[Author's note: These are two short NSFW snippets based on two pictures I found on tumblr. While I normally would not go for Alistair/Anders, the picture piqued my interest. The pictures in question can be found on my tumblr (link on my profile)]
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Part One: What Happens at Vigil's Keep, stays at Vigil's keep
Anders:
You know those dreams you have, when you are having a really hot make out session only to wake up in the middle of it, all alone in bed, probably making made enough odd noises to wake up the other apprentices? It's dreams like that, that makes me happy that I have my own room here at Vigil's keep, because seriously, there are few enough Wardens left in Ferelden that we can pretty much run naked through the corridors singing raunchy songs to ourselves and never be spotted. Not that I have. Often. And certainly not by the Warden Commander.
Her room is on a different floor, thank Andraste.
So waking up from a moan is not that uncommon, what is though is that it's not coming from my own lips. And what's more, this time there are actually hands caressing me, and Andraste's knickerweasels am I still dreaming?
No, dreams don't have bad beer breath, and neither are they shaped like the King of Ferelden, because Maker save me, even I never went there in my head. At least not often.
"Maker's breath, you're booooootiful, Elissa…" Alistair mumbles as he grabs my chin to turn my head. "Butchoo really need t'shave, y'know?"
"uhrm…" I start, as ever the picture of eloquence. "I think you may have the wrong room, your majesty." Elissa? Did he think I was the Warden Commander? Did he sneak in here and just saw a shock of blonde hair on the pillow and assume… Oh wait, did that mean that she and him…?
"'s nothing wrong with th' room," comes the drunken answer, and is he crawling into my bed? Yes, yes he is. On top of the covers than Andraste. "'s a bit small. Yooo shood've stayd at th' palash and…" He breaks off, drunken face turning sad, and suddenly I have a King sobbing on my shoulder.
A King sobbing on my very naked shoulder, because I'm wearing nothing beneath the sheets. Sheets. There is only a think layer of cloth separating me from Alistair, and how can he not notice that I'm still hard from the dream? Oh I wish it was the dream. Maybe because right now, there could be a rampaging bronto running over us both and he would be oblivious. He is far too trapped in his own drunken stupor.
"I… am sorry?" I try, patting the shoulder a bit lamely, trying to sound comforting. Maker's breath he's cut though, being a King hasn't really made him any softer than the regular warden. I suddenly find myself wondering how he'd look without his clothes on. Oh mind, do not go there, please… not right now.
"'sh alright," he mumbles, pulling my head in for a kiss.
And a deep, sloppy kiss it is. Tongues, hands and the desperation of any teenager I've had the pleasure of sleeping with. Which has been far too many really. I don't protest, because I figure that now he must surely realize his mistake, but… no. The kiss deepens, his hands tangle themselves in my hair, and suddenly I'm not so sure I want him to sober up. Could I get away with this?
No, the question is, do I want to get away with it? Have my way with a young King, far too drunk and suffering heartache I really don't want to know anything about?
Of course the answer is yes. What else could it be?
My hand trails down on its own accord, finding itself inside the King's pants, and finding the King quite ready for me. Either he is not as drunk as I think, or the Grey Warden stamina are doing things for him I wish it would for me.
"Jush…. Elisha… I… oh Maker, thash… gooood." Alistair loses the last of his words, but he doesn't seem to mind since I've managed to tease his cock free of the loose pants. Hard. Rather impressively so.
I find myself wondering how long it had been for him. And how much I can actually get away with. As always, the answer is as much as I possibly can. Let it not be said that I ever backed down from a challenge. Soon Velanna, soon… but until then, it looks like I will be on the receiving end of this one.
One does not fuck the King of Ferelden up the arse. I assume.
So the other way around it is. Not that I mind. Maybe that way he won't notice that it's not because he's drunk that he has problems finding any breasts to fondle. One hand keeps the King busy, and he keeps nipping at my ear and Andraste's dimpled bum, how can he not notice the stubble? Oh, his eyes are closed. Good. I suck my fingers, but somehow he notices that, and snatches my hand to bring it to his own lips.
Oh. Andraste… I have the King of Ferelden sucking my fingers and I wish that they had been my cock. My breath hitches a little when I slide them out, teasing them into myself instead. Could have used magic to slick them up, but he's a templar and might notice. Or, well, almost a templar. Which makes this almost alright.
No, scratch that, this is fully alright, because he grabs my shoulders and throws me on my stomach, and suddenly I understand why he never hit it off with the Warden Commander because she would have his balls in a vice if he ever tried that with her. I'm far more accommodating, bucking up against him, moving my hand back to help because I'm not sure he can…
"Oh…" I gasp as he thrusts inside, choking down a throaty groan. Apparently he was quite capable of pushing inside without my assistance. And he's hard enough to fill me up quite nicely.
I wonder if they teach you that as a chantry boy. Find the hole. I can imagine they would, the Templars I've met have all been so terribly opposed to bottoming. Don't know what they are missing out on. Or maybe they do, and are repaying us. Or me. As if they didn't appreciate the chance to go out and stretch their legs once in a while. Just because the shortest way was through a swamp, it wasn't like I knew that beforehand. Or that they would get stuck. Maybe I shouldn't have laughed.
