WARNING: LEMONNESS! Ye have been told!
Dislaimer: I own nothing except a gremlin and a Monte Carlo. Everything else belongs to Bioware (lucky buggers)
The air was still heavy with the promise of rain and the humidity seemed to make every breath the Warden drew thick as Mabari fur. Sweat clung to her flesh, the auburn curls clinging to the fair skin of her face and neck. Impatiently, she blew a breath, twisting her lips to puff the stubborn strands upwards and away from her eyes. It was a futile attempt at best, her hair floating briefly in the stillness before resettling. They hadn't seen any bandits, undead, or darkspawn for days.
The little band had been moving steadily west since their more supernatural encounters in the Brecilian Forest, making good progress in the direction of Redcliffe. If Brother Genetivi's records were correct, then they would be at the base of the mountain pass leading to the village of Haven in a fortnight. The Teryn's daughter was not entirely pleased with that prospect. There was an uneasiness that had settled around her shoulders over the entire business, the young assistant's brutal murder and replacement had left her with a cold, leaden weight in the pit of her stomach. There was something far more sinister at work than what appeared on the surface, she was certain of it. That fact seemed to bother the others little, including Alistair.
He plopped down on the log next to her as she carefully sharpened one of her twin daggers. Their seat was what had previously been a branch in the enormous oak tree she was currently reclining her back against, one forearm propped lazily against the knee of her left leg, holding the blade fixed. The other ran the whetstone down the edge of the weapon, the scrapping soothing and hypnotic in its steady rhythm as she worked. She paused, lifting the dagger and admiring its dull gleam and tested its sharpness with the pad of her thumb.
The former templar's amber eyes followed her movements with some attention and she fought down the blush that threatened to rise to her cheeks. Maker's Breath, but no one had the right to be that handsome, with eyes the color of warm toffee and-
"That seems more practical if there was a threat nearby," he murmured, his lips lifting in a small smirk.
"When's a better time than now to make sure were prepared for that threat?" was the soft reply, their voices seemingly hushed by the thickness of the damp atmosphere.
The sharp prick on her digit was a welcome distraction. With a smooth motion, she arched her back, sheathing the dagger and drawing its mate with practiced ease. Heat did flush her features then as she glanced over and caught his eyes roving her leanly muscled form easily discerned by the form-fitting brigandine she wore as armor. As she brought her arm down to resume her former position her spaulders creaked with the action, bringing his focus snapping back up to her face with a guilty sheepishness. She pretended to not have noticed, just as she had ignored the attraction that drew her to him like a templar to lyrium.
She glanced skyward as he raised his hand to rub at the back of his neck, a nervous habit he was often seen performing.
"It's going to rain soon," she said, internally wincing at the pitiful attempt at conversation and openly flinching at the hot spark that sizzled against the flesh of her exposed thigh from her renewed honing of the second blade.
Alistair opened his mouth once, as if to reply, then seemed to think better of it. Instead, he turned his head and looked out towards the nearby tree line.
"We could get some practice in before it falls, if you like, since you seem to be in a practical mood?" he asked with a gesture towards the woods. "There's a clearing not too far into the trees over there. It'd give us some room."
The Warden bit her tongue to keep from adding, and some privacy. Maker help her, she was a grown woman and she was perfectly capable of controlling her body, except when it came to the other Warden. She wasn't a doe in season, for Andraste's sake, and a sparring session actually sounded like a sensible idea.
She said as much, lifting a brow as she spoke, "That seems like a fairly rational idea. Are you sure you're not spending time with Morrigan?"
"Maker forbid!" he exclaimed with an exaggerated shudder, "I can't have a reasonable idea on my own without someone making a comment?"
She shook her head with a chuckle as she stood and sheathed her dagger once more, extending a hand to help him up.
"When the majority of your conversation centers around the virtues of cheese, would you take any ideas you had seriously?"
He accepted her hand with a grin.
"No, I suppose not. Can't blame a man for trying, right?"
She didn't answer him directly, leaning over to grab her gloves from the length of wood that had served as her seat and pulled them on with a sharp tug. Rolling her shoulders, she gestured for him to lead the way, falling into step beside him. Having to keep up with Fergus for most of her childhood, keeping pace with Alistair's somewhat longer stride was not difficult. She reached up and twisted her long cascade of wine-colored curls into a simple pony-tail, letting out a sigh of relief as slightly cooler air washed over her neck, the strands no longer clinging tendrils against her skin. Until they reached the mountains, there would be little reprieve from the summer heat, but at least there was this small comfort.
