Chapter Three
As it were, they didn't get attacked the rest of that day by bandits, or by assassins, darkspawn, wolves, or even a single giant spider. For once.
Still, it felt strange with the air against her privates, particularly so with Zevran's knowing smirk and Alistair's shy – yet even then a little yearning – glances, and she was glad to have the comfort of cloth sliding up her legs and against her that evening after they set up camp and unloaded their things.
A comfort that was just as soon after slid back down and away by eager hands, to be replaced by an equally eager mouth.
Maker, she would die at this rate.
If she did, though, at least it'd be with the biggest smile on her face.
The next several weeks, however, proved frustratingly smile-less, as their trek to Haven and the supposed Urn of Sacred Ashes took a turn to exhaustingly high climbs and then for the worse.
At first, it'd just been the growing doubts within their own group she had to contend with. Quiet whispers in camp that they were wasting their time on a wild goose chase, and then complaints to her face. Of course it's a long shot, she grumbled to herself. It's always been a long shot. What hasn't been one up till now?
Upon arriving in Haven, things only went further downhill. Creepy decrepit buildings looming all about with creepy children singing creepy rhymes, suspicious villagers staring from around every corner, and then, to top it off, actual dragon cultists at the chantry, who, of course, weren't waiting with tea and biscuits for them. There came a momentary bright spot when they found Brother Genitivi alive – injured, but alive. But that, too, was quickly overshadowed by more dragon cultists, then dragonlings and drakes and then an actual high dragon named Andraste of all things. Then, as if all that weren't enough, they had to stumble through a Gauntlet full of puzzles and an awkward chat with a How-May-I-Shame-You-Today Guardian. Honestly, she still wanted to kick him.
By the end of it, no one was happy, and everyone was tired and sore to the bone. But, damn it, they had gotten their pinch of ashes and they were leaving with it.
Between all those hours of hiking and fighting and anxious nighttime watches, however, Neria and Alistair had stolen only a few sparse moments for themselves. A hasty meeting of bodies behind a rock off the path or in the darkness of their tent, with just the bare minimum of foreplay to make her wet and him hard, biting their hands or their bedrolls to muffle any noises. A much-needed release of frustration and tension. Or at least meant to be, as it only seemed to worsen such feelings instead.
With all that, the inn they happened upon along the trek back was but the icing on the cake. It looked innocuous at first, all warm light and cheery chatter they could hear even from the road. But inside they found an innkeeper who couldn't so much as pretend politeness, even in the face of a well-armed group.
Sten put a stop to that – and got them free room and board for the night, to boot – but the insults – "robe," "witch," "knife ear" – still rang in her head.
In short, Neria was in a Bad Way.
After more or less shoving supper down, she stormed up to her room, slammed the door, and flopped down onto the thin hunk of a mattress that passed for a bed. Then, with a groan, she rolled over to sit and began tugging at the laces to her boots. Which, as if to mock her, stuck on the knots. She growled.
A knock came at the door.
"What is it?" she hissed.
It'd better not be that Maker-forsaken innkeeper here to harass me, she thought, or I swear I'll—
The latch turned and the door swung partway open, revealing a familiar, boyish face. "Is this a bad time?"
Neria sighed. "No. No, it's not. I'm sorry, Alistair." She ducked her head, a little shamefaced for how she'd spoken. "I'm just a bit frustrated, is all. It's nothing to do with you."
The door creaked open wider, then shut. A moment later a hand settled warmly on her shoulder, and she looked up into his gently smiling face. "It's all right. I understand," he said. "It's been a long day. Or several days. Or a few weeks. Or, well, who's counting anyway?"
She smiled back, though rather tightly. "I'll second that."
He slid down next to her until he was kneeling on the floor, where he took hold of her boot and, after a bit of prying, undid the knot. Then he finished untying the laces and pulled it off along with her stocking. Cradling her heel in one hand, he pressed the thumb of the other into her arch and rubbed it in firm circles. "Not too long for this, though, I hope?" he said.
Neria let out a soft moan and lay back. "Mm, nope. Never for that."
Alistair's chuckle sent a tingle of warmth through her body. "Good to know."
With that, he set into it, continuing the circular motion of his thumb all along the sole of her foot. He carried his dedicated attention over the rest of her foot and up to her ankle, kneading and rubbing in turn, until all the knots and tension had melted away. Then, once he'd finished, he turned to her other foot, unlacing and pulling off her boot, then her stocking, before beginning all over again.
