Andraste's blood! An elephant must have stepped on my head.
Not only did he have a splitting headache, his tongue felt…what? Dirty. Fuzzy. Covered in little woolen pills. He grimaced and spat, then slowly raised himself onto his elbows. Every muscle in his upper body screamed in protest. The bed came into focus, covered in a dusty gray blanket. He turned to his right and squinted into the sunshine. It streamed into the room through filthy mullions edged with jagged bits of glass. Elissa lay next to him, snoring loudly through her mouth, her face caked with dirt and spots of dried blood.
Outside, the air buzzed with the sound of flies. Soon the corpses would begin to rot and reek. He imagined rowdy boys running riot through the streets, heedless of the danger, kicking heads and torsos and taunting the bodies though their glassy eyes saw no more.
There was so much work to do. Still, it was over. Over! He wanted to scream, shout it at the top of his lungs. But there was no way his broken body could muster the energy.
He folded his hands, dropped his head, and offered a silent prayer of gratitude.
~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~
He found Leliana in the kitchen. She'd made a fire in the fireplace and was kneeling in front of it, toasting some bread. Butter and dried meats were laid out on the kitchen table. There were apples too, and pears.
She dropped the toast onto a waiting plate, then ran over to hug him, grinning from ear to ear. He caught her in his arms, laughing and flinching as she hit his chest. "Morning, Lels!"
She was filthy too, and there was a nasty, swollen, purple bruise near her left eye where a hurlock had caught her with a club. Wynne had managed to heal the worst of their wounds before collapsing into sleep, but they all needed further attention.
"It's the best morning ever! We did it, Alistair. We ended it!" She squeezed him, hard, then disentangled herself from him and made her way back to her toast.
His stomach growled like a bear woken from hibernation. He walked over to the table, slapped some meat between some pieces of stale bread, and tore voraciously into the sandwich.
"The others…they're still asleep?" he asked around a mouthful of food.
She nodded, yawning at the thought of more time in a nice, soft bed. Their group lay strewn about the rooms of an abandoned house in the Palace District. They'd been so exhausted they'd barely made it through the door, and Wynne had almost fallen where she stood. "I could use another eight hours myself, I think. I'm quite envious of Shale right now. No exhaustion, no hunger…"
"You aren't the only one." He swallowed, making a face as stale breadcrust scratched its way down his gullet. He looked around in vain for some water. "But we have to round up the troops and get them back to camp. The real work is just beginning."
~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~
"Elissa." He shook her shoulder softly, and a dark braid fell over her brow. "Come on, you have to get up. We're leaving." He'd left her to rest as long as he could, but it was time to move out.
As she woke her expression shifted several times, from confusion at where she was, to horror as she remembered the battle, to a sweet, cautious relief.
"It's really over, isn't it?" she asked groggily. Her disbelieving tone matched the look in her eyes. "And we both…we're both…" A smile started to make its way across her face, but she winced when her lower lip cracked and began to bleed. He licked his thumb and gently wiped away the drop of crimson.
Her lips…he remembered what he'd done the night before.
He'd heard her cry out in alarm. When he looked around to find her, she'd taken up her sword again and was plunging it into the Archdemon's neck, twisting it back and forth, grinding her teeth with the effort, until there was no question the beast was finally dead. She'd looked so darkly beautiful standing there, dwarfed by the dragon's body, that he'd swept her into his arms and kissed her. When she'd responded in kind he had pressed further, crushing her, devouring her, until he'd grown dizzy and had to come up for air.
"Incredible, isn't it?" He took her hand and rubbed her knuckles. He was grinning like an idiot. He couldn't help it. Even better, he didn't care.
"Here. Take this." He pressed an apple into her hand, then kissed her forehead. "We have to go."
~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~
Once they were assembled outside, Alistair called her over.
"I'm worried about the corruption spreading," he said, rubbing his temple. "I think you and Shale and I should burn bodies while the others round up soldiers. When they return, they can tell us which areas are worst off. We can move on to those areas while they head to camp with the men and tell Eamon and Teagan that we'll join them by nightfall. What do you think?"