Alistair had been right, their trek lasted no more than a few minutes before they broke through the clumps of vegetation to find a small meadow, devoid of anything except a lone fir tree, perhaps the most massive she had ever seen. Its deep green needles stretched far out, the ground directly beneath its expansive branches covered with the browning refuse of its limbs. She stepped forward and placed her hands on her hips, nodding in approval. If the weather held, this was an ideal place, the grass beneath her feet unkempt, but decently even. She turned to look over her shoulder at Alistair and caught him staring at her, his gaze seemingly glued to her rear end as she kept walking forward. Feeling a rare streak of playfulness, she added the minutest of strut to the natural sway of her hips, a swell of feminine pride rising as she watched his eyes widen considerably.
What was wrong with her? She shouldn't tease like this. He was a man and a sheltered one at that. His appreciation for her body was just that, nothing more. Still, she couldn't deny the satisfaction she felt at his reaction. The Warden turned to the right a bit, pacing off from him. With a practiced movement, she drew her blades and spun on her heel, facing him. There was a clink of mail as he raised his arm and unsheathed his short sword, slipping his arm through the straps of his round shield. The Warden flicked her wrists, daggers twirling expertly back and forth in slow arcs, creating a steadily whirling wall of steel.
"Whenever you're ready," she called, syncing her breathing to the slow, deceptively lazy rhythm of her defensive maneuver, stepping one foot in front of the other, moving left.
Alistair raised his shield. his sword arm poised and bent to the side, seemingly relaxed. But she could see the tenseness around his eyes, in the way he held his shoulders as he circled her to the right. There was little other movement in the still air as their circular steps tightened, coming closer, the Warden watching him trace her movements. Her own cerulean gaze casually slipped over the elder Warden, picking over his stance for an opening, a gap...there! She lunged, feinting to the right with her lead hand and he deftly deflected, his attention zeroing in on her dominant weapon. It was what she had hoped for and she quickly brought up her left as if completing another defensive arc, instead swiftly changing direction and plunging it straight towards the exposed area beneath his left spaulder. Alistair barely caught the ruse in time, lifting his arm to deflect the attack and it skittered harmlessly down his blade as he turned her own aside.
They broke apart, the exchange over in a blinding flurry of movement. She took up her defensive posture again, her lips curving into a small smile. Her eyes flashed once, the only warning, and he was aware of it, bringing his shield forward and easily blocking her cross thrust, hooking his sword beneath her dagger as it dove for his unprotected flank, circling it in a grinding screech of met steel and pressing his newly acquired advantage. Quicker than a fleeing fox, she twisted her body, sidestepping the blow as it barely grazed her armor and she used the momentum to gracefully somersault back, several steps away from him.
Their breathing was a little labored now, mutual gazes narrowed in concentration. Something flitted across his face, an expression she was unfamiliar with. Without warning, he charged and she was taken aback by the bold recklessness of the assault, hard-pressed to even defend against the rapidity of the sword thrusts that came at her from seemingly everywhere. She dodged and parried as many as she could, successful but wary, as she knew her back was now to the tree and if cornered, she had no where to go. He seemed to possess the same knowledge and she realized his apparently inattentive movements were very deliberate. Alistair was eyeing her closely and he must have seen through her right feint, because he surged forward, leading with his shield arm and she knew there was only one more trick she could pull.
Nimbly, she ducked his wide swipe with the edge of his shield, raising her blade over her head and smoothly dragging its newly sharpened edges against the leather straps that held the safeguard in place. Steel grated against the metal of his armor, but sliced through the fastenings like water, the shield falling to the ground with a dull thud and she dimly heard Alistair's grunt of surprise. With a deft movement, she pivoted, reversing her grip on her other blade to jam the hilt with as much force as she could muster into his armor neglected wrist. He was not fast enough to dodge or deflect the blow and it came down with the force of an ogre, numbing his hand enough that he lost his grip on his sword, it following the shield to the ground. Confidence surged through the Warden and she spun, intending to finish the fight with a Twin Fangs maneuver.