By the time he had done with both, Neria was in a state halfway between a contented daze and cozy sleep. After all those days of long marches and rough hikes, the massage had done wonders for her aching feet, turning her bones into pudding and her muscles to water. Come to think of it, did she even have feet anymore?
A sudden kiss to the inside of her bare knee made her jump and giggle.
Alistair laughed. "Were you asleep?"
Neria bit her lip and smiled. A small smile, but it was soft and genuine. "Almost."
He kissed her other knee. "Well then…" He sidled closer, kissing her thigh. "It's a good thing…" A kiss to her other thigh. "That I woke you." He moved as if to kiss even higher, and she squirmed, her heart beginning to race. But then he suddenly stopped and drew away with an uncertain look. "Unless, of course, you really do want to sleep. I mean, I completely understand that, too."
Blushing, she shook her head. "Oh, no, no. Please, continue." But a thought made her pause and push herself up on her elbows. "Unless you're too tired? If you don't want to, it's all right, Alistair."
"Of course I want to," he breathed.
But still she wavered. His desire to do such things for her – or perhaps rather to her – had puzzled her from the start. Now, after the past several weeks of lackluster sex, her puzzlement had turned into concern. Did he do such things because he actually enjoyed them, or did he only do them because he thought she expected them? Did he have desires kept secret from shame, insecurity, or another cause? What did he truly want? She loved him, and she knew he loved her, but the man could still be terribly tight-lipped about intimate matters.
Well, there was no time like the present.
"Alistair, I… uh…"
He arched an eyebrow at her. "Yessss?"
She let out a deep breath before trying again. "Alistair, well… I mean, I can't help noticing, but isn't this all fairly one-sided? You don't ask me to do much for you." She sat up and took his hands in hers. "I enjoy what you do, of course! But, I want you to enjoy yourself, too. Everyone should have a good time."
His cheeks tinged pink, and a small laugh escaped him. "Oh, believe me, Neria, I'm enjoying myself. Quite a lot. Especially when I do the, ah, things I do."
"But why? What do you like so much about it?" she asked. "I mean, I obviously get a lot out of it, but you…" She shrugged, at a loss for words.
He simply smiled back. "Well, it's a lot of things. Like…" He leaned in close again, taking his hands away from hers to slowly, warmly run them up her thighs, and her breath hitched in anticipation. "There. How you sort of gasp and get this crease in your brow, like you can't wait. It's cute."
She frowned. "Oh, I don't—"
He rose up and over her to press a kiss to her forehead, then to her brow, the curve of her cheek, the corner of her lips. "Do, too," he whispered, with a teasing chuckle. He drew a finger along the edge of her smallclothes, and she parted her legs for more, a low moan in her throat. "And there," he said, a little rougher than before. "How you open so readily to me, so trustingly. It's as if you're under my own spell."
He traced the center of her then, and she groaned aloud. "Alistair…"
He cut her off with a kiss. It was slow, tender, loving, all the things she had missed so much since the start of their trek to Haven. He kissed her like she was the whole of his world, like there was nothing else beyond them, no demons, no wars, no Blights. She carded her fingers through his hair and lost herself to the gentle passion of his lips, as they took the time to explore one another all over again after that small eternity of several weeks.
She really hadn't been kidding about the "good kisser" bit.
Neria smiled like the besotted fool she was as she ran her hands from his hair down over his neck, along his broad shoulders, all over his muscled chest and back, drinking in the heat and feel of him. Then, finally, her fingers brushed across the hem of his shirt, and with an eager grin, she tugged it up. A soft laugh on his lips, Alistair complied, parting briefly to pull the garment off and then throw it aside to the floor. Then they were kissing again, more deeply, their breaths coming faster as their desires grew.
Then cool air began to whisper against her chest, lightly at first, then more insistently. After a moment, she realized it was him, tugging gingerly but determinedly at the numerous buttons lining the front of her robes. He grumbled against her lips as one refused to come undone, and with a grin, she reached down to help him. Together, they undid the rest of the buttons, clasps, and laces – whoever designed mage robes could dunk their head in a lake, she thought – before slipping the clothing off. Her underthings followed suit soon after.
