Her spell falters under his grip, a soft wave of his will dispelling the gathered power dancing on her fingertips. His gaze is steady and lucid, thoughtful. "No, Morrigan, please." He reaches up to brush the back of his hand against her cheek. "Even if this works-"
"It will work, Alistair. I swear to you, you will both live." Pale, slender fingers catch his, twine together, press to her cheek. "After everything you two have done for me, 'tis the least I can do."
"I want to know what it is like, to be human." His confession timid, his fingers tighten in hers. He can't predict her reaction, prickly as the Witch is. She will either ridicule him, or…
Her nod is almost imperceptible, the plush line of her mouth softens, curves up so slightly. "'Tis a wonder I am your choice for that experience." A trace of uncertainty, her eyes just shy of bold.
"Oh, Maker, Morrigan! Yes, we didn't get along so well to start, but we got past that, didn't we?" He smiles widely at her, bringing his other hand up to trace the line of her jaw. "Maybe we haven't been lovers, but we've been close, more than once." He chuckles at the rueful look that flashes across her face. "I…Actually, I'm glad it's you."
"Oh?"
"Mmhmm. If I'm completely honest, I've had a bit of a thing for you since that day in the Wilds…"
"Oh." The little quirk of her lips spurs him on, the glow of affection warming him as his fingers explore her skin, aware for the first time of the softness of the Witch, unhidden by magic, her scent all her own, with nothing of the taint. He leans close, breathing her in as he skims his nose down the length of her neck, his mouth pressing wetly across her clavicle.
He smirks at the catch of her breath, as his palm slides down to cup the weight of her breast. "I've never paid you attention, have I? Always take, and never give." He sucks the tight peak into his mouth, lathing it with his tongue. "I think I need to fix that."
Her head tips back with a groan, clutching his arms for support as her legs quiver. "'Tis meant to be my ritual, Alistair." His hands are so very warm, curving over her body, touching her in ways he never has before. "'Twould appear you are attempting to take it from me."
"Indeed, my sweet," he pauses to lick the pale skin of the under slope of her breast, "sweet Witch." He grins as he lowers to his knees before her, nudging her legs apart gently, very lightly nipping the inside of her upper thigh. Her gasp, and the way she jerks away from him, causes him to wonder if anyone has bothered with making sure the beautiful raven Witch has enjoyed herself.
She scuttles back onto the bed, eyes wide, and a little wild. "Seduction is unnecessary, Alistair. I am here, and I am willing. We've only to do the deed."
A chuckle, as he crawls onto the bed after her, stalking her. He catches her slim ankle and pulls gently, dragging her back to him. "I realize this is quite different from usual, but I'm in full control here, and I'd rather like to enjoy it."
This is not going according to plan. She had intended this be swift, a spelled scent to provoke his instinct, a faint strain of music to guide him to her, rather than the Warden down the hall, and done, no time for regret, recrimination, or hesitation. His lack of cooperation is unnerving. "I was under the impression you did not much like me, Alistair."
He shrugs from his place between her legs, breath playing over the quickly dampening cloth of her smalls. "Things change." She can feel the rumble of his voice in her knees, pressed tightly to his sides, the thick muscle shifting in such a fascinating way. She has touched him before, but he has never noticed her, caught up in the drive of his blood, to slake the need of his Alpha. To have all that barely leashed strength turned on her is a little intimidating. "I've changed. Hard not to, with all we've had to do. You've changed," his teeth sink into the thin fabric covering her, tugging it away. "You are much…warmer than you used to be." Just the tip of his tongue glides the edges of her slit.
She flinches, trying again to pull away, but she is anchored by his palm pushing flat on her belly, the other hand grazing lightly up her ribs. An amused hum, and he glances up, resting his chin very lightly on the mound of her sex.
"Morrigan, has nobody ever…" At the frantic shake of her head, he mutters, "Maker, we are all bloody fools!" He rubs his cheek against the silky skin of her, stubble rough, causing her to squirm more. "We- I, had no right to use you so, darling."
She quakes when his mouth touches her again, shivers of fear and want. His tongue draws patterns in broad strokes, forcing almost silent mewls from between her lips. His touch is nothing she has ever known, so different from her own fingers, more than she imagined, hearing them across the camp, watching them rut under her spells. She is no stranger to the coiling tension, the tightening muscles, thrashing hips, but she has never been held down, drawn out, forced to endure the spiraling need that he invokes in her. His tongue teases at her entrance as he lifts her leg over his shoulder, opening her wider to his intent.