Elissa was lost in thought for minute, trying to consider all the angles. "Sounds like a solid plan," she concluded, unable to keep a hint of admiration from her voice.
He'd been different since the Landsmeet. It was as if he realized for the first time that he could influence events around him rather than just let them happen. He was beginning to evaluate strategies and tactics instead of relying on her for everything, and as a result he was growing more and more sure of himself. Granted, it was happening none too soon given that his coronation was probably less than three weeks away. But watching a good and deserving man like him come into his own—it was something to behold. She realized that she felt privileged to see it.
She'd noticed other changes, too, in just the last few days. A sporadic flash in his eyes of hunger, even predation. A new suppleness in his limbs and gait. She shifted uncomfortably, aware of a growing dampness in her braies.
"Good!" he said, smiling at her appreciatively. He turned and called Zevran and Shale over. When he outlined the proposal, Zevran nodded with enthusiasm.
"An excellent idea," the elf agreed. "We will meet you back here at two bells." Zevran proceeded to round up Sten, Leliana, Wynne, and Oghren and began explaining their task.
Shale took her aside and her gravelly voice woke Elissa from her reverie. "Since when does the warrior come up with logical suggestions?" she asked, sounding all but disappointed. "It's happened several times now. Frankly, it…boggles the mind."
"I think you'd better get used to it," Elissa said with a laugh. The golem was as sharp as the crystals that poked out of the various parts of her body, in more ways than one. Shale didn't hide her intelligence or suffer fools gladly—both admirable traits as far as Elissa was concerned.
Elissa's mind wandered as the three of them set to the tedious task of gathering and burning corpses. She was reminded of the aftermath of the battle in Redcliffe, all the stinking undead carcasses they'd had to collect and pile onto pyres. At least there'd been a huge celebration that evening. Revelers had spilled from the tavern down the hillside and into the square below, and the music and drinking and dancing had gone on into the early morning hours. It had reminded her of the festival each Harvestmere in Highever. She'd almost felt thirteen again, exquisitely aware of the possibility of being thrown together with the boy she fancied, both excited about and afraid of what might happen. Leliana had noticed her watching Alistair dance with Bella, and she'd giggled and elbowed Elissa in the ribs. "Oh, you've got it bad. I can tell! He's quite handsome, isn't he? If a bit…awkward."
In the end he'd asked Elissa to dance several times that night, but over the next several weeks his forward/bashful routine had almost driven her mad. One evening she'd tried being direct with him and he'd nervously put her off. Hurt and frustrated, she'd said something unkind, and that had been that. Being around him continuously had become an endless torment.
So what was going on now? That kiss on the roof…she hadn't expected it at all, even under such circumstances.
She was rounding a genlock body, sizing it up, when the toe of her boot caught its outstretched leg. She had to catch her balance quickly to keep from landing face-first in the dirt.
She swore under her breath.
~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~
From beyond the treetops, the Chantry tower rang nine bells. What a day. At least there had been food and empty tents waiting for them, thanks to Wynne and Zevran. Alistair and Elissa got help with their armor and sat down on a nearby log to eat. He saw Elissa's hand tremble with fatigue as she raised her spoon to her mouth.
"Come by my tent before you retire, both of you," Wynne offered from her seat by the campfire. "I can fix you up a little better now that I've had some sleep."
Elissa didn't need to be told twice. Wynne soon made good on her promise, healing her remaining injuries and giving her a salve for her sore muscles.
She had just settled into her own tent when she heard Alistair address her through the flap.
"Don't tell me you're going to bed like that, covered in dirt, with your hair full of smoke and ash," he chided.
She stifled a yawn as she stepped outside and looked up to meet his eyes. He, too, was still in his filthy street clothes. "I was considering it, actually. How are you still on your feet, anyway? You were up long before I was."
"Templar discipline, of course." He feigned a stern look. "What real warriors are made of."
She snorted and rolled her eyes. Now he was yawning too, and stretching, raising his arms over his head. Her eyes followed the hem of his shirt as it rose above his breeches, exposing his trim belly.