Before she could even send her daggers back beneath her arms, Alistair reacted, grabbing her wrists in a death clasp and wrenching them roughly. She gritted her teeth, but it was ineffectual, her daggers falling from her loosened grasp. She twisted her upper body, intending to break his hold on her, but his strength won out over her agility.
He spun her in his arms, sensing the tensing of her body as a warning sign and immediately pushed her back up against the tree, using his heavier frame to pin her effectively in place. She writhed in his grasp like a coiling serpent, but she managed to make little progress as he firmly held her wrists captive. The first small splatter of cold rain against her nose brought her efforts to a screeching halt. She froze in mid struggle, her chest heaving with exertion. She had become intensely, agonizingly aware of every square inch of his body that touched hers and the sensation sent a fire bolt of heat streaking through her. Alistair must have felt the change in her because his eyes snapped to hers and she was conscious of just how close they were.
Still, her mind was somewhat functional despite the fog of desire that had begun to descend and she developed a wicked plan before she really allowed herself too much time to mull it over and lose what little courage she had.
Remembering a time years ago, a youthful, more carefree time that seemed centuries in the past, she recalled a quiet, giggle-filled talk with her sister-in-law on a rainy day much like this.
She slid one long leg between his braced ones and she fought back the smirk threatening to envelop her lips at his obvious surprise as she lightly brushed her exposed thigh against the unprotected leather of his inner one. The Warden watched Alistair swallow hard as she locked her eyes with his, then flicked her gaze down to his lips, back up again, slowly letting her small pink tongue dart out and wet her own. His amber gaze appeared mesmerized by the action and she left her lips just a little parted, letting out the tiniest puff of air as he unconsciously inched his face closer to hers.
She took a deep breathe, letting her chest meet his tentatively and she let her eyes drift slightly closed, breathing out his name in the barest of whispers. His lips were scant inches from hers and she could feel the heat from his body assailing her in waves.
"Oh, Maker, help me," he murmured as he closed the distance between them, his mouth slanting over hers in an achingly sweet kiss that left her knees weak and set her heart to hammering in her chest.
She glided her mouth against his, relishing the silky feel against hers, sipping at his lower lip gently. She felt more than heard him groan and parted her lips and devilishly touched her tongue against his closed mouth. He accepted her invitation, plunging his tongue into the sweet cavern of her mouth and leaving her absolutely breathless as the rain began to drizzle in earnest. And he had never done this before?
The Warden tugged at her captured wrists as one kiss blended into another and another, his mouth leaving hers only to gasp in just enough air to keep breathing. He relinquished his grasp on her hands, bringing one gauntleted hand to cup her face tenderly while the other braced against the trunk of the tree. Her own gloved hands slip up his chest to wrap around his neck, holding him closer and dragging slender fingers through the strands of his hair. She heard a small sound, like a whimper, unaware that the noise escaped past her own lips. Alistair, however, reacted strongly, pulling away suddenly to stare down into the deeply blue depths of her eyes, his amber irises dark with hunger. He bent his head to rest beside hers, his lips brushing the skin just beneath her ear and making her shudder. The motion seemed to torment him, because he muttered something she couldn't quite hear under his breath and moved his other hand to the trunk as well, placing his body as close to hers as physically possible with all their armor on.
"You're going to be the death of me," he breathed into her ear, making her bite her lip to keep a moan from slipping past.
She pressed those same lips to the exposed skin of his throat, letting her tongue slip out to taste the salty flesh there and he made a strangled noise.
"Elissa," he said softly, making heat pool low in her belly as she placed feather-light lips against his jaw, turning her head to meet his mouth again with hers in another bone-melting kiss.
"Alistair, please," she whispered between the touching of his mouth to hers and he groaned again, the sound reverberating right through her.
He broke away to trail soft kisses against her neck, working his way down to her bared collarbone, only to return to her lips once more.
"Show me," he pleaded in a raspy breath, his voice slipping into a deep baritone, reflecting his need for her, "Show me how to love you..."
She let out a moan then, air hissing between her teeth when he nibbled at the lobe of her ear and she managed to chuckle quietly.
"You seem to have a pretty good idea already."
He must have enjoyed that comment, because he let out a hoarse laugh of his own.
