Disclaimer: I do not own DA:O or any of its characters.

Warning: Smut ahead!

Over the Edge

"Bard! I require your assistance. My hair has grown too much and I need help shortening it." Lyna appeared from her tent, straight razor in hand. It had been two days since she'd publicly admitted her interest in Alistair, and they hadn't spoken once. Alistair imagined that she either regretted her actions, or was embarrassed by them.

"Lyna, you know that I think your hair would look lovely if you grew it out. I won't play any part in butchering your locks," Leliana replied stubbornly.

"But-but I have everything set up in my tent! All you have to do is chop away!" Lyna was growing increasingly agitated.

"Too bad, you'll have to suffer," the bard said. Lyna clenched her jaw.

"I can help," Alistair said before he realized he was speaking. Lyna snapped her gaze in his direction. She chewed on her lower lip, the straight razor twirling dangerously between her fingers.

"Alright," she said finally. "Thank you." Alistair felt his heart flutter. He shot a glance at Leliana, who was doing her best to cover a smile. Lyna ducked into her tent and Alistair followed close behind. He shucked his plate gloves and tossed them just outside of her tent. He had never been in Lyna's tent before, and he was surprised to find several history books lying against her bedroll. It seemed she was in the midst of reading two books in particular as they had each been dog eared in several places. One was a book on the Tevinter Imperium. The other was a book on the history of the Chantry.

"Interesting reading material," Alistair remarked.

Lyna was seated on her knees, her back facing him. She glanced over her shoulder at his comment and smiled. "I didn't realize how little I knew about you shems until we started our journey," she explained. "I find your take on the Elvhenan to be quite skewed, though the same could be said for us." She passed him the straight razor. He took it and got on his knees behind her. A small bowl of water sat next to them. He placed the razor between his teeth (dull edge in, of course) and dipped his hands into the bowl. He ran his fingers through her hair, dampening it. It felt soft and silky beneath his fingertips, and it darkened to a light brown once he had wet it thoroughly. He dried his hands on a nearby cloth that Lyna had left out and took the straight razor from his mouth. He began cutting at her tresses. He tried to envision the length her hair had been when they'd first met and did his best to achieve that length. As he gauged the length by her ears, his fingers brushed against the pointed tips lightly. Once again she inhaled sharply, only this time, she didn't spin around and hold a dagger to his throat. He held his breath and tentatively began to rub his thumb against the pointy edge of her ear. Her breath hitched and she mewled softly. Alistair's mouth went dry. He felt himself become hard at the sound he had elicited from her. He continued to rub gently. Her breathing increased.

"You are treading on dangerous territory," she whispered breathlessly. "Do not start something that you can't finish…"

He knelt forward, his lips brushing against her ear. "I wouldn't dream of it," he murmured. His tongue snaked out and he captured her lobe between his teeth. He nibbled gently, something he'd been longing to do the moment he'd set eyes on her. She moaned and reached up, her fingers grasping at the back of his neck. He leaned back and wrapped an arm around her, spinning her so that she faced him. Her cheeks were flushed and she was panting, the desire she exuded was almost palpable. He drew her in closer, her heaving chest pressed against his own. She gazed up at him, the colour shifting from tawny, to raw umber, to bronze…her eyes pleaded with him to continue. He needed no convincing. He leaned in, closing the gap between them. His lips pressed against hers, her arms circled his neck. He felt her tongue gently prodding at his lips, and he gladly allowed her entry to his mouth, his own tongue meeting hers. Their kissing became more fervent, the demands of their bodies increased. Soon she was grappling with the buckles of his armour, and he was tugging at the tough Dalish leather covering her breasts. It wasn't long before they were in nothing but their small clothes, and he had drawn her into his lap. She straddled him, and he felt the dampness of her sex pressed against his erection. She shifted her hips slightly, rubbing against his bulge. He let out a groan.

"I-I've never done this. I don't know if I'm even doing it right-" he murmured. She pressed a finger to his lips. With a gentle push she had him on his back. She hooked her thumbs into the sides of her small clothes and pushed them down her hips and past her thighs, kicking them to one side. She straddled him anew, and Alistair took in her form. He wanted to explore every inch of her body, to taste her. He vowed that he wouldn't rest until he had sated her every desire. His hands glided up her sides and settled on her breasts, cupping them gently. His thumb flicked against the pale pink bud of her nipple, and she moaned once again, her hips shimmying in a decidedly torturous manner. She reached behind her and pulled his throbbing manhood free of its constraint, her fingers running along the underside of his shaft before giving a gentle pump. He gasped and his back arched slightly. She giggled, actually giggled, and he knew then and there that he'd broken past her wall of stoicism. He'd ignited a passion within her that would not be extinguished. She gazed down at him, the question in her eyes. He nodded. She lifted up and slowly impaled herself on him. His eyes rolled back at the sensation of her velvet walls enveloping him. Nothing he'd read or heard could accurately describe the pleasure he was experiencing buried deep within her. She rode him, hands pressed against his chest. His first instinct was to lie there and bask in the sheer ecstasy of it all. Soon another instinct took over and he began to thrust into her, which in turn caused her to cry out. It was music to his ears. His fingers gripped at the flesh of her hips as he plunged into her. She leaned forward, one hand on either side of his head. Her hips rose and she glided up his entire length, only to have him buck up and into her. As his pace increased she felt the familiar tension in her lower abdomen. Her fingers raked against his chest, she begged him to continue. He was loathe to deny her. She bit her lower lip and her head lolled backward. At the precise moment that she climaxed she called out his name, and that had sent him tumbling over the edge. With one last thrust his seed spilled into her, and she collapsed onto his chest.

They lay there for some time, tangled together.

"Well," Alistair murmured. "That was not what I had anticipated when I volunteered to cut your hair."

Lyna slapped him playfully. "Silly shem," she muttered.

Oh well, Alistair thought. After hearing her cry out my name a few times, I think I can live with being called a shem once in a while.