He leaned toward her. "Come with me," he said conspiratorially, wary of the nearness of others. "Down to the river. It'll be deserted by now. Bring your pack."
Her eyes narrowed, but butterflies were propagating madly in her belly. "What are you up to?" she asked warily. They were grungy, definitely, but the water would be frigid this time of night. Not that she'd complain if this turned out to be what she hoped.
A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and she saw that elusive glint in his eyes again. His voice dropped half an octave. "What am I up to? Making up for lost time."
She knew with certainty what his look was then. Desire. Wanting. Lust. As it washed over her, she felt a chill followed by a flash of heat. Then she turned it back on him with the force of nine months' frustration. He didn't flinch. She felt a quiver between her thighs.
Her brows rose in a wordless question, but he merely tipped his head toward the forest. He picked up his pack and looked back at her over his shoulder. "Oh. We'll need your sword oil. I'm almost out."
Her expression was pure puzzlement as she mouthed the words. Need? Sword oil?
~oOo~oOo~oOo~oOo~
At the edge of camp he took her hand and led her into the moonlit brush. A hundred yards down the main path he turned them onto a lesser trail that gradually narrowed and grew wilder. They moved quickly and silently, the only communication between them a squeezing of fingers or his thumb tracing across her palm. How could these tiny touches be so sensual? They weakened her knees until her only thought was fantasizing where else he would lead her this evening.
After several minutes' hike they stumbled upon a shallow tributary of the Drakon River. In the darkness the moon illuminated autumn's first fallen leaves on its banks. Alistair set his pack down next to a stump and helped Elissa doff hers, then wasted no time in pushing her up against the nearest tree.
He put one arm over her head and leaned in close, pressing his hips against hers, wondering if she could tell he was already hard. She shifted under him, and as he caught a bit of friction he wished more than anything that the two of them weren't utterly caked in grit. "I should have done this a long time ago," he apologized softly. "I was an idiot to turn you away. I'm sorry." He lowered his forehead to hers. "You know I've only done this once. I'll do my best to make it good for you."
She opened her mouth to say something conciliatory, but he raised his finger to her lips. "I've been a fool," he insisted. "But I can grovel more later. Shall we get cleaned up?"
"Yes please," she sighed. "I've never been so grimy in all my life."
He pushed himself off the tree and made for his pack, where he pulled out several items, including a red woolen blanket, a large pot, and a bottle of wine. He called out to her. "Over here. Help me gather brush for a fire."
Within minutes they'd gathered kindling and a few logs, and a tiny flame had started to catch. Alistair filled the pot from the stream and placed it over the fire, then set to opening the wine while Elissa spread the blanket on the ground.
"This would be nicer if we had some glasses," he commented, working at the cork with a small knife. It came out with a small 'pop,' and he fixed his eyes on hers and held up the bottle in a toast. "To you, Elissa. For doing everything I couldn't." He took a swig and handed it to her. She grinned and repeated his gesture. "To our future king," she said coyly, throwing her head back and slugging heavily.
"Yes, well, can we just forget about that for tonight?" he asked with a rueful chuckle. "I think there's enough pressure on me this evening."
She smirked at him. He really didn't know anything about women, did he? "You're joking, right? You imagine I won't be thinking about that? You've a lot to learn, my friend." She took another pull and handed it back to him. "Just be glad we met before all this happened, so you can know that I always and truly liked you for you."
"Bah! You women are all the same," he groaned in feigned despair. Then he laughed and stroked his chin. "No wonder Cailan looked so damned smug all the time!"
The fire was roaring now. They sat and bantered until the bottle was empty, and then he was standing behind her, tugging at the collar of her shirt.
"Bath time," he announced.
As she got to her feet, the wine suddenly went to her head. She felt flushed and a bit unsteady as she raised her arms to help him.
He undressed her slowly, mindful of her soreness, fighting the urge to run his hands over her skin. After helping her out of her braies he appraised her in the flickering light. Once curvaceous, she had a fighter's body now, wiry and athletic, yet womanly enough to make him ache.
