Somehow, even being beneath the dubious shade of the operations tent, it was still hot as balls in the Western Approach. Somehow, even though all the soldiers around Rylen were sweating out of their armor, he didn't care a lick about the stifling heat. Somehow, he grinned at all of them as they squeezed themselves into the tent. Somehow, he cracked dry jokes as he briefed them on their mission. Somehow, he was a positive ray of fucking sunshine.

Michel de Chevin, on the other hand, stood across the desk from Rylen and threw him more exasperated expressions during one meeting than Rylen's own mother had throughout his entire life.

And Rylen made a point of ignoring all of them.

Truth be told, he already knew what the chevalier would say. Rylen had already endured the lecture more times than he cared to. He didn't need to hear it again. By now, he could probably recite the damned thing.

Be wary of overstepping your boundaries, Rylen. Make a distinction between command and pleasures, Rylen. Guard yourself, Rylen. Be sure you know what you're doing, Rylen. Don't bloody do it in front of the troops, FOR THE MAKER'S SAKE, RYLEN! HAVE YOU NO DECORUM?

Pah! Keep it to your bloody self, you Orlesian sod.

This time, for almost an entire briefing Chevin had managed to keep his comments to himself and Rylen nearly thanked the Maker. Bloody nearly. But it seemed that Chevin's self-control had finally run out. As Rylen handed him a map and dismissed their troops, Chevin cleared his throat. It wasn't very leader-like, he'd be the first to admit, but Rylen couldn't keep from rolling his eyes.

"You are allocating a lot of resources to this cause," Chevin said deliberately when they were the only two left in the tent, "and though your plan is fairly foolproof, I cannot help but wonder if there was a better one that was proposed to you some time ago. Perhaps by myself? Are you certain you have this right, Knight-Captain?"

Rylen scowled at the chavalier's loaded questions before dismissing it with a shake of his head. "I've considered all possibilities, and this is the best course of action. Just take care of those Venatori, Chevin."

"If you say so, Captain. I simply wonder if the Inquisitor agrees with you."

It was all Rylen could do to keep his temper in check. He glared at Chevin who stared back completely unabashed. No matter how the man bloody phrased it, Rylen knew what Chevin was hinting at. As if he could bloody well not. Rylen leaned over the desk, making a show of pulling fresh reports closer to him with unsteady hands and bit back his well versed and…unpleasant response.

"This is my Keep," Rylen spat at the wood through grit teeth. "The Inquisitor defers to my judgement in all matters."

Well-meaning though the obnoxious chevalier was, Rylen didn't need Chevin's shit right now. Certainly not when things were going so damn well. He didn't need Chevin riding in high and mighty, acting as if he knew better than Rylen about what the bloody hell he was doing.

"I think you are going about it all wrong," Chevin said gently, but Rylen was finished listening.

"No! Not again! You have your fucking orders, now get out of here!" he snapped.

With one last dubious look, the other man shook his sweat-damp hair back and eased his helmet over his head until the iron forged mask completely obscured his face. "Fine. But do not think for a moment that this is over."

Nearly as soon as Chevin left, Rylen sighed and let the guilt wash over him. He would never admit it, but Chevin was right.

It had been weeks. Weeks of the desert being the best blighted place he's ever lived. Weeks of being climbed on before he knew what the fuck was happening. Weeks of being dragged away by a mighty temptress only half against his will. But he'd never been bloody happier!

There were days he could hardly walk; there were days he had to limp into the infirmary and ask sheepishly for special poultices, but he would never trade it for a damn thing. That Qunari could beckon her little finger at him and he would always come running. She could throw him over her shoulder and take him for all he cared. This game of cat and mouse they played, this game of who could push who the furthest, a wolf and a halla, and, Maker's ass, Rylen had never felt more alive than when he was with that woman. She used him, she drove him mad, she tempted him and she astounded him and more than that, he was entirely hers. They fucked like bloody rabbits; here, there, wherever they could find. Their passions found them whenever they found them and there was no stopping either of them. With nothing more than her smile he knew it was over.

Everything was physical. And everything was now.

Sounded bloody amazing if you had asked him a few weeks ago. But Chevin saw the truth where Rylen would never admit it: there was something wrong.

