Chapter Two
Several days later, the group found themselves trekking through a particularly thick part of a forest. The overgrown brush – left untended since the start of the civil war – choked the road, making progress slow and hard-won. By midday, they were exhausted from their efforts. Too tired to even search for a clearing, they settled on the road itself for a short break and hoped no bandits would spy them through the trees.
Though Neria soon found bandits to be the least of her worries.
She set her hands on her hips. "You've got to be kidding me."
Alistair lowered his head with a smile, at once shy and impish. "Please?" he asked. "I won't take long."
She ignored the heat of the blush creeping up her neck. "You… You seriously led me all the way off the road, just to ask for this?"
Knowing some of her previous lovers, she could have believed it, if he were asking for such a thing as a quick hand-job. But he wasn't asking for that. Oh, no, he had something different in mind, something that sent a flush all the way to her pointed ears and a growing warmth between her thighs.
He looked down at his boots and toed a bit of dirt around. However, she didn't miss the spreading blush on his own face. "I can't help it," he murmured. "I've been thinking about it all day, and… You know…"
Yes, she did know about it. They'd done it a few more times since the first, and last night he'd made her come three times from it alone. It had gotten to the point that, as embarrassed as she was to admit, the mere act of watching him eat was starting to do funny things to her. And, honestly, she was rather embarrassed by the sounds she made when he did it. But, after telling him, he'd insisted on it regardless, even confessed he liked the sounds. And now…
"You want to eat me out here in the open," she stated more than asked.
"Well…" He toed the dirt around again, then flicked a glance at her and squeaked, "Please?"
She sighed and resisted the urge to fidget as well. She felt her smalls dampening at the thought of doing such a thing, but she knew well enough it was a bad idea. Their companions sat eating their midday meal not more than thirty paces away, and Maker knew Wynne, Leliana, or, worse, Sten might come looking for them at any moment.
Though, the threat of discovery itself was quite tempting…
No. Bad Neria, she admonished herself. And stop listening to Zevran's stories; they're obviously having an influence on you.
"Alistair," she sighed. "Not right now."
"Pretty please?"
She rolled her eyes. "We can do it tonight. Just wait till then."
"But I don't want to wait," he whined. He got down on his knees in front of her and, taking hold of her hips, pressed his face into her stomach. "I'm so hungry," he moaned, "and you know I'm a growing boy."
She bit her lip to stifle a laugh. But she wasn't about to go down – or, rather, let him go down – that easy, and instead she set her hands on his shoulders and lightly pushed him away. "You ate just a bit ago, Alistair," she said, "and the only 'growing' part of you is in your pants."
He looked up at her with a frown and large, sad eyes. "Pleeeease?"
"Alistair…"
His lower lip trembled.
She sighed again, her resolve crumbling. "Fine. Just—Eep!"
Before she quite knew what had happened, Neria found herself backed up against the trunk of a tree with her legs thrown over his shoulders. She realized with some disconcertment that she was several feet off the ground, her feet swinging in the air, and he was now the only thing standing – or, rather, kneeling – between her and a hard landing. And that was not an injury she wanted to explain to Wynne anytime soon.
She had only but a few moments to consider this, however, as he pulled off his gauntlets before pressing a kiss to her stocking-covered leg. Then he did so again, this time higher up and on her decidedly uncovered thigh. She shivered, and he continued to do so again and again, until his nose pressed into the crease between her leg and smalls. Stifling a moan, she clenched her fingers into either side of the tree behind her.
Maker, she dearly hoped no one walked in on them now. Her Tevinter-style robes only covered so much, and certainly not a fully-grown man.
Then he pressed a kiss to her smalls themselves, and she lost her line of thought with a squeak. A chuckle in his throat, he licked a line up from the curve of her rear to the top of her slit before wrapping his lips around her through the cloth, taking as much of her as he could into his mouth, as though he were trying to devour her whole. She gave a low groan, her hands curling tighter against the rough bark.