"Every inch the warrior goddess," he said, a bit hoarsely.
He sat her on the stump, then dipped the sponge into the warm water and squeezed it over her neck, shoulders, back, and chest. Without the considerable heat from the fire she would have been shivering in no time, but with the flames practically licking at her skin she felt quite comfortable. He soaped up the sponge and started wiping her down, spending extra time on her breasts, not because they needed it but because he couldn't help himself. From her torso he continued on to her buttocks, thighs, legs, and feet, and she felt all the accumulated stress and anxiety leave her body. Finally, there was only one spot left to wash.
He rinsed the sponge again and soaped it up. "Sit forward," he told her. He placed one hand high on her leg and began to wash her inner thighs, watching her face as he circled closer and closer to their apex. Elissa's eyes closed involuntarily and she held her breath, trying not to whimper as the sponge grazed her repeatedly, warm and slippery and wonderful against the nexus of her need.
And then it was gone.
"Finished," he said innocently, but she opened her eyes to find mirth lurking in his. She doubted he knew just how ready she was to lie down and spread her legs for him the moment he said the word.
"And now it's your turn," she replied darkly, planning her revenge.
She rose and had him sit on the stump, then knelt before him and undid his buttons and laces. She found herself mesmerized by muscle and sinew as he pulled his shirt over his head. Before he could catch her staring, she bent down to remove his shoes and stockings. She waited with a lump in her throat while he stood and pulled down his breeches and braies in one motion, and then there he was, naked before her at long last.
Her gaze swept over his chiseled physique. He looked even better than she'd imagined—and her imagination had some excellent standards. Granted, she was finding it difficult to pay attention to anything but the massive, engorged…here her mind struggled for an appropriate word…pole bobbing and jerking before her eyes like a cobra intent on bewitching her. Between the moonlight and the dancing flames she thought her eyes must be failing her. She heard her mouth snap shut.
She remembered the day she'd thrown Fergus' door open to tell him about her new pony, and had caught him rubbing one out. She hadn't understood what he was doing at the time, but the image of him pumping that angry, swollen, purplish thing between his legs had, unfortunately, never left her mind. Years later she'd glimpsed a stable boy's, too, one summer afternoon after he'd helped her groom Laddy. Seeing her effect on him had greatly excited her, but his manhood was…nothing like this.
How was she ever going to fit that thing inside her?
Alistair was having trouble making out the expression on her face. It seemed some curious mixture of longing, fascination, and dread.
"Alistair," she said breathlessly, "you're…"
"A freak," he muttered. "I know. That's why I…"
"…magnificent," she finished, unable to stop gaping, yet too cowed to actually reach out and touch him.
He felt himself blush profusely. So Morrigan had been right!
Finally, Elissa goaded herself into action. She wet and soaped the sponge and washed him in the same order he had her, starting with his neck and working her way down his back and chest, not forgetting the reddish-gold patches of hair under his arms. She traced his scars with her fingertips and watched him shudder in response. She tried to ignore his erection, but it twitched and quivered in the edges of her vision, demanding her attention. When she finished washing his quadriceps, calves, and ankles, she moved on to his feet, then wrung the sponge out and got fresh water and soap.
"Turnabout's fair play, I hear," she murmured. Instead of wrapping the sponge around him as she'd planned, she decided she wouldn't even tease him. She merely squeezed it over him and waited. Soapy water sluiced down his straining length and trickled down under his balls, and she sat there, doing nothing.
"That's the best you can do?" he asked, incredulous. "Very well, then. Time to rinse you off." He took the soap in one hand and reached under her back and her knees, lifting her effortlessly and striding purposefully toward the water.
Her screeches increased in volume as he approached the middle of the stream. He dropped her without warning and she shrieked, dreading landing on her back in the icy water. To her surprise, the current felt refreshing against her skin after the fire and wine and unsatisfied yearning.
They hurriedly washed each other's hair, and he took the opportunity to slide his cock against the cleft of her ass and pull her back into him while his hands kneaded her breasts. It was all so good, so natural. He couldn't believe he'd let himself be convinced otherwise.
