Title: With Teeth
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters/Pairings: Calpernia, Samson; Sampernia
Rating: M
Warnings: smut (did you honestly expect they would be holding hands or something); I'm headcanoning them both as bi, so if you're against it then... ignore that one line, or don't read, or write me a very angry comment about it, I don't know…
Disclaimer: Dragon Age is not mine, although the writing certainly is.
A/N: title from a song by Nine Inch Nails which is quite fitting for these two trash lords I think?
You may consider this a follow up to my previous fic, though if you want to see them as two separate things or don't read the previous one at all, it's totally fine. I divided the story into chapters because shorter pieces look better than a wall of text.
I
"You need to bathe. You stink, Samson."
He gives her a look, half wondering if she's joking or not. He never knows what in the Void this woman is thinking, he can't even imagine what is going inside her head, especially when he's around. She may as well wear a thick armour with spikes, grow her nails into claws and sharpen her teeth to resemble fangs. She's like a feral beast ready to pounce on her prey the second she gets a chance.
But Samson knows Calpernia doesn't need to look dangerous. She may seem like every other ordinary girl who is simply...
...ugly, comes to his mind, but he quickly banishes the thought. Beautiful, a small voice whispers, and Samson shakes his head, conflicted. He's not that shallow to judge her solely because of her appearance; he knows what she can do, he's seen her setting people on fire with a small gesture of her wrist. There's so much pride in her, in comparison Samson feels bleak and unimportant, even though he has a whole army of Red Templars behind his back.
Calpernia may seem like every other... girl, woman, but the second you forget about her power she will not hesitate to remind you how easily she can bend the most dangerous of magic to her will. Whatever is left of his templar training constantly warns him about her. You know what happens with ruthless mages, it hisses, spitting red lyrium as it twists its lips in disgust because Samson cannot help but feel drawn to this woman.
He wants to respond with a snarl, a growl, or a cruel reminder that he's the man she takes to her bed whenever she pleases and she never complains, but he merely glares at her silently. There might be someone listening, besides the mages are looking at him with their wry, hostile eyes. Samson and Calpernia never talk much, it's already odd she addressed him so openly while they are among others.
His dirty armour covered in guts and pieces may not be the nicest picture, and his hair is so damp with sweat, blood and lyrium, Samson has to agree with the woman. He looks like he went to the Void and back, while Calpernia's clothes are clean and perfect as if she had a fancy tea party with Orlesian nobles instead of slaughtering whatever or whoever dared to oppose her. Their camp is far away from any traces of civilisation, there's no other option to bathe than in a river nearby, though the very thought of going into the cold water makes him shudder. Samson takes off his precious armour to have it cleaned, at least he has the privilege of having others doing certain tedious tasks for him. Wearing only a shirt and pants (rags, Calpernia calls his clothes), carrying a cloth that serves him as a towel, he leaves the camp behind. He undresses quickly, and walks into the river, cursing when the cold water hits his skin.
After a while he turns back and sees Calpernia standing in the distance, observing him. Samson frowns; he didn't expect to see her near him anytime soon after openly mocking him earlier, yet here she is, watching him like a hawk. His expression changes as he realises she's come here because she wants something from him. He never thought she would trick him like this, but then, Samson should have known better than to make any assumptions about this woman.
She changed her clothes, perhaps feeling filthy herself, and she is now wearing one of those Tevinter robes Samson has seen many times before. They show off her legs but also her small breasts (well, he likes how they fit into the palms of his hands, but it's not something he will ever tell her), which means these clothes are not exactly something she should be wearing every day.
He could ask her what is she doing here, but he's observing her silently, knowing there's no time for questions. He should have known she's going to follow him; nothing about Calpernia is unintentional. He feels her eyes fixed on him as he scrubs the filth and blood off his skin. He deliberately takes his time, although he is aware she may lose her patience with him soon enough. The water is cold, though he doesn't care about it anyway. After a while he gets out, walks to the pile of clothes, briefly wondering if he should be wasting his time on putting them on – she's here not for talking, of course. Samson has a moment of realisation; he knows nothing about this woman besides the obvious facts.
Only when he's fully clothed again she walks to him and stops, keeping a safe distance between them. Her cheeks are rosy, eyes sparkling, and she looks absolutely gorgeous. It's more an observation than flattery. People may secretly call her Horseface Flat–tits, but the truth is, she indeed is beautiful in this distant, melancholic way that makes others afraid, and admire her from afar, never getting closer.
