoke the sudden urge to do something, anything, now!
Why not?
Alistair closed the last distance between them in a single impulsive lunge, mashing their mouths together in his first attempt at giving someone a real kiss. On the lips. Like this. Maker! He drew a deep, juddering breath through his nose and tried desperately not to panic. It all seemed so complicated: what to do with his lips and tongue, and how to tilt his head so their noses didn't jab and their teeth didn't clash...
This is so important. It changes everything.
Loghain's lips moved in response, slow and deliberate, every tiny movement as sure as Alistair wasn't. Alistair panted, dizzy with the eagerness of the challenge, desperate to keep up, to make it as perfect for Loghain as it was for Alistair.
It was so hard... difficult, so difficult to think it all through, so Alistair stopped thinking. Instead, he slid his arms around Loghain's shoulders and closed his eyes and inhaled, felt, tasted his way through.
Loghain took over then. His mouth captured Alistair's; his tongue slipped along Alistair's parted lips, slowing the pace. The solid body under Alistair's hands craned up toward him, leaning against him: such an incredible sensation.
Alistair slid his hand up over the taut, muscled mass of Loghain's chest, pressed his palm to the curve of that sinewy neck. His fingers traced the sharp, stubbled angle of that jaw. It was vital for Alistair to learn the texture, scent, and taste of Loghain's bare skin, the shape of his body, the way Alistair already knew the shape of his armor.
By touch. So instinctively that he'd know it anywhere. Even in the dark.
Loghain had expected more startled, frantic excuses. More shying away. After the rejection at Ostagar, it was clear that Alistair wanted nothing at all to do with him - as a man rather than a Commander - not even the simplest touch. He'd decided that he'd never raise that issue with Alistair again; it'd be pointless to even try.
But then he'd found his way back to the waking world by following the beacon of Alistair's life force. That was hard for even a cynic like Loghain to ignore, especially when the exact same warmth was so clear to him now: in the taint, in the living heat of the body so close to his own, in the welcoming amber of Alistair's gaze.
So Loghain had taken one last chance. He'd reached out to Alistair one last time, by using a much more intimate way to quiet Alistair's flustered apologies than he'd ever risked before.
Alistair's answer already exceeded his most optimistic hopes.
That maddening air of panicked innocence and shocked shame was wonderfully absent. Instead, Alistair's expression was absorbed, rapt: golden-brown eyes wide and intent, his gaze devouring Loghain instead of flinching away. And his touch... Loghain rolled onto his back, sighed and stretched, languid and shameless as a cat, soaking up the slow stroking as Alistair's hands moved unhurriedly over his skin, with a gentle attention that felt achingly like reverence.
It wasn't even done deliberately to arouse, but that didn't matter a damn; arousal was building, purely as a fringe benefit: a slow burn, spiced with the pang of anticipation. Morning erections had become daily problems for Loghain after the Joining, just like a second adolescence. But this was beyond compare. Loghain luxuriated in sensation, revelling in the simple fact that for once he had a real reason for the rising ache of hardness in his cock.
Alistair knelt beside him on the bed, drawing the blankets down and away, his gaze focused solely on the body under his hands. His muscled arms reached for Loghain, sword-callused palms sliding carefully over his skin, as if he was moulding the contours of Loghain's muscles, like a sculptor shaping clay. Alistair's touch was gentle, curious, conscientiously avoiding the bandages that bound Loghain's lower ribs, even though the bones barely hurt at all: clearly Alistair's treatment had left them well on the way to healing.
Loghain watched Alistair covertly from under heavy eyelids. He was reminded of the way Alistair studied Loghain's maps by the campfire: with the same fascinated, surprised look of discovery at the spidery, uneven lines of the roads, at the unfamiliar writing. Alistair's fingers traced the raised ridges of old scars on Loghain's arms and chest, as if navigating them would lead him somewhere he actually wanted to go.
No-one had ever paid so much attention to his body, to his scars. To him. No-one had studied him before, with such absolute focus.
Ever.
He thought back to the few times in his past that he'd lain with another. Even his married life hadn't exactly been busy between the sheets. The time he'd spent at court, and Celia's reluctance after her trouble birthing Anora, had both seen to that. During his few trysts with Celia, everything had been focused on her pleasure. Even his one, unforgettable night with Rowan had been covert and silent, shrouded in the dark of the Deep Roads.
But now, nothing was as it had been.