Then, to her surprise, he pinched the edge of her smallclothes between his teeth before pulling back and dragging them down her thighs. He gripped her hips as he did, shifting her support from his shoulders to his arms, until the garment caught on her knees. Then, with a wide grin, he nudged himself under it and dove back between her thighs. This time, he kissed a line up her other leg, pausing momentarily to lightly nibble on her inner thigh, a mischievous glint in his eyes. She gasped and squirmed in response.
Neria still couldn't quite believe any of it. Before, she'd thought it all just some juvenile myth whispered under the cover of dark in the Circle dormitories. After all, weren't men only supposed to go wild for breasts, hips, and legs? But one who eschewed all of those in favor of, well, this? And Alistair, of all people? She could have believed Zevran, perhaps, but not a former Chantry boy.
Shows you can't judge a book by its cover, she mused.
A sudden kiss against her slit caught her off-guard, making her squeak again. Alistair then pressed his thumbs to either side of her center and spread her folds, opening her to his gaze. At some point amidst all this, the skirt of her robe had ridden up, and when she looked down, she caught sight of his hazel eyes, half-lidded and dark.
He looked up at her, smiled, and then licked.
Running his tongue over her folds, darting it around her entrance before dragging it up to play with her clit, then retreating to her folds again and starting anew, over and over again. All the while, she gasped and moaned and writhed against the tree, wanting to buck her hips against his wonderful mouth but kept still by his hands. When he paused to briefly suck on her clit, she bit her lower lip to keep from crying out from the intense pleasure of it. Then, in spite of his promise to not take long, he moved away and resumed teasing her.
"Alistair, please," she groaned. "It won't be long before someone—Oh, Flames!"
He chose that moment to oblige her and thrust his tongue inside, with a smirk that she could feel as he pressed his face into her. When the bridge of his nose brushed her clit, her breath hitched and she squirmed. It was a new sensation, a strangely intimate caress she'd never before experienced. Embarrassed, she hoped for a split moment that he hadn't noticed and yet, at the same time incredibly turned on, hoped he had.
But of course he'd noticed. He hadn't survived fighting darkspawn and bandits so long by being oblivious. He pressed his face deeper into her, pushing his nose against her repeatedly, timing it with the movement of his tongue inside her, until she was an unabashed, moaning mess of nerves.
She wished right then that they weren't in the middle of a forest, that they were instead in their tent or an inn room or anywhere with some modicum of privacy so she could ride his wonderful face to oblivion. The thought of it sent a wave of heat through her that pooled between her thighs, and she moaned again when she felt the beginnings of an orgasm curling and tightening inside of her.
Then he pulled away completely.
"Alistair!" she whined. "Please!"
"Just one moment, love," he rasped.
He shifted her weight further onto his shoulders before removing a hand. She heard the whisper of laces being undone, and a moment later he moaned into her thigh. She could feel his shoulder shifting repeatedly under her leg, and she blushed at the realization that he was stroking himself. A realization that turned the heat inside her into what felt like an unrelenting blaze.
"Alistair," she moaned, reaching down to tangle her fingers in his hair. "Please, more."
"Maker, Neria," he groaned. "You're so beautiful."
As if loathing another moment's delay, he buried his face into her again. This time he sucked on her clit with his lips and tongue, and he used his free hand to slide one and then two fingers inside of her. A loud moan broke from her as her toes curled in her shoes from the double assault of pleasure. She could feel herself tensing and tightening once more as her climax neared. She urged his head against her, uncaring of anything else right then except reaching that peak.
Then his fingers brushed something in her that made her give a choked cry.
Alistair froze, his eyes shooting up to her with concern.