They shook their hair out and raced each other to the blanket. She'd had a head start, but with his longer legs he managed to catch up to her and wrestle her to the ground. Their laughter faded as he pinned her arms above her head, and they found themselves face to face, their skin damp and chilled and covered in gooseflesh. Drops of water trickled from his tousled, darkened hair into her eyes, making her blink.
His erection had eventually subsided a bit in the water, but as he lay on top of her, feeling her cool, stiff nipples against his chest and his prick nestled in her pubic hair, it started to return with a vengeance. She felt it rising and ground her hips against him, teasing and encouraging him.
Of course Elissa would be a virgin minx, he thought.
He ducked his head and kissed her hungrily, worrying her maddeningly full lower lip until she opened her mouth and welcomed his tongue inside. There was no clang of armor or iron tang of blood this time, just the relief and thrill of being alive, skin on skin, in the middle of the forest, with no one around and nowhere else to be, knowing that after nine months of heartache, frustration, and masturbation, this was really, finally going to happen.
He licked droplets of water from under her ear, down her neck, across her collarbone, to her proffered breast, and took a swollen nipple into his mouth. She tasted of the river, clean and cold. His cock jerked insistently as he squeezed her hard peak between his lip and tongue and cupped her other breast in his hand, pulling the nipple to and fro between his fingers. Obviously, she wasn't as sensitive as Morrigan; her gasping, writhing, and enthusiastic mewling left no doubt as to how much she was enjoying this. But they were really starting to set him off, too. He wouldn't last long at this rate.
"Things will go better tonight if I come first," he panted, looking up at her. "Do you mind…?"
"Of course not," she replied, gazing down at him with a bright smile.
It was a lie. She felt a moment of panic at being caught unprepared, at last. She'd always hated that feeling more than anything. It was her duty to be prepared. But there was nothing for it. There had to be a first time; it was always going to happen this way.
"The oil," he said, rolling off of her onto his elbow. "You have it?"
She leapt up and went to retrieve it from her bag. Back in camp she hadn't understood what he'd wanted with a bunch of fetid, disgusting, rendered sheep's fat, but its usefulness had begun to dawn on her the moment he'd pulled down his pants.
When she returned he was lying flat on his back, his hands behind his head, ready, waiting, and still except for the colossal phallus flopping against his belly like a fish out of water.
Yes. She was intimidated.
She sat down facing him and hooked her legs under his, then regarded his member with awe and not a little trepidation. "Show me how?" she asked hesitantly.
"Of course I will." His golden voice, which rarely failed to melt her into a puddle of goo, had grown husky again. He held out his palm, and when she lay her fingers across it he kissed and sucked on her knuckles before guiding her hand gently to his shaft.
At her touch, he groaned and rolled his hips. She didn't even know what she was doing, but having her hand on him was like a blessing. And now that he wasn't lying on top of a naked, moaning woman, he could relax somewhat. "Take your time, play with it a bit," he suggested, moving his hand back to his side. "You won't hurt me."
She started stroking him, hesitantly at first, then tugging on him, pulling him in every direction, testing to see how flexible he was. Quite flexible, as it turned out.
"You can even slap it around a little," he volunteered breathily.
She gave it a few light whacks, and he groaned more loudly than before. Incredible. What a marvelous organ! She suddenly felt a bit let down by her own fickle and sometimes overly sensitive female parts.
"When you're ready, pour some oil on me."
She uncorked the vial and dribbled a stream over him and then into both of their open palms. He took her hand again, and this time he wrapped it around his cock and closed his hand over hers.
"Here. This is how I like it best." He demonstrated how much pressure to use, how to pull and twist and rock it back and forth, and how to tease the straining crown and the sensitive skin underneath.
She wasn't a small woman, but even when she squeezed she couldn't get her fingers to go all the way around. She couldn't help feeling she was only doing half the job. She stopped and poured oil onto her other hand, and when she started stroking him with both at once, and using one hand after the other, she saw him start to abandon himself to the pleasure of it.
