M.B.C.R says: This is just smut. Smut Smut Smut. Also, can be considered the prequel of Swept Under. This collection is mostly going to be smut based and the slight exploration of Vyal and Alistair's relationship.

I'm thinking of writing something during the Landsmeet.

His stitches are straining as he pulls his tunic over his head, the garment getting stuck around his wrist. He could only groan helplessly; tugging at the hold until the other Gray Warden in the tent sighed and freed him from his shirt. A moist towel glided over his jaw, scrubbing away the dry blood from the head wound he had received on the road.

"Everything hurts," he grumbled wrapping an arm around his lover's bare waist and pulling her into his lap. The cloth scrubbed up by his eye and into his hairline. The blood had dried and stained his normally dark blond hair a deep maroon; the blood crusting and flaking away as the woman picked and pulled at the mess. "I should really go jump into that lake we're camped near," he mumbled against her neck, pulling her in closer.

"You'll get your stitches wet," was her only reply. The woman had been furious with him earlier for following after her in the middle of the fight, but he couldn't just leave her to her own devices against the horde of enemies. She pressed a kiss against his freshly cleaned forehead, "I told you to hang back."

She wasn't angry, just tired and a little breathless. A nice change from the furrowed brows, curled lip, and worried looks that he was getting earlier. "I couldn't just let you run in by yourself," he had said it before and he'll continue to say it now. They were a pair—more so now than ever before.

"You got hurt taking hits that weren't for you," the cloth dampened his hair as the last of the crust of blood was cleaned from the dark coloured strands. "I have a shield, love." Her voice dipped into a warm concern; her normally steeled and anger-fueled eyes softening as she cupped his jaw.

Alistair kissed her; a soft peck to her lips. "As do I. I promised to watch your back and I will," his hold of her tightened and he placed a kiss to her nose. "That means I'd follow you to the Fade and back... again, if need be." He could feel the 'I love you' on the tip of his tongue, on the flesh of their lips pressing and sliding together as he fell back into the furs and their shared bedrolls.

The woman pulled away from him. "You'll open those stitches if you continue fingering my small clothes." She had shed all her clothes upon entering the tent, all except the thin cloth that covered her womanhood. He pulled at the strings and it snapped back against her hips.

He licked his lips as a thought crossed his mind and warmed in his belly. It heated his chest and shoulders, a nice rich pink colouring appearing on his skin. "I want to try something," he cleared his throat. Alistair patted at her waist so she could roll off him and onto the bedding; she did wordlessly but not without a raise of a brow.

"Don't push yourself." He kissed her, settling above her. The stitches strained from this position and he groaned into her mouth, pulling away to hiss as the feeling.

There were times that he wondered if she loved him. She remained so steeled throughout the day except when they'd return to camp. He could catch the laughter in her tone as she conversed with Morrigan. Witnessed her share a few drinks with an already drunken Oghren. He listened in while she gossiped with Leliana and even Zevran—not like wasn't hard to hear these so called "whispered conversations". Their whispering weren't much of whispers to begin with.

Her eyes gave her away; swirled with anger and pain.

She was mourning still and he could see it now as she spoke. The worry swimming with hints of fear and desperation. She couldn't (wouldn't) lose him. And each desperate kiss between battles only served to prove that that little fear tucked deep in the back of his mind was wrong.

So very, very wrong.

He kissed down the length of her neck, sucking a mark against her sun-kissed skin before sucking another one on the pale flesh of her chest. He too had the distinct discoloration between where his armor began and ended. It was fun to point out, to kiss the line on the skin between tanned and not. It made her squirm normally; not used to the affection.

But right now was not one of those times. Tonight he'd continue his kisses south... and he did. He licked at his lips before taking a nipple in and flicking his tongue against the hardened nub. Her breath caught in her throat, stomach muscles clenching and unclenching—fluttering under his touch as he brushed his knuckles against her toned stomach. He switched breast; dragging his teeth then tongue over the nub.

"Fuck," she hissed through clenched teeth. He closed his mouth around the teat and sucked. A whine pinched through her mouth as she pushed up against him. She grunted, falling back into the covers and growled as he removed himself from her. "Where—?" the sentence catching in her throat as he slowly pulled her small clothes down her legs.

His hands were heavy and hot as they glided over her skin, pulling garment from her ankles and setting it onto the pile of her clothes by the tied-off tent flaps. His hands shook as he caressed her thigh; shivers shocked up her spine and clenched in her lungs. Every breath was a beautiful sweet torture; he was kissing the side of her knee now, hooking it over his shoulder as he lowered himself back onto the bedrolls.