It was like he was eighteen again and there was a beautiful woman that demanded all his time and energy. But he knew too well what had happened the last time he let himself go for someone else's amusement…. So far as he could tell, Rylen was headed straight for that same ruin again unless he listened to Chevin and regained some fucking sense.

But it was difficult to want to listen when it seemed that at every turn the Chevalier shook his head with what bloody felt like disappointment. Rylen couldn't escape his damn judgment! The mornings where he came into the mess hall, hair disheveled, only to find Chevin frowning at him were so frequent that he had stopped going altogether. Instead, he sent a damn page to go and fetch him breakfast every day—in his own fucking Keep! All Rylen had bloody wanted to do was impart of Chevin how ecstatic he was, how relieved he was to be the one Keram chose, how fantastic that bloody Qunari was, while all Chevin wanted to do was inquire after Rylen's well-being and lecture on responsibility. He expected this shit from Cullen, or even starry-eyed Barris but Michal de Chevin, the pretty boy from Orlais?

Perhaps he made assumptions, but he had expected support. No matter what the truth may be, Rylen didn't want the bloody reality, he wanted a Maker damned friend. Why Chevin insisted on being his fucking mother instead was beyond him.

So now he sat here, telling himself he was having the time of his life, and all he could think of were the chevalier's words… Are you certain you have this right, Knight -Captain?

Rylen brushed the creeping feeling of unease off. Of course! He was bloody fine! He was the luckiest fuck this side of the Frostbacks, all because of—

The sudden rustle of tarp tent flaps parting drew him from his thoughts. Rylen glanced up to bark at a scout only to find a rather welcome intruder studying him intently.

"Ah, Inquisitor Adaar, I was hoping you'd stop by…"

He would have filled her in on the briefing. He would have asked where she was planning on heading to next. He would have given her any pertinent information his head scout had come back with just that morning. If he felt brave enough, he might have even initiated one more romp before she departed.

That was, if he hadn't seen that fucking smile. The tiny upturn he craved so dearly widened into a grin. Keram's smile wiped his mind frustratingly blank. He had no bloody defense against it, it was his fucking weakness every time. Rylen had only precious moments to regain control of the situation, to maybe turn it to his advantage instead, but by the time he understood, it was too late. That was always the damn giantess' way with him.

Letting out something akin to a growl, Keram crossed the small space in one stride, and Rylen immediately knew today's game was hers.

"Keram—"

The Qunari had him in her clutches before he could spring away. The giantess moved alarmingly fast for her bloody size. Fast as a fucking Quillback, Rylen thought wildly, his head already spinning.

His years of Templar training kicked in like instinct but to no avail. One short, very one-sided wrestle later and Rylen was pinned; both his wrists were caught in only one of her hands, her arm tight across his plate, crushing his back against her chest. Try as he might to wriggle away, he was fucking done for, and Maker's breath, the anticipation had him panting.

Rylen could feel the heat of her body, smell the spiced scent of her wild hair spilling over his shoulder, and it scattered his thoughts. She overtook all his senses one by one until he was mad with lust, cock already straining in his trousers, ready to beg for her. His imagination ran fucking wild; the feel her round tits pressed against his back too easy to recall, the sensual sounds she made echoing in his mind. The fucking images his own mind conjured! Their vivid detail had to be blood magic, his complete surrender a trick of mind control. It had to be something else making him so damn insane. Maker, it couldn't just be this fucking mage woman! Maker, don't let it just be her!

Get your head together, Rylen! You're a bloody Templar!

Right. He was a Templar. Where was his mental fortitude now?

His boots scuffed pathetically on the ground and Keram's throaty chuckle was the only warning he had before she yanked him so tight to her chest that he was wheezing for breath. Keram's free hand smoothed lower over his body as Rylen's bloody world spun. She eased it beneath his sash, tugging at the laces of his breeches and eased them lower over his hips. Her skin blazed on his where she touched him, leaving an aching trail behind her fingers. She bloody teased him, purposely avoiding the part of him that wanted her the fucking most.

Oh sweet Maker, please, fuuuck. He actually whimpered, weak willed sod as he was.