His head lay to one side, his face the picture of torment, hands balled into fists, groaning and rocking his hips. "Maker, Elissa," he moaned helplessly, slowly rolling his head from one side to the other. "Maker…that's so good…"
The heat from the flames had dried her off by now. Her blood was catching fire seeing him enjoy himself like this, and her entire body broke out in a sweat.
She was amazed to find his testicles moving of their own accord, like eggs floating and bobbing in some lazy current. Curious, she started cupping them at the bottom of each stroke, and saw his movements grow more purposeful.
Her arms had just started to grow tired when she heard him groan, "I'm going to come." She kept her pace steady, and a few strokes later he cried out as his body convulsed and his seed leapt into the air and spilled all over her hands. She wondered if every man climaxed so loudly. She loved hearing those sounds come out of his mouth.
She hastily wiped her hands on the grass and hurried to him, covering his face with kisses and devouring his mouth when he wasn't busy gasping for air. He threw his arms around her and held her tight.
"That was great," he said after catching his breath. He laughed, a bit self-consciously, and it was infectious. She found herself giggling.
"There was so much," she said. "And it went…" She held her hand out flat, about three feet above his belly.
"Yes, well…it won't always be like that. If you're around."
What did he mean by that? She wasn't quite sure. But she thought she liked the sound of it.
They rested side by side for a few minutes, until he noticed she was rhythmically squeezing her legs together. He placed a hand on the inside of her knee and slowly slid it all the way down, lightly caressing her thigh as he went.
"And now it's Lady Cousland's turn," he said devilishly.
Elissa's eyes closed as his hand glided lightly toward the junction of her legs. His touch electrified her…and then, as before with the sponge, it was gone. She wondered if he was trying to drive her stark raving mad. He propped himself up on his elbow and nuzzled her neck, and traced his other hand up her belly to fondle her breast.
Her mind wandered to his night with Morrigan. After leaving them together she'd sobbed for hours before falling asleep cursing their fates. At muster the next day he'd looked more handsome than ever in Cailan's armor, but knowing he'd been sullied, and just how deeply, was a dark, burdensome, keenly felt secret. Watching him prepare for the march, she'd been so miserable she thought she was going to vomit.
Yet only four days later here they were together, naked under the stars, growing intimate next to a crackling fire. As his lips and fingers stoked her desire, her thoughts grew slippery and traitorous.
He fucked a Witch of the Wilds
He was lying on top of her now, tweaking, licking, and sucking her nipples, one hard, muscular thigh pressed between her own.
Full lips enveloping his cock
He went more slowly and thoroughly this time, discovering what was too much for her and what was too little.
His coppery-haired head between slender, pale legs
The longer she imagined what the two of them had done, the hotter her body burned. It was sick, she knew—wrong, even—but oh, so arousing.
Alistair was enjoying being able to take his time and explore her body. This was how their first time should be. He moved his leg aside and reached down to circle the spot that Morrigan had unwittingly shown him. When his finger touched Elissa through her wet curls, her anxious whimper told him this was what she'd been waiting for.
He continued lavishing attention on her breasts while he teased her clit. Mere moments later, her hips were rocking eagerly. He caressed her for another minute or so, then laid a trail of kisses down her belly. Their eyes met briefly as he paused between her legs. Her responsiveness and the anticipation of tasting her had woken his prick again, and the hunger in his gaze made her moan low in her throat. As he lowered his head she imagined him licking her most sensitive spot. The wait was sheer agony. When he gently spread her lips and finally laid his tongue flat against her, she cried out with pleasure.
To his surprise, her taste was much milder than her scent—and not unpleasant in the least. But this was a tricky business. First he was too rough and made her jump, then he was too gentle and she grew impatient. He settled on what he hoped was a middle ground, and allowed her to guide him gently with her hands in his hair.