Alistair pressed a heavy kiss to her stomach. Hands feeling clammy, he wiped the moisture on the covers. He kissed her again this time two inches lower—his mouth felt dry, why was his mouth dry? Her body shifted under him as she parted her leg further to accommodate him.

"Take your time, love." Her voice caused his attention to shift back towards her face.

Her face held the most precious blush he had ever seen on her skin; it had migrated from her cheeks, down the long column of her neck and to her chest.

He licked his lips and steeled his nerves; there was no point worrying about whether she'd enjoy it or not if he didn't even get to it yet. His knuckles brushed over the curls between her legs, Alistair glanced up at her through his lashes. Her head fell back as she sucked a breath through her teeth. He parted her folds with two fingers, slipping a finger into the moisture and dragging the slick upwards.

He remembered what she mentioned nights ago—her clitoris. That hardened little nub that when he'd brush against would cause her breath to catch on the inhale, and with the exhale she'll moan wantonly. That little bundle of nerves could send her back bending and nails digging into his shoulders as her eyes rolled back.

He kissed the dark curls, twitching his finger against her clit. Her stomach muscles tensed, as her breath pushed out between clenched teeth. He wanted to taste her, feel every little nook and cranny under his tongue. So he did.

Nose buried into her curls, he used his slicked fingers to part her, flicking his tongue out and lathering a swipe and tasting her sweet nectar. And Maker's breath was it fantastic. The laces of his breeches strained, he couldn't help but groan as he lapped at her cunt. He lapped again and again, tongue pressing against that hardened little nub and sucked.

His heart pounded in his ears, the swell in his cock telling him to continue on and just never stop. He couldn't even hear the woman; though he could feel the leg thrown over his shoulder clench and pull him closer. He pushed a finger into her soaking opening, crooking his finger in a come-hither motion and her hips bucked just as she grabbed a handful of his hair.

He wasn't aware of when he had closed his eyes, only that he had opened them again when she tugged a little too harshly. She was spasming; chest heaving as she moaned and sobbed, and merely moaned some more. She couldn't even voice his name, "ah" and "oh" only seemed to roll from her tongue. Her back arched and a scream of the first syllable of his name pierced the air, swallowed by a throaty moan as she clenched around his finger.

Her orgasm was violent; her body bowed, twisting, and clenched around him. As he could do was watch and continue to press kisses between her folds. He never wanted to taste another thing—no sweet bun, or lemon pie, or cake would ever taste the same compared to that. If he could he'd say "fuck the Blight" and bury his face between her thighs and never leave.

She shifted, chest still heaving, as she pulled him back up. He hesitated; he wanted to continue to flick his tongue into those velvet folds and taste her every waking moment. Her pawing grew desperate, a keen escaping and he consented. He hadn't noticed until his buried his face into the junction of her neck and shoulder that his lips and chin was soaked with saliva and her juices.

She wrapped arms around him, pressing a kiss to his ear. "I want you inside me," she panted and Alistair had never unlaced his breeches so quickly. He couldn't be bothered to pull his pants and smalls to his knees. He entered her quickly, knowing that he would embarrass himself later on how quickly he'd spill. But now, now all he cared about was her heat entrapping his prick and her tongue and teeth fondling his ear.

It couldn't have even been ten thrusts before he spilt his seed within her; breath catching as he clung to her.

He stretched out above her; face still buried deep in her neck as he regained a sense of being again. All he felt was warmth and a lazy pull in his limbs as he moved. His head was still clouded, her taste still heavy on his tongue. "Can I just bury my head between your thighs and just never leave?" his voice caught twice, feeling like a hand had wrapped around his throat and refused to release. He cleared his throat again and thought briefly of the water pouch buried under all her clothes. She clung to him tightly and Alistair elected to ignore the need for water for awhile longer.

Her breath caught, "I wouldn't mind that." He glanced up from his little nook and grinned lazily up at her; she stared, burrows furrowed before gesturing to his face. "You—you have a little something right..." she gestured to his chin.

His grin turned goofy and the taste of her on his tongue became more pronounce, "yeah?" He leaned over and wiped his face against their bedroll.

She nodded at him when he presented his wiped cleaned face, "better." She nodded and he kissed her; swiping his tongue into her mouth in a slow languid press. She could taste herself and it sparked something within her as she kissed him deeper.