"A Chantry boy I may be, but I wasn't completely immune to the odd fantasy or two that was...inspirational."
His voice trailed off with a noise that sounded more like a growl as she undulated her body against him, their hips connecting intimately despite the bulk of their mutual armor. She bit back another smirk as she brought her hands between them to tug off the leather encasing her hands with her teeth. One by one, she placed a finger against her lips, biting down lightly to pull every digit free of its confines. His eyes practically smoldered as he watched her mouth with rapt attention, piercing down on his own lip with his teeth and muttering in a strained voice,
"Those cloistered sisters' would never let anyone wear gloves if they knew how very wickedly they could be used."
"There are a great number of things the Chantry would forbid if they only knew," she replied with a smile, running her now bare hands down along his steel breastplate to nimbly unfasten the buckles that held it to his body.
Alistair jerked off his gauntlets with a rough motion, seemingly content to drag the calloused fingers through her damp hair, his tongue tracing the path of one errant droplet of water as it meandered its way down her throat. Evidently feeling a little bolder, he nipped her there, soothing the bite with a gentle kiss and she let her head fall back with a moan, fumbling with the last fastening on his armor. Her quest successful, she then brought her hands back up to guide his mouth back to hers and then slipped them over his larger ones, placing them on her shoulders and applying a light pressure.
He seemed to understand her meaning as their lips and tongues warred for dominance, both unmindful of the pitter-patter of the rain falling around them in the glade. Instead, Alistair concentrated on touch, running his hands over the form-fitting leather, mapping the curves of her body. With a shrug of his broad shoulders, he removed his breastplate, letting it land unheeded on the soft bed of needles beneath their feet, his lips never leaving hers. The Warden guided his hands to the straps of her own brigandine and his hands busied themselves awkwardly, impatience winning out over any pretended finesse. With a soft laugh, she assisted him, tossing the leather aside and leaning back once more against the tree. He appeared to be drinking her in, his hands lifting to tentatively caress the curve of her waist, index finger tracing the shape of her body from the band of her breast cloth to the linen covered hip, other fingers splaying to explore all the soft flesh between. Tugging firmly, she pulled his shirt over his head, slim hands dancing teasing patterns over the broad expanse of muscle, gooseflesh rising in the wake of her touch.
Lips soon followed, her mouth pressing sweetly, softly against the skin of his chest, making him quiver as her clever hands ghosted nails down his ribs. Her mouth blazed downwards and Alistair's hands moved to thread through the curls of her hair, undoing her hastily constructed ponytail and letting the auburn strands flow wildly about her face and shoulders. As her lips met the top of his trews, she slid her hands down, down his legs to help him discard his boots, hers having been removed with her armor. On her knees before him, she hooked her thumbs into the band of the material and eased it down before placing it next to his heavy boots. The Warden couldn't suppress the shiver of anticipation as she glanced up and saw the evidence of his desire for her urgently pressing against the confines of his smalls.
Her mouth curved into a wicked smile and she saw him swallow hard again when she began to stroke the skin of his thighs in slow, sweeping caresses, venturing near but never touching where she knew he wanted her the most. She pressed her scarcely clad body against his leg, planting tongue-flicked kisses from just above his knee upwards, ever upwards. It proved too much for him, as Alistair swooped down, pulling her with him and rolling until she lay beneath him as he balanced on his forearms. His hips were cradled intimately between hers and she could feel him pressing insistently against her inner thigh. His mouth claimed hers in a searing kiss that stole all the wickedness from her thoughts and left her mind spinning. A sharp tug, and her breast band ripped, the thin cloth a barrier he no longer cared to fight.
Something within him seemed to have broken, or perhaps been let loose. His amber eyes had darkened to gold as he raked them over her bountiful chest. He then bent his head to place hot, open-mouthed kisses along the creamy slopes, the rosy flesh of her nipple pebbling as his warm breath fanned over the tip. Locking his gaze with hers, he flicked the coral bud with his tongue and she could no longer hold her eyes open, letting them fall shut with a breathy moan. The sound must have pleased him, because he let his witty tongue swirl over the tip of her breast before taking it into his mouth and suckling softly. The Warden cried out at the sensation, a burning cord seeming to have lanced fire from her chest straight to her core. Alistair tugged at the strings that held her smalls over her hips and the material fell away at his insistence.