He's studying me. As if I'm something worth watching.
That thought brought an unique sense of visibility, vulnerability. Loghain swallowed, and hoped that the heat he felt in his face wasn't a blush. That'd be too bloody ironic!
Still, he'd never been one to back away from a challenge. Now, more so than ever: now that the two people he trusted the most had given him some very wise advice: Life's too short. So live it!
So he forced down the impulse to shut his eyes to avoid that intent scrutiny. Instead he lay still, stretched out on the bed, basking in a gaze as warm as a sunbeam.
The reddish light of dawn streamed through the shutters, limning Alistair in a rosy glow, gilding his clearly defined muscles, kindling his short coppery hair to a fiery halo.
In that moment, with that beaming smile, Alistair looked like a god in human form, like the fire of the sun made flesh. But as far as Loghain was concerned, Alistair was better than any god or golden idol or distant, burning sun. He was human, warm and alive and in Loghain's arms.
Because that was where Alistair wanted to be.
As that realisation sank deep into Loghain's being, it allowed him to set the past aside for the first time, to let his old wounds heal. This was just what he needed after spending most of his life alone and in mourning. This unprecedented treat: the knowledge that this strong young warrior was rapt in contemplation of him. The living warmth of his touch was given freely to Loghain, without the pressure of expectations.
Loghain sighed contentment and stretched lazily, arching up into that touch, in mute thanks for the treatment that left once-cracked ribs bearably numb and on the mend. A warm, dark gaze met his, and Alistair gave him a lopsided smile, and a quiet huff of breath, not quite a laugh.
After a moment of shared understanding, Alistair's eyes narrowed in a satisfied, pleased way and he lowered his head, bringing his mouth down to Loghain's neck and simply growing still. It was a moment of immense focus, private contemplation; Alistair's head was bowed like a believer in the Chantry pews, or a Templar receiving a blessing from the Divine.
Loghain stilled too in anticipation, focused only on that warm, maddening breath right in the crook of his neck and shoulder. Then, finally, he felt the heat of an open mouth, the wet slide of lips, right below his adam's apple, and it amazed him that such a simple caress could feel so damn good. Loghain's head rolled back and he exhaled a quiet moan, arching his throat up into the sleek, wet strokes of Alistair's tongue. The tiny fragment of Loghain's mind that wasn't lost in the languid sensation of being touched and tasted like that, noted the sweet irony. When I did the same to him, at Ostagar, it scared him off. But now... His thought trailed off in a happy sigh and a slow, triumphant smile.
Until that moment, he'd held himself back. Though he'd been basking in the joyous surprise of Alistair's regard and his touch, Loghain's own hands had been clenched in the sheets. He'd tried desperately to restrain his instinctive impulse to return the caresses, in case his touch startled Alistair into sudden, blushing retreat. But when Alistair bent his head to Loghain's skin, and his lips began for the first time to follow where his fingers had led, then Loghain made another leap of faith.
He untwisted his fists from the bedding, and slid one hand up Alistair's arm, pulling him closer, kneading appreciatively at the strong curves of arm and shoulder muscle. His other hand settled on Alistair's thigh, the flat of his palm rubbing the thick sinew in coaxing strokes that drew nearer, with tantalising slowness, to the promising bulge of Alistair's erection.
Alistair panted hotly against his skin, a desperate, wanting sound. The body in Loghain's hands was trembling with tension, every muscle locked hard; then Loghain's fingertips just brushed the line of that hard shaft, and Alistair exploded into movement. He lunged for Loghain with his whole body, falling onto him, his arms sliding around Loghain, his erection pushing hotly into Loghain's hand. He buried his face in Loghain's neck, folded himself fully against Loghain's body, clutched Loghain's back as he ground unselfconsciously, groin-to-groin.
The jagged, uneven thrusts were maddening, teasing, and Loghain growled in triumph and frustration, and rolled Alistair onto his back, feeling every gasp, every shiver in the muscled body sprawled beneath him. He hauled Alistair's shirt up, tore at the laces of his trousers, slid his hands inside and for the first time in his life, touched another man's cock. He closed his fist on the thick length and pumped, slow and tight. Alistair gave a choked, shocked, needful cry; his eyes were so wide, so dark as he arched up into Loghain's hold. For once, the redness burning in that fair skin had nothing to do with shame. Alistair panted and shuddered, lost in need, and Loghain knelt over Alistair and drank in the sight of him: every gasp, every glimpse of that flushed skin offered up so freely for tasting, every bead of sweat on Alistair's face, every desperate clutch of his hands.