She cries out, pleading, fists clenched in his hair, and he devotes himself to her incoherent demand. When her back arches off the bed, he follows, suckling at her clit as his fingers find entrance, dipping just into her convulsing core. She falls, tumbling, over the brink, blind and deaf, with only the feel of him to bring her home.
A whine under her breath as his thick fingers ease further into her, his mouth burning her hips where he plants damp, open mouthed kisses, flicking his tongue out to flay her skin. Mesmerized by the rippling muscles of his shoulders as he bends intently to his task, she reaches down to rest her hand on his upper back, feeling the tense and flex, the power of him.
"Now!" She barely manages to gasp it out, but he laughs, his entire body shaking with it. A thrill of desire, thought sated, but oh so wrong, trills through her lower body, until her toes curl.
"I'm not finished yet, sweet Witch." He meets her eyes, licking the taste of her from his lips, with an appreciative hum. "Especially since I just realized," His palm cups her, fingers delving deeper, until he taps against her maidenhood, "that you've never licked a lamp post."
"It is of no moment." She glares at him, hard to do while he strokes her so well, fingers curling, caressing inside her.
"Have you ever even been kissed, Morrigan?" His question followed by a series of nibbles up her stomach, his body shifting up, his glorious fingers never ceasing. Gods, the brute strength of him, silk over steel as his skin slides against hers, there is nothing soft about him, save his eyes, his touch.
Her silence is his answer, and the flicker of pain on her face is nearly enough to make him cry. "I truly have been a royal bastard to you, haven't I, precious girl?" Her uncertainty freezes her under him, tense and still as he pulls his hand away, leaving her empty and aching. The heavy weight of him even as he holds most of it off her, the throb of him sliding along her, the beat of the pulse at his throat, he is hot, the flicker of the firelight against the sheen of sweat gleams, she feels like she is trying to swim without knowing how, trying to fight without ever having held a sword.
He whispers in her ear between nibbles, "I've neglected you terribly." A strained whimper is her reply, the head of his cock sliding easily along her cleft, wet and slick from his attentions. Her hips tilt of their own accord, trying to find friction. "But I can make up for it now, can't I, sweet Witch?" He sucks her bottom lip between his, licking lightly. "If I ask nicely? If I beg?"
He revels in the feel of her flesh beneath him, soft, hot, silent, save for mewling gasps, chirping breath and urgent moans. The flush and pulse of her blood beneath her skin, the taste of her lips, the slick of sweat, she is all human, without her spells, there is nothing of the Warden taint about her. When he breathes her in, she is uncorrupted, sharp and clean, her scent thickening with her arousal.
Her mouth sings to him, luring him in to nip and suck at her lips, warm and pliable under his own. She catches on quickly, kissing him ravenously, giving herself over to the feelings his body stirs in hers. Her nails scrape the hard flesh of his back as he grinds against her, driving her once more into spasms.
Time and again, he strokes her into a quivering mess, with hands, mouth and body, his voice a low snarl in her ear, urging her on, ever higher. She is spinning out of control, senseless to anything but the need, still coiled in her belly, she isn't sure what more he can give her, but she is ready for it.
"Please, Alistair." A panting whine as she comes down, grasping at his shoulders, drawing him up, catching his mouth. "Please."
He kisses her languidly, deep and slow. "Almost, darling." He watches her, darkened eyes locked on hers as she climbs again, his fingers playing with precision. As she peaks, he thrusts, swift and sharp. Her virgin blood slicks over him, and she cries out, even as she shudders in the throes of her release, and he feels her magic wash over him, her spell settling into their flesh, riding the power of her blood.
The altogether human instinct pushes them both, her forest scent with a dark metallic tang, the salt sweet taste of her skin, the lush give of her lips under his as he steals her breath, replacing it with his own. He pins her to the bed with his body, the brute force of his thrusts causing her to groan, thrashing and bucking her hips to meet him.
"Alistair…" She ripples around him, the walls of her cunt grasping and sucking him deeper. "Now." He groans in response, speeds his rhythm, her magic wind through him, sparking through his flesh to settle in his cock, spilling from his body into hers with his release.
Slowing, stilling, he nuzzles into the crook of her neck, breathing her in. With her legs still tight around him, he finds in her humanity, the songless comfort of replete flesh, lust sated by an instinct remarkably different from all he has known. He sighs, content, shifts to free her limbs, but pulls her close, her naked skin flush against his as he cuddles her.
She shudders in his arms, minute flashes of chill as his seed moves in her, seeking her womb, the spell seeking completion. They both feel the flare of magic when it happens, and he gazes at her, awestruck. She is the mother of his child, still untouched by the soul of the Archdemon, still only human.
Their kiss is long and lingering, bittersweet with potential and knowledge.