Alistair leaned back then, his eyes half-lidded and hazy as he gazed upon her. "Maker's breath, you're beautiful," he breathed. "I am a lucky, lucky man."
Neria shook her head, laughing. "I think I've heard you say that before."
"Are you tired of it?"
"Oh, no, certainly not," she said, smiling as she ran her eyes along him in turn. "But if anyone's lucky here, it's me for being gifted with such a wonderful, handsome man."
He gave her a teasing smile. "Really? I wonder who that could be."
She swatted his shoulder playfully. "I correct myself: an infuriating, wonderful, handsome man." She reached down and started undoing the buttons of his breeches. "Now take these off."
But Alistair only chuckled and pulled her hands away. "No, not yet," he said. He laid a kiss on the knuckles of each hand before setting them on the edge of the bed, gathering up her legs, and throwing them over his shoulders with a wink. "Not until I've had my fill of you this way. 'Growing boy' and all that, you know."
"And I still say the only growing part of you is—Ohhhhh." She moaned as he ran a hand up her thigh and then, without further preamble, sunk a finger into her folds.
"Maker's breath, you're wet," he groaned. "How can you already be so wet?"
"Because youuuu…" She moaned again as he ran the digit up to toy with her clit.
He grinned up at her. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that."
She contemplated smacking at the other hand still at her hip in retaliation but, as he circled her nub with just the right pressure, decided to lie back and simply enjoy herself instead. He stroked her several more times in such a way, slow and unhurried, before dragging the finger down to her entrance and pressing his thumb against her in its place. When it slid into her, they both moaned.
"You're always so tight," he murmured, his voice strained. He began to thrust his finger, in and out, so carefully it nearly made her writhe in impatience. "Even after my fingers, or my mouth, you always feel so tight. You feel so good, but I'm always afraid I'll hurt you."
She moaned, opening her legs further for him. "You won't hurt me, Alistair. I know you won't."
He chuckled. "Oh, I'm sure you'd set a fireball on me before I would."
Then he slipped in a second finger, and she sighed in bliss. She loved this, his leisurely caresses, this relaxed build-up of pleasure. This was what she had so dearly longed for, had so very much needed. All the weariness from the past weeks ebbed away further and further with each stroke of his hand, every warm whisper of his voice. In that moment she loved him even more, for both putting up with her temper and soothing it away.
"Tell me," she said. "Tell me what you like, Alistair. Anything."
She'd meant for what he'd like done in return, but he took it to mean their earlier conversation, as his eyes darkened more and he said, "What I like? Maker's breath, where do I begin? I love you, Neria. I love you splayed out like this, the sight of it, the sound, the feel. You're so beautiful. It's like you're lost to everything I do."
He curled his fingers inside of her, and she whimpered and arched her back at the toe-curling sensation. When he did so again, she gasped, "Oh, Alistair!"
"I love how you say my name," he said, moving his fingers faster, surer. "Whenever I hear it from you, I can't help wanting to make you say it again and again." He bent down and pressed a kiss to her inner thigh with a low moan. "And, Flames, you feel so wonderful. Around my fingers, against my tongue, around my… my cock." He finished the last word with a fierce blush, but still he went on, "All hot and slick. I can't stand it, Neria."
She gasped again as he added a third finger, canting her hips towards him without even thinking of it. She was burning up inside, and every word he spoke only fed the fire within her. "Alistair, please…"
"I feel like I could drink you up forever," he continued hoarsely. "I'd drink up every last drop of your sweetness. You'd sit on my face, and I'd… I'd just…"
With a rough groan, he drew away the hand at her hip to nearly tear open his breeches in his haste and free his straining erection. He grasped himself with the one hand as he continued stroking her center with the other, burying a husky moan into her thigh. She licked her lips as an idea grew in her mind.
"Would you like that?" Neria asked softly. "Would you like it if I climbed on top of you and rode your tongue until I was soaked and pleading? Is that what you'd like?"
Alistair groaned again, and his hips jerked, meeting his taut grip with a slap. It was answer enough.
She drew away from him – though a not-insignificant part of her protested to simply let him go on his lovely way with her – and he let out a small whine as his fingers slipped out from her. She shushed him with a grin. If all went well, then both of them would enjoy themselves a great deal more soon enough.
She patted the open space next to her on the bed. "Come up here, then."