Alistair's broken, incoherent whimpers of lust sped Loghain's strokes, until with a snarl he pulled one hand out of Alistair's trousers and tore open his own, hindered as much as helped by Alistair's fumbling hands. He stretched out to lie at full length on Alistair, letting his weight press the other man into the bed. He angled his hips and deliberately ground his own neglected cock against Alistair's, hissing his pleasure at the hot slide of flesh on flesh, before spitting into his palm and pushing that hand between their bodies, gripping both cocks tightly in one fist.
"Yess..." Alistair moved, tried to push his hand between their bodies to cover Loghain's fist. Tried. With their bodies so close, with his weight plastered over Alistair, Loghain could feel the tension turning Alistair's muscles to stone, the steady rocking friction between them. Alistair's wandering hands finally settled on Loghain's back, clutching him close.
He's still healing, Alistair tried reminding himself, so I should have been more careful, and he's my Commander, and we're sharing a bed that doesn't belong to either of us, together, and I'm so hard I could burst - he is too, I can feel him against me - and we shouldn't... Oh, there are so many ways this must be bad!
So very bad!
And somehow that thought of improper and badwrongshouldn't only gave Alistair a powerful jolt of guilty, embarrassed need and his hands strayed, down, down, down, like lodestone to steel, impossible to lift off Loghain's bare skin.
...so good!
Loghain's hair hung down, framing his face. His braids dragged over Alistair's neck like silken ropes. He loomed over Alistair as if they'd struggled and wrestled and Loghain had somehow won, and Alistair had let Loghain overpower him, let Loghain win him over: if not right now then long before, word by word, deed by deed, day by day. And perhaps that was just what had happened, after all: victory in a subtler sort of struggle. Seduction.
And Alistair fell for it with every touch, every breath, every heartbeat: overwhelmed and mesmerized. The lightning-strike burst of sensation every time their eyes met, made Alistair wonder if Loghain could feel his excitement: not just through their bodies pressed together, but radiating from him through the taint.
So wrong. The taint is a tool to fight darkspawn, it's not for pleasure. Wrong!
Wow! There it was, that word again, that made Alistair's heart race, that brought more heat to his face; and the guilty, giddy need flooded him again, like a huge, hot tide; sweeping him away.
I shouldn't even want him. I should want someone young and pretty and pure and polite and noble and female, because that's how love's always supposed to go. And Loghain's none of that!
Alistair drew a deep breath, jaw tensing in determination and head lifting to take in the sight of Loghain, and everything he wasn't, and everything he was. So what? He's better than all that! He's a great warrior and he saved my life and I saved his and I want him!
Alistair's breath caught as the realisation hit him with all the force of a blow... or a kiss.
...I can have him!
Alistair writhed, glorying in the feeling of a hard body stretched over his own. He struggled just for the instinctive joy of testing his strength against a worthy challenge. Loghain's fists tightened their grip; broad shoulders bunched and he lowered his head like a bronto gathering strength for a thunderous charge. Alistair was caught in a blue stare brighter than the forge's fiercest heat.
Ohhh.
He's got me!
Loghain's weight was heavy and comforting, and he was breathing deep, fast. His urgent growl reverberated through Alistair's body, his mouth was hot against Alistair's flushed skin, and his cool, controlled mask was long gone! Both of them were out of control; Alistair had forgotten what control even felt like. It was incredible and improper, and Loghain was his Commander - a fellow Warden, as close as the taint in his own blood, a heat inevitable as the horizon, forever coiling at the edge of Alistair's senses - and Alistair only wanted him more for it. He wanted all of Loghain, right down to the poison in his blood, the darkness and the damage of him: the muscled weight and hard grip holding him down, the cynical mind and bitter tongue and the erection like an iron bar against his own. It was all just another part of the man he wanted to learn: every deviant, daring, dirty, and brilliant side. He needed it all. All of him. Now!
Maker! Alistair exhaled shakily, staring up in pure amazement as Loghain's fingers trailed over his hipbone. Then the curl of his fist around Alistair's shaft brought a shiver to his skin, a jolt to his senses, and he thought of the Maker no more. Everything else took second place to Loghain's steady, gliding grip, his fiercely triumphant smile, the lightning-flare intensity of eyes in stormcloud-dark eyesockets. From then on it was only Loghain on his mind.