Keram's fingers wrapped around his balls, her thumb tracing long strokes over his throbbing cock. Her nails scraped sensitive skin just enough to have Rylen clenching his jaw, barely containing a hiss as he tried to buck his hips into her hand to find relief for the burning in his body.

"I thought I might catch you here, Knight-Captain," she hummed in his ear. Her breath was hot and the timbre of her voice rumbled through him in shivers. He delighted in all of the sensation, in all of her, closing his eyes and succumbing. It was too fucking easy to give in. He was trapped again by this furious bloody creature, and all he wanted to do was to press even further into her, to swallow her moans in his mouth as he'd done every time he took her. He was her all too willing captive every time.

But Rylen was getting tired of her blighted teasing. Each stroke of her thumb, each tug of her fingers sent a shiver of pleasure up his spine but it wasn't fucking enough. He hissed at the roiling heat simmering beneath his skin. It would burn him, slow and deliberate. She would burn him at her leisure…unless he could stoke a wildfire in her.

"Did you only come to toy with me, lass? Or should I actually be worried?"

He could practically feel her fucking grin against his cheek.

Keram gripped his whole length hard in her hand and pumped him. Once, twice, then Rylen lost all sense. His eyes squeezed shut against the intense desire that pooled in his body. She would be the fucking death of him, he was sure. This time was it, like he'd thought so many bloody times before, but this—

Rylen felt her tongue languid and wet, trace a trail from his jaw to his ear where she tugged the lobe between her teeth. Rylen bit his lip to strangle his moan, acutely aware that all that separated them from the soldiers outside was bloody canvas. Too much noise, and he would attract attention, then some fucking scout would wander in and find their captain…compromised.

"Talk about toying. I thought you'd put up more of a fight."

He smiled, his first attempt at responding to her taunt turning into a breathy pant as Keram let her nails snag gently along his length. "F-fight? You're doing what I wanted, lass—"

She increased her pace and Rylen's muscles tensed in a spasm of pleasure, his back arching into her tightly. Rylen could hardly decipher his thoughts any longer as desire drove him insane. His heart raced in his chest and his breathing was ragged from between his clenched teeth.

"I'm almost disappointed," Keram murmured in his ear, the soft caresses of her lips leaving him aching for her mouth on his. Matching her new rhythm, Rylen rocked his hips into the steady work of her hand. "But then again, now I have you where I want you." His blood was roaring in his ears, his breathing heavy. "You could have had me bent over your desk, Captain. You could have fucked me until I screamed for you in the middle of the Keep. I would have begged for you. Wouldn't you have wanted that?"

"I-I—"

"Too bad, Basvaarad. Now you'll begfor me."

Rylen's fingers dug into the arm that was holding him captive. He squeezed as pressure in his body built, coiling and hot and ready to undo him. "You won't—get a peep out of me," he panted. Pretty brave words, considering where he was, but he couldn't help but goad her. Rylen smiled at himself, almost proud, until he immediately ate his fucking words. Keram squeezed her fist over the head of his cock and he gave her a loud pitifully strangled moan.

"No?" Keram hissed, nipping hard at his neck, scattering all his thoughts. "You're too loud, Captain. Do you want to draw the whole Keep to us?" Abandoning his wrists, her other hand clamped hard over his mouth. Rylen's eyes shot wide with surprise as he was suddenly picked up, his feet leaving the ground entirely, Keram perching him on her knee. "No one will hear you, Basvaarad. You're mine!"

Keram's new pace was merciless. She pumped his cock, her own breathing becoming labored in his ear, encouraging him on. And fuck, he groaned with abandon into her hand. He broke down into muffled pleas and strings of swearing as the desire pent hot in his body. He bucked into her movements, wild, never quite matching but in a vain effort to control something! Because fuck, he was losing everything he had so quickly; his mind given to pleasure, his body twitching. He twisted against her, pleasure racking his body in an angry assault. Rylen was weak, his blood pounding furiously, stars popping across his vision as he moaned. His body tensed, shaking with the effort of the pent up desire and he—

"Fuuuuck!" His agonized cry was muffled into her hand and as he bucked with his wild orgasm, Keram's arms tightened, trapping him against her. The limiting movement only drove him further into his blind, arousing insanity.