Realization dawning, he wasted no time in shoving his boots, trousers, and smallclothes in an unceremonious heap on the floor. Then he was eagerly clambering up beside her, his eyes dark and skin flushed.
"Lie down," she said, and he did so without question.
Smiling, she leaned over and embraced him, pressing the entirety of her naked warmth against his, enjoying the intimacy. In a teasing imitation of him earlier, she kissed his brow, the curve of his cheek, the corner of his mouth, then his lips in a deep kiss. He let out a contented murmur, kissing back with as much ardor, and moved to wrap his arms around her in turn, but again she drew away. Instead, she pushed him back down and straightened before shuffling up to where his head lay. There, she threw a leg over him, facing out towards his body.
And leaving her center wide open to his gaze.
"Maker, this is perfect," Alistair groaned from beneath her.
Neria blushed all over anew. She knew it wasn't anything he hadn't seen before – and thoroughly explored, for that matter – but the brazenness of the position left her feeling exposed in a new way. On top, she felt in command, and yet vulnerability and embarrassment shivered up her spine. It thrilled her.
He grabbed hold of her hips, pulling her down against him, and she squeaked in surprise. Again she drew away, batting at his hands. He grumbled in frustration. "You did this to torment me, didn't you? Wicked woman."
Neria laughed. "Oh, hush, I'm getting there."
With that, she bent down onto her knees and elbows over him, until she was level with his erection. She wrapped a hand around the base and looked back, smirking when she saw his wide-eyed expression.
"Is this better?" she asked, then licked a line from root to tip.
He groaned. "Yessss."
Without wasting a second, he set to returning the favor. He grabbed hold of her hips and practically buried his face between her thighs. A hot breath flooding across her center, then lips and tongue teasing, sliding, thrusting, circling, suckling her folds, her core, her clit, and all over again for more. With a pleased groan in his chest that rumbled up and into her, he settled into a steady rhythm, one that swiftly pushed her to the edge.
She panted and trembled, caught off-guard by the intensity even as she knew she should've expected it. An orgasm was already tightening inside of her, simmering in her nerves, and her eyes struggled to stay open.
Focus, Neria, she chided herself.
Alistair's erection stood tall and thick before her, flushed and a drop of pearly fluid beaded at the tip. The length twitched, as if beckoning her to taste him, and she licked her lips. She wrapped a hand around him again, stroking up to swipe her thumb over the crown to smear the little slickness of him around. But it wasn't enough by far. Her heart racing, she drew herself closer, then, with another wetting lick of her lips, she began to caress the length of him with her hands, her mouth, and her tongue in earnest.
Softly, uncertainly, at first. It'd been quite some time since she'd last done this, and Alistair so rarely gave her the chance to touch him in such a way, as taken as he always was in her. But as his quiet noises grew to louder moans of pleasure, her confidence rose, and she fondled him more firmly, passionately. Kissing the shaft of him, lapping at his glans and slit, letting her saliva run down to aid the stroking of her hands.
Finally, Alistair broke away from her core with a gasp. "Oh, Neria! You're so good, so good…"
She grinned back at him. "It'll get even better in just a moment."
With that, and a last, teasing lap at his slit, she sealed her lips around the crown of him, then started sliding down, sucking more and more of him inside. He was hot and hard, the slick leaking from him salty on her tongue as she lapped and caressed him. Beneath her, Alistair let out a loud, long groan, his hips twitching up at the attention. She pushed him back down to the bed, glad for his distraction from her so she could better concentrate on him. Maker, the man was big. That, or she was more out of practice than she thought.
Then he hit the back of her throat, and she almost gagged, tears pricking at her eyes.
All right, perhaps both, she mused.
But Alistair hardly seemed to notice, as lost as he was in her touch, squirming and moaning beneath her. He mumbled half-formed pleas into the air as he gripped her thighs desperately.
Then, just as suddenly, he seemed to remember what he had been doing.
Or, rather, who.
This time, Neria was the one who broke away with a gasp. Her body sung anew with pleasure as Alistair again pulled her against him and mercilessly buried his tongue in her. Stroking her folds, her clit, her core, all over once more, and her toes curled from the orgasm already teasing her yet again.
