Title: Pretty Little Liar
Author: Daisy
Fandom: Dragon Age
Setting: Rebel Camp
Pairing: Loghain Mac Tir/Maric Theirin
Characters: Loghain Mac Tir, Maric Theirin, Potter, Dannon
Genre: Romance/Humor
Rating: T
Chapters: 1/1
Word Count: 815
Type of Work: One-Shot, Companion To Perfection
Status: Complete
Warnings: Gay, Slash, Yaoi, AU - Canon Divergence
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Summary Because of Potter and his stupid constantly running mouth, Loghain wouldn't ever be able to shake the thought of Maric in a wedding dress.
AN: I seriously can't get over these two. I don't really like Loghain past The Stolen Throne, however, but still. I've been itching to write them, so here we go.
Pretty Little Liar ~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Loghain wouldn't, couldn't, trust "Hyram" near as far as he could throw him, but even he had to admit; He was awfully pretty. For a man covered in blood and muck, of course.
He had the kind of eyes that someone could get lost in, and, had it been washed, hair that begged to be tucked behind his ear. While he had a strong build, Loghain could probably still lift him with ease, and he had noticed the sway of those slim hips on the way in. It was hard to get the man out of his head. So much so, that it seemed his frantic pacing and muttering had attracted unwanted attention.
"Hyram's the new boy, right~?" Potter leered, leaning against a tree with his arms crossed and a glint in his eye that the human didn't quite like.
"Yes, what of it?" There was a fire in his eyes that made the elf raise both hands in a defenseless gesture.
"Nothing, except you've been muttering about him and pacing for about an hour." Smirking, he danced just out of range of the other man's hands, chuckling, "Are you worried I'll tell the whole camp you can't stop talking about how he's 'too pretty to be a man'? Your secret's safe with me, so long as you don't keep the poor thing waiting."
"What?!" Sputtering, his temper flared, those eyes flashing with rage.
"I'm sure he would be unable to resist a charmer like yourself, Loghain. Especially if you lay it on thick." The obscene hand gesture and near-physical drag of eyes over his crotch had the human nearly foaming at the mouth, but the elf was too quick to dodge behind and then climb up the tree he'd been leaning on. Once he was out of reach, he lay on his stomach on a thick branch, head resting in the crook of his arm as he looked down, "Or would you rather I tell him? I'm sure I could come up with a more romantic way to tell him than you could."
"There's nothing to tell." That tone held a grim promise to it that only pushed the chatty man further.
"Oh, by your word, there is plenty to tell. I'm sure such a pretty thing wouldn't mind your attentions. You are quite the catch, after all, what with that temper of yours." The one-eyed man simpered, rolling onto his back and examining his nails as though he wasn't trying to hide from the warrior about to kill him.
"My temper, and the rest of me, is of no concern of yours." Quickly, he added, "Or Hyram's, or anyone's, for that matter. And there is nothing to tell him. Pretty as he may be,"
"As you've said several times over," Potter interrupted.
"Pretty as he may be," Loghain reiterated, "He will not be staying long. My father will take one look at him and send him on his way, surely. He simply is too much trouble. He needed a safe place to stay to escape the Orlesians, and that I can understand and not deny him; but he is not one of us, and suffice it to say that he will /inever/i be one of us." The level of certainty in his voice even managed to keep the bemused elf silent for a few moments, ones that he took as a win, before he began to speak again.
"So you aren't interested in taking him as your bride? Because I'm willing to bet all my coin that he would look phenomenal in a wedding dress."
Dammit! Just as his thoughts were beginning to become less Hyram-Involved, Potter had to go and provide that mental image. Growling a little, eye twitching slightly in annoyance, he had to sigh through his nose, slow and careful, to avoid climbing the tree and slicing the elf's throat. That thought pestered his brain, the ache in it not entirely foreign, as he imagined those long golden locks braided with flowers in them, that fledgling beard shaved, and the no-doubt gorgeous body of his clad in white, clingy sheer fabric. Fingers itching, suddenly, for a different kind of contact, he turned away from the tree the elf resided in and snorted.
"No, I most certainly am not interested in taking him as my bride. For all I know, he's an Orlesian spy." Yes, cover up all of the awkward blushing with a jab at the Orlesians. That was always the best option. Stalking off into the camp, he left the elf in the tree to his own chortling, investing himself in helping wherever he could to keep his mind off of the man probably still out cold in the Sister's hut.
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