And the damn woman didn't stop. Her hand slid over him even as he rode the last vestiges of his pleasure until he was certain he would no longer walk straight. The edges of his vision blurred and darkened and for a moment he thought he was going to lose bloody consciousness.

But then he heard it: the clank of plated footsteps drawing closer, the shuffling of papers and aggravated muttering in Orlesian. It broke through the haze like shattering glass and made Rylen instantly alert. Keram had heard it too. She released him unceremoniously, tugging at his trousers and pulling his sash back into place and before he could register what the bloody fuck was happening, the Qunari was gone.

Rylen collapsed forward onto his desk, his legs shaking violently as Chevin pushed his way back through the tent flaps. He was speaking to him, but Rylen didn't hear him. His stomach had dropped but his vision still spun. He tried desperately to force himself to look casual, taking deep gulping breaths and pressing a hand to his temple. Despite his efforts he still had a white knuckled grip on the edge of the table and he still panted like a fucking rabid dog. The other man stopped short, eyeing him searchingly. "Are you all right, Rylen? You look—"

"I'm fucking fine, Chevin!" Rylen snapped. He winced at how hoarse his voice sounded in his ears. "Andraste's tits, it's just… it's just fucking hot out here in the bloody desert, alright?"

"Alright! Alright! Calm down, friend. I shall simply ask a scout then, no need to be so feisty…"

He threw one last questioning look over his shoulder at Rylen before he, too, was gone.

Then the fucking rumbling laughter started.

Rylen spun on the sound and shook his finger at the canvas as he spoke. "Laugh now, but I'll fucking get you back for this you blighted giantess. You mark my bloody words…"

"Oh, I should hope so," she simpered, "otherwise, what would be the point?"

And so life at the Keep bloody went.

Later that night, Keram sought him out in the mess hall. It wasn't the first time she'd joined Rylen at his table, and he hoped it would become routine for her. He was secretly beginning to like that Keram spent time with him outside their more carnal urges. Being in her presence made the Keep feel alive and lifted Rylen's spirits without fail. The only downside (if it could be called one) was that she brought an entourage of followers wherever she went. While he was somewhat annoyed with the disruption at first, Rylen was becoming used to the constant company. So much so that he was even beginning to maybe like the Ben-Hassrath mercenary (though it probably helped that Rylen knew Keram was only interested in himself). They filled his nights with laughter and stories, all the while their leader made eyes at him or squeezed his thigh beneath the table. Sometimes she would tease him, making it increasingly difficult to focus on anything else but her damn hand; all the more to laugh at how he blushed, she told him once when he had whined about it.

Tonight was no exception.

Varric was telling a no doubt exaggerated tale of their fight against a Venatori outpost from earlier that day (the tell for Rylen was that Varric claimed he pinned four fully armored soldiers to the wall with one crossbow bolt, even though he also said that Keram had picked up a Venatori mage and swung him over her head by his ankle before throwing him down a mine shaft. That one he could bloody believe!). There was no doubt in Rylen's mind that the dwarf had a damn good penchant for storytelling. So much so that his vivid words and grand, sweeping gesturing had enraptured everyone at the table, both those that had been there to witness said feats, and awestruck soldiers. Rylen, however, was only half-listening in amusement, more occupied by Keram's hand trailing fire up his thigh, when she leaned over to whisper in his ear.

"What sort of punishment did you derive for me tonight, Basvaarad?"

Rylen smirked to himself. Oh, he had bloody thought about it all day. There were only too many ways to get back at the dastardly mage for catching him off guard and he had pictured them all in their glorious fucking detail one by one. He had fantasized about each idea until he nearly drove himself crazy with lust…and then dismissed them all.

"I haven't," he said simply, taking a satisfied drink from his tankard. He didn't look at her even though he could practically feel her confusion. He couldn't. If he had, he might've lost his fucking nerve.

"What?"

"I'm not going to do anything to you, Keram."

"But… What do you mean?"

Draining the last of his ale, Rylen pushed away from the table. He stretched and yawned and excused himself for bed.

He paused, glimpsing Keram's hardened expression—as close as she came to confusion, he guessed—and bent so he could whisper in her ear, barely masking the glee from his voice. "I'm withholding sex, lass. Have a good night without me."