oOo

"Ah ha! Found you." Alistair's growl is unexpected, jerking her from the book she is trying to read. Trying and failing, her focus so scattered by the odd trembles of her body, the flushes of heat spinning through her from head to toe. Swollen toe. Swollen ankle, swollen belly. Her hand rests atop the curve of a distended stomach, tapping back when Urthemiel kicks. She glares darkly at the man responsible for her discomfort, and her startlement.

"Yes, because I was hidden so well." Snarling, she throws the book at him, watches it bounce off his shoulder. His eyes are heavy and hot, his irritation fades as his gaze sweeps over her. He lingers on her belly, her hands absently soothing as the baby fidgets. "Aren't you supposed to be playing politics, insufferable fool?" She reaches out for another book, throws this one at him too. It hits his chest, not as hard as she would like.

He pouts anyway. "Stop throwing things, I bruise easy."

She sneers at him. "What are you even doing here? I am certain the throne misses your backside, the nobles your invaluable contribution."

"Bah. The blind asses want to dispute the necessity of paying taxes to support Amaranthine." The growl returns. "I called a break, before I was tempted to call for someone's head." Straightening his absurd court tunic, he rolls his shoulders, steps into reach of her, circles around her, runs the palm of his hand down her bare arm. Her own dress is simple, ample room for her expanding stomach, clinging tightly to her swollen breasts. Burgundy silk reminiscent of her battle robes, with a significant nod to court fashions.

The library in her chamber is a fine source of ammunition, but her urge to throw things at the King wanes when his other hand comes around to cradle her belly. The child squirms under his touch, and his face lights up. Her smile is wry, a mix of soft and disdainful. He kisses the back of her neck, his breath warm, smelling faintly of wine, faintly of apple, completely of Alistair. His fingers graze her skin, tiny pings of lightening rise from his touch, soothed down as he exerts a small force of will.

"Careful, don't want to go back with burns again. Someone might give a thought to something other than their own coffers." His hands drift back to her belly. "How is our demon spawn today?"

"Active." Her words prove true immediately, the child kicking against his touch again. She leans her head back into the crook of his shoulder, eyes closing, reveling in the feel of him against her, drawing in his warmth. His mouth is moving across her shoulder, his hands drift up to caress her breasts. A long exhale is her only response.

"Mmhmm. And how is my Witch today?" He flicks his tongue against her throat, pulls her closer as she tilts her chin to grant him more skin. Her rumbling purr spurs him to lavish greater attention, nibbling and sucking gently. Her arms twine up behind her, pull him closer until she catches his mouth with her own. A nip against his bottom lip, and she pulls away, stands, and gestures him to sit in her place.

"Impatient." Trouser laces are tugged free, her hand slides in to grasp him. He grows and thickens in her grip, his eyes intently on her face, a slow smolder starting. Hips wriggle until her dress is around her thighs, she guides his fingers to slide against her, caressing and curling. Heat begins to spread, a flush in her cheeks, down her thighs as he presses his palm against her, slips two fingers slowly into her. Her hips rock, pushing harder onto his hand. A soft moan parts her lips, quickly giving way to tiny pants and whimpers. "I've been waiting for you all day, my King."

His eyes flame at her words. His hand pulls away, grasps her thighs, pulls her astride him. She leans back a little to accommodate her belly, pale taut skin pressed against his muscular stomach, and eases onto him, a sharp gasp as he thrusts his hips up, burying himself in her. His right hand flat against the bulge their god child, the left wrapped around her back, he meets her gaze and doesn't look away, his need palpable as he moves in her, tender and touching.

She is frightened by the intensity of her responding need, but it is no new fear. She has grown soft for him, her fool of a King, her Templar. Soft enough to stay, tied to him by blood and lust, a craving for a family that was foreign to her, until he convinced her it was possible.

Sparks trill once more across her skin, her focus lost in the rhythmic swivel of his body beneath her. He shifts his torso, stretching up to kiss her, deeply, hot and desperate. She is falling into him, lips burning, body burning, heart burning. Power wells in her limbs, coiling tightly as she spirals up, driven by the thrust of his body into hers.

Mine.

Something primal rips through her, driving her to possess, and he responds to the change, movements more powerful, grip tighter. He is her mate, father of her unborn child, lover, owner, master, slave. A snarl tears from her, and his teeth mark her. "Again." Voice ragged, breath ragged, commanding him to taste her, devour her, destroy her. He bites into her shoulder, bruising, tearing, owning.

He is survival. He is instinct and passion, need and divinity. Their magics twine together as she bleeds into him, flesh and need merged. Her body spasms as an orgasm crashes over her, his name spilling from her lips like a prayer, "Ungh. Fuck! Alistair, now!" A call to battle.

He roars in response, muffling the sound against her breast, answering her call.

They are panting, clinging to each other, slick with sweat, shuddering in reaction. She is shaking in his arms, reeling still.

Tenderly, regaining strength, he lifts her, lays her on the bed, crawls up beside her. His hands resume their stroking, not wanting to leave her skin yet, as he kisses her belly.

"Maker, but you're more beautiful now than when I met you." Whispered worship, skin on skin as they bask in each other for moment.

"Huh. Well, at least you didn't manage to burn me…just my clothes." His grin is back, prodding her.

"'Tis a wonder, then, that you've any clothes left at all, my love." She shoves his shoulder, then draws his face up, kissing him softly. He is adorable, lighting up as he does when she calls him that. Perhaps she could bear to do it more often. "Run along back to your nobles, Alistair." Her eyes roll at his scowl.