"Just had a bath, like you wanted, your majesty," he says in a mocking voice, looking down on her. He sometimes enjoys the height difference between them, though it's merely a silly detail that helps to inflate his ego; besides, if you consider a shorter mage a smaller threat, it may be the last mistake you ever make. "You don't think I'm disgusting anymore?"
Calpernia purses her lips, eyes narrowed. "You are, but it never stopped me before."
Are we back to insults? You can do better than this, he thinks, eyeing the frown between her brows with amusement.
The problem with this woman is, Samson never knows what she expects from him when she's not barking commands. He's mad that it was so easy for her to make him obey every word she says, though one part of his mind reminds him that after all, it's simply easier to follow than to lead. He takes a step closer; she doesn't stop him, so he thinks he may as well try doing what he wants before she orders him to do something else.
Calpernia freezes when his lips touch hers, and it happens every time, making him wonder if he should keep trying (what is he supposed to do instead, beat her in the head?). Even though she never tells him anything, he's not blind, and he's not exactly a fan of kissing an unresponsive mannequin.
Since she changed into robes, Samson vaguely remembers someone from the Circle telling him the "real" reason why mages wear clothes resembling long skirts. He thought it was a joke, but he can't help but notice the robes are indeed functional, for many reasons. Especially if the mage is not wearing anything underneath.
Calpernia's regular clothes are a nightmare; Samson never cared about fashion, though now he has to add 'completely impractical clothing' to a list of all things wrong with the Tevinter Imperium. When they… (made love? he snorts, it's too funny. Fucked) spent the night together for the first time, it took impossibly long to undress her. He remembers he considered tearing those damnable things into pieces and taking her right there, force her to surrender to him completely. However, what could work with some other woman, wouldn't work with Calpernia – he learned that soon enough. Under layers of clothing she was even smaller than he had imagined, so frail compared to what she shows during battles, bending elements to her will, destroying everything that stands in her way. Since the moment he saw her – he truly saw her – as nothing else than this skinny, pale creature, eyes shining with something he still can't quite understand, then he knew it was too late for him to turn back.
She pulls away, and commands him to sit down. Samson briefly glances around, if someone followed her they would surely see them, and obeys without any second thoughts. It's been a while since their last meeting, they may not have a luxury of staying in some place that has at least a bed, so they may as well make use of the present moment. Usually it's Calpernia who initiates whatever in the Void she wants him to do. Sometimes he comes to her, like a dog sniffing for a bone, and Calpernia is generous enough to answer his unspoken question.
She straddles him, and then her long fingers are searching for the fastenings to his pants. He inhales sharply as her hand slips inside and wraps around his cock. Impatiently, she pushes her robes out of the way, he sees a glimpse of her skin, and the fact that she's really not wearing anything underneath makes his blood boil. She's completely silent while he nearly hisses when she removes her hand, and grunts at how good she feels as she sinks down on him. It is embarrassing how easily she wrapped him around her little finger. His hair is wet, few drops are trickling down his back into the fabric of his shirt.
Calpernia is not tender or kind to him, and she expects nothing else in return. He hesitates, she doesn't like him touching her more than she allows, she just wants to get what she needs, but he puts his large hands on her slender waist anyway. She has her hands on his shoulders; to keep her balance, not to hold him. The very idea of Calpernia wanting to hold him is absurd. Samson feels her nails digging into his flesh to remind him she's the one in control. He's a weak, weak man, so he doesn't struggle, letting her set the pace, never touching more than her waist even though he wants to…
(crush her bones, leave marks on her delicate skin with his teeth, make her howl as loud as the red beast inside him)
…he wants to feel more of her under his hands, under his whole body. He wants to tear her robes to see and taste her freckled skin that haunts him when he closes his eyes. Samson wants many things he can't get, but he isn't going to complain. If he can't have the whole thing, he's glad he gets scraps – it isn't fair but what is, anyway.
The sky above her head is so blue it looks like a painting; or maybe it's just that everything seems more vivid when she's with him. Perhaps it is simply a need to have someone who wants him. Or who's good at pretending.
Samson looks back at Calpernia just in time to see her shiver, biting on her lower lip. She lets out a half–swallowed cry, refusing to make louder sounds. It is frustrating how quiet she is, but Samson is also perfectly aware she wouldn't hesitate to strike if he pushed her, so he won't dare to force her to respond in a more emotional way. Not yet.
Lyrium sings, some say, but all Samson hears is that scarlet poison howling like a pack of wolves. When he's with Calpernia, all is mute.