Neria bit her lip to keep from sobbing in frustration. She restlessly pushed her calves against his back, as though that would somehow spur him back into action. When it didn't, she gasped, "Please! Oh, Maker, Alistair, love, please. I was so close, and that… that…"
Understanding dawned on him, and he tentatively curled his fingers against the spot inside of her again. A shudder racked her body, and she groaned. He did it again, and she moaned and tried to thrust herself against his hand. Then he slid his tongue against her clit as he did so yet again, and she nearly wept from the sensation.
Her orgasm, which had but a bit before felt hopelessly out of reach, was returning with a vengeance, swelling like a wave that threatened to crush her when it finally broke. For a moment she worried it might very well be too intense, that she might lose control of her magic, set the tree on fire, or who knew what else.
But then, with another stroke of his tongue and curl of his fingers, that worry slipped away as her climax crashed over her. She sobbed and shook helplessly against him, each caress of his mouth and fingers coaxing more waves of pleasure and her entirety to clench around him. She desperately gripped his hair, unknowing if it were to keep him in place or to keep her anchored to reality. Her orgasm swept her up so thoroughly, she hardly even noticed when he shivered and groaned low in his throat in his own completion.
And then, finally, mercifully, Alistair slowed and eventually stopped his ministrations. When he withdrew his fingers from her, Neria whimpered from the loss. Yet she also felt sated beyond belief. Even if he were willing to go another round, she didn't know if she'd have the ability.
When she looked down at his grinning face, however, she wouldn't have been surprised if he asked.
"Wow!" he said. "I'm so doing that again tonight."
She released his hair with a weak moan, and she swore the joints in her hand creaked with the effort. "I don't think I'll live."
He smirked and opened his mouth to reply.
But the clapping of hands stopped him.
"My, what a marvelous show!" an Antivan-tinged voice cheered. "Here I came looking for our two lost lovebird-Wardens, and what do I find? That they're not only fine, but quite a bit more than fine!"
Neria and Alistair, eyes round, whipped their attention to Zevran, who smiled easily back.
"Zevran, leave!" Neria hissed. "R-Right now! This is private!"
But he simply continued smiling. "Ah, so I see," he replied. His eyes twinkled as he took in the couple's disheveled state and, even more particularly, Alistair's slick-covered face. "And heard, too."
At that, Neria and Alistair flushed even more so than they already were and hastily disentangled themselves. Which didn't go so well when, in their haste, they forgot the smallclothes left tangled around her knees, and as he moved back and the smalls didn't, he, with a loud rip, tore them to shreds.
Neria yelped. "Alistair!"
"Oh! Sorry!"
Their blushes now scarlet, and accompanied by Zevran's laughter, the two managed to at last pull away from one other. Neria yanked her robe back down as she got to her feet, and Alistair hastily stuffed himself back inside his breeches and relaced them before getting to his own.
Zevran rubbed a tear from the corner of his eye before throwing a cloth to Alistair. "Here," he said. He smirked as the man caught the fabric and then stared at it with a stunned expression. "To clean your face with. Unless, of course, you'd like to show everyone what you've been up to."
Alistair hurriedly wiped his face off.
Neria crossed her arms. "Zevran, go. We'll find our own way back."
The elf raised his hands, as if in surrender, with a chuckle. "I was merely trying to help."
"Zevran."
"Tsk. No fun! I'm leaving, right now." He turned to go but then suddenly stopped and looked back at Alistair. "That cloth, however, is mine. I expect it back at some point."
Alistair blushed anew and shoved it into a pocket. "I'll get you a new one."
Zevran laughed once more before finally striding out of sight.
Once she was sure he had gone, Neria bent down and picked up her smalls. Well, what had once been them. One look, though, and she knew their only possible future was as a rag. After a very thorough washing.
"Damn it, now what'll I wear?" she groaned. "My pack's under everyone else's on the cart. There's no way I can get to it and a new pair without everyone asking questions!"
"Sorry," Alistair squeaked again. "Maybe… you can just go a day without?"
She narrowed her eyes at him for a long moment but then sighed. "Fine," she said. "But if we get attacked by bandits and I flash someone, I'm blaming you."