He pulled away and she immediately missed the warmth of his body despite the humid dampness of the afternoon. He just stared down at her bare form, and she remained still under his heated gaze. The look in his reminded her an owl that had the mouse in its claws, or perhaps a child who had just been given a new, favorite piece of candy. Despite the hunger in his gaze, Alistair's confidence appeared to ebb a little and uncertainty suddenly filled his features.
"I've-I've never-," he began but she placed gentle fingers against his lips, then pulled him down to kiss him once more, pouring all she had, everything she would be into that one melding of mouths.
Perhaps he understood, or perhaps her sneaking hands roaming down his shoulders, dancing along his stomach, to reach between them and stroke his length through the slight cloth of his smalls had gotten his attention. Either way, his ardor was restored in full force as she caressed him before guiding his shaking hand to explore her hidden depths. His large fingers clumsily slid against the slick heat of her, but she didn't mind, the knowledge of him just touching her arousing. As one hand stroked his hardened manhood, causing him to buck and growl against her lips, the other she used she led him to the small bud of her womanhood. His big thumb circled it with a light pressure and she undulated against him, squeezing his shaft firmly in a response that had his hips surging forward and they both gasped. She whimpered into his mouth as he curiously slid a finger to the very center of her, slipping the digit inside and crooking it upwards as his mouth worshipped her breasts. Lights popped like tiny stars behind her closed eyelids as he began to move his finger in a steady rhythm, pushing her closer to a precipice that she was teetering on already.
"Alistair...Alistair, please, I can't...I need...", she was unable to fully verbalize what it was she needed, the sensations rolling through her body keeping her from forming a coherent thought.
He must have comprehended her desire, however, as suddenly he was naked over her and his swollen length was pressing urgently against her. Her legs drew up of their own accord, wrapping around his waist and she rolled her hips in a manner that clearly spoke of her acquiescence. Kissing her with a hunger that he couldn't deny, he plunged into her with a swift thrust, letting out a hiss of breath at the tightness of her sheath around him. She could feel is length throbbing within her and she moved her hips, a silent plea for him to move. He shook his head.
"Just-Just give me a moment, love...", he ground out, his head bent to nuzzle the cradle at the jointure of her neck and shoulder.
She assented, stilling. After what seemed like an eternity, he pulled back, almost completely, then buried himself to the hilt in a quick thrust, causing them both to moan. Together, they began a hesitant rhythm, moving to a tempo that had played since the world began. His movements became surer, stronger, and she responded eagerly, the pooling heat at her center spiraling tighter and tighter until she thought she would burst from the exquisite torment. Suddenly, she felt herself being pulled up from the soft bed of needles at her back to feeling his strong arms envelop her as he held her above him on his knees. Alistair rained kisses across her body as steadily as the drizzle of water around them as he slowly, achingly filled her.
The world had narrowed to just the two of them, their lovemaking soft, sweet, yet filled with an undercurrent of urgency as her climax neared. As he guided her hips over him to the cadence he desired, she felt the molten wave burst forth and his name tumbled from her lips like the Chant, devouring her in its scorching heat, rolling over her in wave after wave. He wasn't far behind, his essence pouring in a hot cascade as he groaned out her name into her mouth.
Exhausted, they collapsed beside one another and she turned to curl into his side, content as a sun basking cat. His arm encircled her, his calloused thumb lazily drawing a circle on the soft flesh of her hip. She buried her nose in his neck, breathing in the scent of pine and leather, reveling in it.
"You are a bad, bad woman," she heard him say. "All this so you could win at a sparring match."
She lifted her head to quirk a brow at him.
"We could always attempt two out of three rounds, winner takes all."
He tapped his chin, as if considering the offer.
"That sounds like a reasonable idea."
His next words had her heart fluttering as he rolled over her to lean down and capture her lips in soft kiss, as full of promise as the sentence he uttered.
"That's if you'll spend the rest of your life loving me as I will you."
A/N: Alright, I know the end was a lil fluffy, but who doesn't love Alistair for his sweetness? Anyhoo, hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing. I needed a break from my Fenris fic and this had been swirling around in my head for the last two days. Leave a review at the door, no flames, but constructive criticism is appreciated.
~Silvergryphon06