Humor. Makes things not inherently funny bearable. Just like sex.
Oh Maker, he is not bad at this. Not at all. Not for being this drunk. He's just that right mixture between bossy and shy and stuck somewhere between desperate and considerate. If he wasn't drunk. If he wasn't the King. If he didn't think I was his… what? Former lover? Unrequited crush? A woman? Far too many ifs.
And this can't last long. He can't last long.
So I reach down to pleasure myself, pretending that this man actually wants to be in bed with me for once, just me. Silly Anders. Joking Anders. Far too flirty Anders with his mage's skirts and bad jokes. It's a nice thing to pretend, and I don't bother concealing my cry when I come.
He empties himself a moment later, collapsing on top of me with a hug no less tender for it being borrowed.
Not meant for me.
I slide out of the bed once he's asleep, pulling on my pants to seek refuge with Oghren. The dwarf is probably still drinking. He can make some jokes about me and Velanna, and I can laugh them off and everything can go back to the way things are supposed to be.
I can pretend the King of Ferelden is not sleeping in my bed.
And in the morning, so can he. What happens at Vigil's Keep stays at Vigil's keep.
Part two: The Chains That Binds Us
Alistair:
Kirkwall. City of chains.
"Wait." My command rung out just as Hawke and the others were leaving the meeting Knight Commander Meredith had stormed out of earlier.
Everybody stopped. Of course. Oh Maker's breath, I keep forgetting that I am King now, and that people actually do what I tell them to do. Like stop. And stand and stare, though I hadn't specified that last bit. "I need to speak to Anders. Alone. Former Warden to Warden." I try to sound as kingly as I possibly can. Even Teagan admits I am getting better at it. It probably comes from knowing when to keep some things I am thinking inside my head rather than speaking them out loud.
"Are you sure that's alright with you Blondie?" the dwarf asked, cocking an eye at the mage.
Anders simply nodded, smiling wanly for the rest of his friends. "We will just talk. It is not like the King will spirit me back to Ferelden."
"Good," Hawke said, her eyes sharp like arrows, and I am once again glad I am not her enemy. "I'm not about to lose my favorite healer."
Something in Ander's gaze sparks at that, though the look he gives her once her back is turned is filled with tired resignation as much as love or adoration.
Both of us can see the way she looks at the backside of that tattooed elf that had been standing to the side, glowering silently.
Someday I wish someone would look at my back that way. But then again, now that I am King I really never could trust their reasons for doing so. Daggers and all that nonsense.
It feels like it takes forever for the people to leave the room; Teagan is last and of course he has to give me that look. Again. Yes Teagan, I tell him silently (and of course only in my head). I know what I am doing. I lie a lot better when nobody is listening to what I am saying.
"So… your Majesty?" Anders starts, leaning a little on his staff.
He looks tired. More tired than I think I've ever seen him, though I spent what? Two weeks at Vigil's keep? But no man has any business being this worn down. He's lost weight, and I'm suddenly uncomfortably aware that I've gained some. Age comes differently for all men.
"Elissa sends her regards," I start, walking closer now that it's just the two of us. "She wants you to know that if you ever grow tired of slumming it here in Kirkwall, you are welcome back."
"That… doesn't sound like her," Anders says with a cautious look, and I have to shrug a little. Because he's right.
"I miiiight have pressured her just a little," I admit, scratching the back of my head. I don't have to play at being King right now. "This whole business with Justice is not something we couldn't sort out if we just tried. I'm sure the whole thing was exaggerated anyway. Things happen." Possessing spirits. Murdered wardens. This didn't sound like the Anders I had met.
"No exaggeration," Anders says, eyebrows shooting up as he sighs deeply. "I'm an abomination, and I am not going back. I am needed here more than I ever was with the Wardens."
"Oh I don't know," I start, because there's something in the other man that just makes me feel like I am way out of my depth here. "Some of my dearest friends wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for you."
"Elissa," he says, and this time the smile is real. Almost fond. Maybe he's thinking what I'm thinking. Oh Maker I hope that's true. "She's crazy. Did you and her ever…?"
"I'm the King," I say, with all the exasperated humility I can muster. "I am a King married to a Queen I can't stand for the good of Ferelden." Oh Anora, it is not fair to you, but on the hand it is not fair to me either. I should have said no.
But then where would I be? Banished and drunk in a tavern somewhere? Maybe a better life. Probably a worse one.
"You have my sympathies," Anders says, surprising me. From the look he had given Hawke maybe he is far more used to sucking things up and doing the right thing than I ever would have guessed. Whenever did he start understanding concepts like responsibility? I've mostly heard the stories the other wardens told, but… Whatever happened to the both of us?
Life. Life and years and responsibilities.
"So where does one go to get a drink around here?" I ask, this time getting rewarded with a look of surprise.