He's got me. For good.
Loghain was on top of him, heavy and hot, and Alistair wasn't in control at all. Why hadn't he realised for so long that this was what he needed? Why hadn't he known before how wonderful it could be, to let someone he trusted with his life take control of his body? He needed this, exactly this: the freedom of letting go, so unexpectedly powerful, so infinitely intoxicating.
Yes! He's got me.
Alistair moved then, his body arching into pleasure, every thrust a struggle, every breath a cry of need. His eyelids fluttered closed and all he saw was pulsing red through his eyelids. Their mutual awareness of the taint enfolded them: they were sheltered from the world in a shared cocoon of warmth. He reached blindly, openmouthed, tasting only Loghain's body, the salt of his sweat as personal and intimate as the hot push of his shaft against Alistair's and - oh, wow! - Loghain's grip felt nothing like Alistair had ever felt before. It was all so good, so different, so much better than alone: together, with someone else, with Loghain. With someone Alistair could trust.
Yes! Oh, yes! Like this. Just like this. Please! Eyes shut, lips parted in a breathless cry, arms around another man, every hard thrust gave Alistair just what he'd never even known he needed. Until it was all too much, and the cry tore from him and he caught fire and soared. YES!
Alistair's throat was temptingly within reach, drawing Loghain toward it; he craned to reach it, laving it with licks and slow, biting kisses, revelling in the heat of flushed skin, the salt of Alistair's sweat and the wild drum of his pulse, beating under Loghain's lips. This was what living was all about, this instinctive, earthly need. This. As his own lust flared higher and hotter, Loghain panted and growled, openmouthed and urgent against Alistair's throat, rocked by the thrusts of the taut, strong body in his arms. Alistair arched and wailed, and Loghain felt the surge in Alistair's cock a moment before ohfuckYES! bliss blazed in him and he shuddered and shouted and pulsed come onto Alistair's skin.
Loghain rode out the aftershocks that shook them both, then sprawled bonelessly, heaving a sigh of relief deep enough to make his bandaged ribs twinge with a faint reminder of injuries already almost healed. The pang faded swiftly, lost beneath the glow of rare relaxation; he felt as though he wouldn't want to move for a week. It took an effort to pull his hand out from between their bodies, hold it up to his face. His fingers were wet with their mingled come, and that knowledge prompted a satisfied smile. Alistair watched him, his stare dark with the same raw satisfaction. It looks good on him, Loghain decided.
Suddenly Alistair reached up and his fingers closed around Loghain's wrist. Alistair tugged Loghain's hand down, and pressed the back of it to his cheek. His eyes closed. He turned his head and then his lips left a warm, gentle imprint against Loghain's knuckles. Only when Loghain ran the fingers of his other hand through the top of that cropped copper hair did Alistair turn back, open his eyes, and let go.
Loghain craned to lick his fingers clean, slowly and deliberately, giving an assessing 'hmm' at Alistair's unfamiliar taste mingled with his. Then he leaned down and shared his discovery, sinking into a slow kiss, stroking Alistair's tongue with his own, in deep wet surges slick with earthy salt. In its strange way, the kiss felt as intimate as their shared pleasure. Loghain drank in the quiet whimpers Alistair breathed into his mouth, and smiled into the kiss when he felt Alistair's hands steal carefully down his back, ever so gradually sneaking lower, coming to a stop at last with the fingertips just barely resting on the upper curve of his arse.
The slowness might've been the last traces of Alistair's shyness. It might've been a tentative first attempt at teasing. Whatever else it was, Loghain found it oddly endearing.
All those years in the Chantry, Alistair had felt like the outsider looking in. Discarded by his childhood mentor, he'd tried to offer them everything he had, only to feel rejected, inadequate and lost. Now, pinned down under that blue-lightning stare, caught up in that white-fire bliss, at long last he was purified, by a blaze very different from the holy flame he'd wasted years chanting about but never once felt. Now the time for old chants and empty devotions was over, forever. Now he'd been uplifted into new realms of delight he'd never known existed, back when he'd been alone with his only his own thoughts, his own hands.
They'd always told Alistair that the Chant would give him this: a profound, life-changing jolt. But as steady and lifesaving as the verse could be in battle, it had never been this personal, never this human. Never had it touched him this deeply, body and heart and soul.