He needed to focus on making her ready. He slipped his middle finger in to the first knuckle and was amazed to feel muscular walls working to draw it deeper. She was already very wet, so he put his index finger in as well and began sliding them slowly in and out. She seemed to enjoy it immensely, and when he added his tongue again her thrusts became more focused and determined. But he couldn't let her come yet. She needed to be wanton when he took her. He wondered if what he'd done so far was enough to spare her the pain.
Then he had an idea.
Suddenly his tongue and fingers were gone, and Elissa cried out involuntarily. Damn him! No—double-damn him! She opened her eyes to find his outstretched arm tilting the neck of the discarded wine bottle into the fire. She watched, puzzled, as he pulled the bottle back and held it in front of his chest. With his other hand he found and uncorked the vial of oil and dribbled a copious amount of the viscous fluid over the neck.
Her eyes grew wide. He wasn't! "You aren't!" she shouted. Her laugh was incredulous…yet her body already hungered for it.
Looking up, he assessed her expression carefully. He decided that not only did she know exactly what he was planning, she was pleased and utterly turned on by it. "I am," he said impishly. "Going to fuck you with it, that is."
This man! She collapsed on her side and burst into laugher, cackling toward the trees, writhing and rubbing her legs together to save what he'd built up. "Alistair, tell me, how was I so very wrong about you?"
"I'm just using my brain," he said innocently. "I hear I'm getting rather good at it!" As he re-corked the oil, his smile held a touch of his former bashfulness. "You weren't wrong. I've just…grown up a bit."
"Well, I like it. Very much," she said, crooking a finger at him.
"Good," he said, moving to kneel between her thighs. "Because I don't think there's aaaaany going back."
Bottle in hand, he used his already moist fingers to spread her wide. Then he carefully replaced them with its mouth. The warm, smooth, slick glass slid into her easily and felt wonderful against her flesh. She liked the way it filled her and stretched her in all directions at once, and she twisted her hips in a silent plea for more.
"Let me know if it hurts."
She nodded impatiently. "I will! Just do it."
He worked it in all the way to the shoulder and saw her body and face relax. Yes. This would work. Holding the bottle in place, he lay on his side, stretching out his long legs, and resumed going down on her. He moved the neck in and out, then in widening circles, then rocked it gently top to bottom, side to side. He sat up and watched, hypnotized, as it glided wetly in and out of her swollen, flaming, glistening sex. He thought she looked every bit as ready as his throbbing erection felt.
"Ready to give it a try?" he asked.
"More than ready," she said breathlessly. "Can't happen soon enough…"
He removed the bottle slowly and tossed it aside. As she watched him pour oil over himself, she was reminded just how much bigger he was than its neck. He gave himself a few good pumps to rub the oil around, then sat back on his heels and lifted her hips to pull her toward him. He placed his crown against her entrance and teased her a bit, then brought her hips forward and slowly, carefully entered her.
Even with all he'd done to prepare her, she grimaced as the head of his cock slipped inside.
"I'm sorry. Do you want me to stop?" he asked, caressing her thigh, prepared to pull out but hoping the answer was no. Even barely inside her like this, she felt so right, so sublime. He belonged there. He didn't want to have to leave.
"No…don't…" She shook her head. "It wouldn't hurt any less the next time."
He'd chosen to kneel so his hands would be free to stimulate her, and that's what he did now. Each time she responded and started moving against him he would push another inch inside, until she winced again. She felt stretched wide and full up to her neck, but when she looked down he was only halfway in. "Oh, Maker, just do it already," she pleaded.
He'd tried so hard to avoid hurting her, but she was growing annoyed. He grasped her hips firmly and pulled, and a second later he was in her all the way up to his balls. She arched her back at the pain, and he felt guilty at how sweet the sensation was. He let her relax and rest for as long as she needed, and eventually she began to move again. She became engrossed watching his cock and the slow grind of his hips as he fucked her, attentively manipulating her clit all the while.
Poor Alistair. As king he would already have women throwing themselves at him, but if they had any idea what he had between his legs, he didn't stand a chance. She closed her eyes and imagined a palace balcony overlooking a sunny courtyard full of women fanning themselves in the heat. Alistair strode out, naked and hard, crown tilted rakishly, arms outstretched, to welcome his adoring public. As they got a good look at his manhood, every last one of them fainted dead away. Elissa laughed inwardly. It was a ridiculous vision, yet there was some underlying truth to it. She resolved that she would have him. Their future was not yet written, and she might not be the only one, but she would have him.