"Not any place you would want to frequent, your Majesty…" Anders starts, but I cut him off with a gesture.
"No 'your Majesty'. Alistair."
"Not any place you would want to frequent… Alistair." He smiles a little sadly as he says my name, and I wonder whatever happened to his other smiles. The cocky ones. The naughty ones. The devil may care ones that had made me look at him all night instead of Elissa.
"I have been known to… frequent odd places in my days," I start, stepping closer, right inside that invisible circle when companionable becomes personal. "Especially when drunk."
That brings a flush to Anders' face, and he takes a step back, but thank the Maker there is a pillar behind him to cut off his retreat. Never let it be said that I have forgotten all my Grey Warden training. Always make sure to hold the advantageous position.
"I wouldn't know about that, your Majesty." Anders is lying now, because he keeps looking at my lips instead of my eyes.
"Alistair," I correct, reaching up to grab the back of his head as my other hand tangles in his feathered coat, pulling him in for a kiss.
His first reaction is to pull away, one hand pressing against my chest, trying to fend me off. Muffled protests are swallowed by my kiss, and finally he melts into my arms, almost as if some inner argument has been settled.
It is a sweet moment. But his hand remains between us, a reminder that this is not to be.
"I didn't think…" Anders mumbles when I finally let him come up for air. I keep expecting a silly quip or a dirty suggestion, but all I get is an impossibly tender look that makes me almost let go of him. He had actually thought that… Maker's breath, how drunk did he think I had been?
"What makes you think I didn't know it was you?" I ask, holding him tightly to me. I can feel the tension in his body, half longing to relax and sink in, half wanting to push away. I'm once against reminded of a reluctant cat, not sure if it should allow the indignity of being held.
"Well, there was the way you kept whispering Elissa's name…"
"I… was drunk," I admit. "And I feared you would reject me. This way we could have both our dignities intact in case that happened."
"I don't think dignity had anything to do with that night," Anders says, and Maker's breath at last there is a smile on his lips. "In fact I think dignity would probably have taken one long look at that bed and resolved to stay at least a mile away for the rest of our lives."
"Was I that bad?" I joke, and am rewarded with another blush.
"No, you did manage to not throw up on me, which I half expected considering…"
"I was not half as drunk as I pretended to be," I admit.
"So the King of Ferelden is a sneak."
"Amongst other things," I say, wondering if he is ever going to relax and return the kiss.
He does not. So I let him go.
"I am sorry." Anders sounds like me means it too, which makes me reach out to brush his coat straight again. Thankfully he lets me have that at least.
"I'm sorry, I thought…" I didn't even know what I was thinking. That I could just walk back in his life and expect to have a one night stand where I didn't have to worry about being King of anything?
"No, it's alright," he starts, reaching out to place a hand on my shoulder. Not to push me away this time. "Had you come a few years ago I would probably have taken you up on whatever it is you would be offering if you weren't a King and obviously above such matters."
"But you are spoken for," I say, remembering that look and the pain in it.
"In a manner of speaking," he admits.
"And she knows nothing?" I ask, because from the look of things the man is walking down a road I know far too well.
"I think she does. But her heart is elsewhere."
"And her eyes," I say, even though it is cruel to rub things in. But from the look on Anders' face this is a wound he keeps poking repeatedly.
"Yes," he admits again. "But that does not change anything."
"It rarely does," I agree, running a hand over my hair. "Want to share a drink regardless?"
"I can't get drunk anymore," he answers sadly, and I know I've lost him. Not that I ever had him.
"So what do you do for fun then, if sex and drinking is right out?"
That teases a laugh from him, and he leans a little on his staff. "Oh fun. I remember fun." But from the look it seemed to be a distant memory indeed. "You should go… Alistair." He uses my name as if it was a plea for help.
"I'm a King, I do what I want to do." Yes, I know I am pouting, but Maker take my dignity.
"I am serious, your Majesty." I never thought Anders could be serious, but this man quite obviously can. "It is not safe for you to be seen talking with me here for too long. You should go back to Ferelden. Kirkwall will…" he breaks off, then shakes his head.
"Kirkwall will what?" I ask, and blast it, the man is immune to my royal commands.
"Just go. Things will not end well here, and I would rather you were far away from it. It was a nice night. You are not a bad King. For an almost Templar."
"Is there anything I can do?" I ask, because I recognize the look in Anders' eyes. It is the same that Elissa had when we learned what had to be done to defeat the Archdemon. If I hadn't slept with Morrigan despite what Elissa wanted she would have died. She had been ready to die. Maybe that's what she never forgave me. The choice I took from her, even if it spared her life. What had she called it? Trading a present evil for a future one.
But I wanted her to live. Just like I want Anders to live.
"Go home," he says, and the smile is the sad one of a man already prepared to die. "Be ready. And…" he hesitates and my heart rises in foolish hope before he smashes I again. "… forgive me."
"I have nothing to forgive you for," I protest, knowing he doesn't speak of him turning me down.
"You will," comes the short reply before he turns his back and walks away.
And just like last time, I don't reach out to stop him.