Title: Something ugly in you (you also saw in me)
Fandom: Dragon Age
Characters/Pairings: Calpernia, Samson; Sampernia
Rating: M
Warnings: blood mentioned; pretty much PWP
Summary: There's a reason they both agreed on this; the word desperation comes to mind, although she refuses to call herself desperate. Calpernia is many things but she is not desperate (she likes to think). / originally posted on DA Kink Meme; drabble
Disclaimer: Dragon Age is not mine, although the writing certainly is.
A/N: in today's episode of "it started as a joke, why am I now shipping this"…
I blame tumblr. (thank you for fanarts of these two together, I love them all so much?)
Title from Rabid by Nicole Dollanganger.
Inspired by 'Vessel' – a Samson/Calpernia playlist, you may find it on tumblr.
She knew it was a bad idea, and knows it now as Samson has his large hands on her cold skin. His touch burns, and despite all that magic flowing through her veins Calpernia feels powerless. Maybe because she partially wants to believe in the illusion they're both two ordinary people. Just for this night. Nothing else than a man and a woman. Just once.
Well, perhaps it's not necessarily a bad idea but… There's a reason they both agreed on this; the word desperation comes to mind, although she refuses to call herself desperate. Calpernia is many things but she is not desperate (she likes to think).
She blinks and she's back in reality. There's only one candle lit in her room, and the faint red glow of lyrium on his skin makes everything look like they are in a twisted version of the Fade. But it feels too real for a nightmare, and Calpernia finds it oddly comforting.
Seeing blood on her thighs Samson stops, giving her an alarmed look, and she has to fight with the urge to slap him. On the battlefield he doesn't care about her, knowing she's more than capable to take care of herself, besides, he's so strong he could easily break her in half… But now he seems concerned.
Don't pretend you're worried about my well–being all of the sudden, she scolds in her thoughts.
"Continue," she merely says instead.
At least he follows my orders well, she muses, pulling him closer so that his body hovers above her. She feels his hot breath on the side of her face, by her ear, her lips opening silently when he slides inside her again and begins to move with so much force for a brief moment she believes he's truly going to break her.
He sets a fast pace, and she is glad, because she doesn't want him to be delicate with her. She's scratching his back mercilessly, letting him know she's alive, oh so alive like never before, and wraps her legs around his waist.
He comes with a sharp cry – a sound she's sure she will remember, and maybe later analyse because everything about Samson is so deliciously wrong she's worried she may be as much drawn to him as he is to her.
His breath steadily goes back to normal; she can still feel him inside her. He doesn't say anything (he never says much – not to her), but she can assume he's satisfied. There's something burning inside her, though she doesn't know what to do with it. Calpernia never quite understood why people seem to be so obsessed with sex. It's so… messy.
But she likes the way his body presses into hers, all these small gestures, and the fact that she sees him without his sword and armour, so exposed and seemingly vulnerable. She stares at the ceiling, conflicted.
Calpernia doesn't know who is more surprised as he presses a clumsy kiss to her cheek before getting up. She observes him as he dresses back in rags he calls clothes. Her body shudders in the night air; she's cold without him.
Never looking back at her, Samson closes the door behind him, and she realises she wants to hold him again.
"Touch me."
He never does anything until she asks him to. She can command him and he obeys, making her half–drunk with power. Is he obedient? Yes, but Calpernia is sure it's more about the fact Samson is smart enough to pretend that she is the one in charge here. That she isn't begging him. Because she isn't.
Just like that, his lips are kissing her before she can say another word. She allows him to do what he wants, to kiss her and lay her down on the bed, even though she's not entirely sure she likes his lips on hers. Kissing feels… odd to her but apparently he likes it. Maybe Samson is old–fashioned like that, who knows. They don't talk much.
And yet she has learned so much about him already; the way he kissed, his taste, how strong his hands are, how heavy his body feels on hers. Her addiction is easy to notice, though Calpernia denies she needs him. After all, lying to herself is, among other things, what she knows and does best.
Calpernia gasps as he thrusts into her, his weight and strength pinning her down. She does her best to meet his thrusts, answering with little cries as he moves inside her, quick and hard, adding just the right amount of pain to the overwhelming pleasure. It feels good, so good to be nearly torn apart by this man.
Her nails are digging into his flesh. Samson always seems strong, even though he now doesn't have a sword by his side; the strength is coming from within him, from his soul – or whatever he has instead. He's a quick learner, knows exactly what to do to her body, and Calpernia is grateful. When they are together, she may forget about everything else.
Her climax finally crashes over her, and she's holding on her cries, forcing herself to keep quiet. She doesn't want anyone else to know, what is happening belongs to them only, so she answers with nothing else but moans and a half swallowed cry. Her whole body shudders, bliss spreading right through every vein in her body, flooding her mind with nothing but pleasure.
He comes with her name on his lips, almost collapsing on top of her. It has never happened before, and she doesn't know what to think about it. She looks up at the ceiling; Samson's breath burns her skin like fire.
Calpernia allows herself to lay with him for few moments, then gets up, picks up her scattered clothes and leaves. She doesn't have to look back to know Samson is watching her every move.
"Calpernia," he says, making her wonder if she likes her own name or the way it rolls off his tongue. She cocks her head, eyes focused on his body displayed so openly on her bed. Samson has nothing to hide, imperfect as he is.
Calpernia takes a step closer; she is naked in the darkness of her room, moving without even the smallest hint of embarrassment. She doesn't feel like she should be embarrassed, she doesn't have anything desirable to offer anyway. She is skinny and pale, with constellations of freckles on her skin, old scars on her back, reminders of her past. Her breasts are small, teeth big, and when she looks in the mirror she can't help but feel something very close to repulsion. She's far from any beauty standards; she shouldn't care (but she does).
And Samson… Samson, incredibly, truly doesn't care about it.
As she's standing between his legs, and he reaches out for her hand, Calpernia briefly wonders what they will do once all this is over. It's no use overthinking, maybe they will both die tomorrow. At least she will remember how he looks at her – as if she was among the gods he worships, more important than the chaos around them. Sweeter and more addictive than red lyrium. Maybe she is.
"Do whatever you want to me," he whispers, pulling her to him.
Calpernia straddles his hips, and shudders ever so slightly when his hands are on her waist, his touch gentle but pressing on her skin in just the right way, perhaps to remind her he could crush her bones if he wanted to.
They never look at each other, but this time they won't – can't – look away. She basks in his gaze because it's so obvious Samson wants her, and all this lust she sees in his eyes speaks volumes more than his arousal.
"Oh, I will."
A/N2: Thank you for reading. Comments are always appreciated!