Alistair watched her in a lustful daze as his hips undulated between her thighs. Her hair was wild, her open-mouthed expression one of mindless rapture. Seeing her breasts bounce with each thrust made him want to drive harder, but he was determined to wait until she was almost there before letting himself go.
It wasn't long before she began to whimper and the movements of her hips became faster and more intent. He responded in kind but kept his thumb's movements constant, and shortly thereafter she arched her back and cried out his name while grinding herself against him. Watching her orgasm quickly undid him, and he groaned with abandon as pleasure ripped through him and her sheath milked his cock of his seed.
When their movements ceased he disentangled himself and went to snuggle beside her, and she threw her arms around his neck.
"I loved that," she said softly, kissing his cheeks, his nose, his eyelids, his temple, his sandy brows. "I can't imagine a better first time. Thank you so much." She closed her eyes and sighed contentedly.
"You certainly don't need to thank me. I'm just…I'm sorry it took so long."
"My fault," she scoffed, waving a hand at him. "I was impatient, unsympathetic. A horny virgin on the rampage! I scared you away." She patted his cheek apologetically.
"Actually, you didn't," he corrected her. "Would you believe…and I know how crazy this sounds… I couldn't bear the thought of subjecting a virgin to my monstrous penis?"
"Oh, Alistair! You're joking!" She always felt sorry for him when it came to this. What a life he'd led…no family to speak of, cloistered in a monastery all those years…
"I'm not. I was teased mercilessly by almost every man and boy in the Chantry who ever saw me naked. Nice, huh?"
"No wonder you're such a cynic. It all makes sense now." She giggled and tweaked his nose.
"Changing topics…I didn't know you would taste so good. I'll do that for you anytime," he said, sounding a bit bashful once again.
Her brows knit. She couldn't wait until all this sexual secret code was laid bare so she wouldn't feel quite so ignorant. Good? Compared to what? It was probably unwise to allude to that night. She tried to put it out of her mind, but seconds later her curiosity got the best of her. "What do you mean, good? Do I taste…different?" she blurted out.
Now he was confused. Different from what? He had no basis to judge. What was she asking? He wracked his brain, and slowly began to take her meaning. "Oh. Oh, no. Are you serious? I didn't do that with her." He shuddered and made a face. "I wanted to wait. For you," he added hastily.
He hadn't…? He'd waited, for her? Dear Maker, he was so sweet. She felt a few tears well in her eyes and trickle down her cheeks. Alistair didn't notice anything was amiss until he turned to say something. Then he looked at her intently, guilt writ plain on his face. "Blast it! Did I say something wrong? I'm sorry. What did I say?"
"No, no," she reassured him, ruffling his hair. "It's just…relief, maybe. That after all you've been through, you're still the same sweet Alistair. It's really something, you know?"
His hazel eyes looked resigned to some unwanted fate, and she was certain he'd been called that many times before. "Look, I don't know that any man wants to be called 'sweet.' But I get it. And I'm happy to be sweet for you. Just…don't say it in public, okay? I'm going to be king, after all." He hugged her tightly and kissed her neck, becoming lost in thought as he pondered her words. In one year he'd saved and taken countless lives, cleaned out a demon-infested Circle of Magi, interfered in foreign and domestic politics, broken a centuries-old curse, been rejected by his last living relative, executed a national hero in front of a Landsmeet, lost his virginity to a sorceress, and helped kill an Archdemon. Yet he didn't feel he was a different person from before, in any fundamental way. Wiser and more knowledgable, certainly. But different? Not really.
On the other hand, maybe not quite as sweet after all. He realized as he regarded her dark, unruly hair, amber eyes, full lips, and even her tear-stained cheeks that he was already dreaming of the next time they could be alone together. And what she might look like as she sucked him off.