Modern AU, mild NSFW.
Alistair wakes with a start, because it's been a long time since he's awoken to an empty bed on a weekend. He's not sure what it is that wakes him, but the space beside him is cold from the fall air and he wonders how long he's been asleep without her.
He stretches languidly and makes half an effort to remember where any of his clothes ended up the night before. He hadn't exactly been focused on where they went, only that they be away, and maybe one of these days he'll be able to stay coherent enough around her to remember these sorts of things, but he very much doubts it.
He finds his jeans flung carelessly across her dresser, and decides they're good enough, pulling them low on his hips with intent.
She's in the kitchen, and the sight of her steals his breath the way wind steals a flame. So that's where his shirt ended up.
She's perched with her elbows on the countertop, a cup of steaming coffee clutched lovingly in her long fingers, concentrating on something outside her window. With the way she's leaning, the oversized button-up rides up just enough to expose the full curve of her backside, and he has to shake his head to stop himself from staring too long. It's nearly impossible.
She hears his low hum of appreciation and awards him with an affectionate smile. "Hope you don't mind," she says, and her voice is soft and still heavy with sleep. "I didn't feel like wearing pants."
And thank the Maker for that. The shirt is taunting him now, bunches in his hands as they slide against her hips, and he's overwhelmed by the need to feel her bare skin. He pulls her against his chest and presses a kiss to the curve of her neck. He can taste the sweat he earned the night before and grins against her skin. "It looks good on you." His voice is gruff, not from sleep but from the desire for her that he can never seem to quench. She stretches like a cat under his ministrations, grinding against his arousal with the same slow roll of her hips that seems to be getting him into trouble quite a lot these days.
His mouth travels the up the expanse of her neck to find soft flesh behind her ear that always elicits his favorite sounds, and he's rewarded with her tiny gasp of surprise. He slides the hem of the shirt up over her hips, and groans when he finds that his shirt is indeed the only thing she's bothered to put on.
Her breathy laugh sends another current of need through him, but she sets aside her coffee cup. Her hand lifts to thread through his hair and still his questing mouth.
"Alistair, I'm trying to get us out of bed, not back into it."
She twists in his embrace to look up at him, and her eyes widen in surprise when she meets his. He's grinning wickedly at her.
"That's really fine with me, because I wasn't planning on taking you there." He barely recognizes his own voice, laced with filthy suggestion, and she seems so surprised – and was that lust? – by the huskiness of his voice that she doesn't even laugh when he wags his eyebrows at her. "If you know what I mean."
She seems to make up her mind, then, and hops up on the edge of the counter, wrapping her muscular thighs around his waist and pulling him into her kiss. As he rips the shirt from her lithe frame and buttons clatter to the tile floor, he thinks absently that he didn't really like it on her all that much after all.