She redoubled her efforts on him, sucking the hard, hot length of him back into her mouth. She kept off a little more than before so as not to choke, unable to help the moans Alistair wrung from her, and worked over the rest of his shaft with tight, slick strokes of her hands, every pull and twist making a lurid, wet sound. By the way he continued to writhe and groan underneath her, she felt herself rather successful in dishing back some of his own sort of handiwork. She inwardly smirked, quite pleased with herself.
Her self-satisfaction was short-lived, however, as two, then soon three, sword-roughened fingers slid into her with little resistance and curled against the spot inside that drove her mad. He did so again and again, sucking and lapping at her clit all the while, and she swore she saw stars in the corners of her vision.
It was too much. After so many weeks of frustration, after so much teasing and build-up, she couldn't hold out anymore.
Another curl, another caress, and she was gone.
Her toes curling, her vision white, she pulled away just in time to muffle most of her scream against his hip as her release overtook her. It went through her like an earthquake, shaking and trembling through her entire body, flashing like a storm all along her nerves, until she was a boneless, twitching mess.
And still he kept on, determined to make her come again.
She whined, overstimulated. Insatiable man!
Before her, his erection remained standing as thick and flushed as ever, almost as if to mock her for coming so quickly when he still had so far to go. And, if he had his way, she'd soon be on her second.
But she wasn't about to be outdone that easily. She grasped his length and wrapped her lips around him once more, swirling her tongue around the crown with abandon each time she withdrew, only to thrust him deep inside again a moment later. In spite of his groans and maddened clutching at her, however, he held out, sucking and fingering her so thoroughly he nearly drove the breath from her chest. Again, again, again, searing bursts of pleasure sizzling from her core up her spine and out to every last inch of her, every nerve alight and singing, ready for her to explode once more. And, Maker, she very well might again already.
Desperate for something, anything, to gain an upper hand, she fumbled about, at first massaging his balls, then lower when it only earned her a grunt. Instead, she rubbed the span of skin behind them.
That got a reaction.
"F-Flames!" Alistair gasped against her. "What was—"
He broke into a low, husky groan when she firmly stroked him – both his length and the space below again – and Neria's inward smirk fully returned. Ah, nearly forgot that trick, she mused.
Rather than answering, she kept on in her attentions, sucking and caressing him all over with renewed dedication, till he was a shuddering, whining mess beneath her. Even then, however, it didn't take him long to refocus upon her as well, and she welcomed the return of his mouth and hands against her with a muffled moan of her own. Before long, he had her just as much a quivering, whimpering wreck.
Neria was intoxicated. With the ecstasy lighting up her body, the hard muscles and heat of the man below her, the very aroma and taste of him. She wanted him so much, loved him so much. Only him. Only…
"Alistair!" she cried.
He curled his fingers into her again relentlessly, making her squirm and clench. Another orgasm was quickly building, burning bright at the edges of her nerves. She panted, desperate for air, and stroked him near frenziedly. Their breaths came faster as they worked upon one another with loving touches, the sounds of their shared pleasure resounding against the walls and the smells of sweat and sex permeating the room ever more. She was close, oh so close. And by the way he trembled underneath her, he was as well.
"Alistair," she moaned. "Alistair, I-I love you…"
He shook ever more, gasping against her, "N-Neria, love y-you, too—Oh!"
Another stroke, and he came undone with a stuttering wail. A few moments later, she followed with his demanding fingers. Neria's orgasm went through her like lightning, every part of her tight as a bowstring in ecstasy, as Alistair's own shot all over her, her hands, her neck and collar, and back onto his thighs and below. They went on caressing and pleasuring one another, prolonging the sweet sensation, with shaking hands and moaning mouths. But, in short time, it proved too much, and exhaustion set in.
At last, Neria rolled off to the side, and they lay panting on the bed, soaking in the afterglow.
Then, after some time, Alistair broke the silence. "Maker's breath, that was amazing," he said, his voice hoarse but a wide grin on his face. "When can we do that again?"
Neria smiled weakly. "First, we have to recover."
"Oh?" he replied. He slipped his fingers into her again, thrusting them in a familiar pattern, and she moaned as her body even now stirred in arousal. He smirked. "Looks you're ready to go again."
"You're… You're insatiable," she gasped.
"Well, we do have all night here," he said with a chuckle.
Indeed, they did. And, after one look at their beaming faces the next morning, no one had to ask why Neria walked funny.