I lied about Redcliffe. Next chapter, okay? Okay. I know, but I wanted more campfire banter and I'm still sort of figuring out how I'm going to handle Redcliffe and Teagan and such.
Also, hey look! Some half-naked Alistair, which I blame aimo for fully.
This was really just for fun, and I wanted to start the Al/Leli thing a bit: that's right, he's not going to be a romantic rival JUST BECAUSE. I just don't see Alistair falling for Cat at all. But there will be Alistair DRAMAZ soon, what with Redcliffe.
Catherine knew she shouldn't be watching this. It was an invasion of privacy – something that was quite rare on the open road – but Maker when you give a man a body like that... well she's only a woman, after all, and an extremely horny one, at that.
Alistair was in the small pond by their campsite with the water up to his waist, whistling to himself as he washed. Rivulets ran down the planes of his rippling back, flowing down to the defined dip just above his undoubtedly chiseled behind. His tanned skinned was gleaming just so in the sunlight, making him look like some kind of bronze god. Catherine had no idea how he didn't feel her staring at him, but she wasn't about to complain – especially when he turned toward the shore.
Her breath caught; the man was gorgeous - it was sinful. Droplets caught in the ridges of his pectorals and abs, sliding down to the tempting V shaped creases at his narrow hips. Catherine bit her lip and let out a small, needy noise when Alistair's entire body flexed as a sudden chill wind gusted; it was all she could do to keep herself from jumping him right there. The oblivious templar started to move toward her, the water receding from his toned body at an entirely too languid pace; Catherine's hand wandered to her inner thigh in anticipation.
"Psst!"
"Hargmm? Stoppit." Catherine waved a sleepy hand, desperately clinging to the fleeing images of her apparent dream. "'e's 'lmost outta th' water."
"Maker's breath" the annoying voice exasperated before she felt a poke in her ribs. "Wake up Cat!"
The mage groaned and opened one eyelid: It was Alistair. His eyes were daring about the quiet camp as if he were afraid the archdemon laying in wait, hands were wringing and he was obviously chewing on the inside of his cheek.
She made a small whining sound of concession and rolled herself onto her back, sitting up and shaking her head free of some of the remaining cobwebs clinging to her mind.
"Alistair," she growled, "this had better be extremely important, or I'm going to find what my dream left out."
The templar grinned. "Good dream, huh? Sorry." he said, not sorry at all.
"S'alright, I guess." Catherine smirked, leaning back into her hands. "I'll just have to watch you bathe next time I get the chance."
"Wh-what?" he sputtered. She stifled a laugh. "Yo-you had a dream about...? Maker that's not something you typically admit to, Cat."
"Yes, well, I'm not typically as sexually frustrated as a Chantry sister, but there it is."
The man just stared at her wide-eyed, like she'd suggested stopping by the Black City for a spot of tea.
A sigh whooshed out of him and he tittered nervously, looking pointedly at the suddenly-interesting ground. "Well, at least this can't get more embarrassing." he grumbled.
Catherine chuckled. "Don't tempt me, please; you really haven't seen half of what I'm capable of." she teased, but patted him on the shoulder good-naturedly "Now, tell Auntie Cat what the problem is."
Alistair winced, sighing again before raking a hand through his hair. "Okay. I... um. I need some advice. For..." he trailed off and made a vague hand gesture, but his eyes drifted to Leliana's tent.
She caught her lower lip in her teeth and clapped her hands together, letting out a little squeal of glee; Alistair gave her a 'shush!', sitting himself a little closer.
"Sorry." she said with the same sincerity he had early. "You... haven't made a move, then?"
The templar shook his head, his foot was twitching slightly while he picked at bits of grass. "N-no. I ha-haven't." he stammered. "What am I supposed to say? She's... she's gorgeous and I'm all... me."
Catherine sighed and patted him on the shoulder. "Alistair, you're quite handsome," he arched an eyebrow at that, searching her face for any tell that she was lying, "and, most women swoon for that 'bumbling sweetheart' thing you got going."
Alistair let out a bark of laughter, rolling his eyes with a quirk of the mouth. "'Bumbling sweetheart'? Really?" he mocked companionably. "I guess there's worse things." Alistair looked her in the eye, strange look on his face. "Um. Not that I think I'm the Maker's gift to women or anything..." Catherine snorted and he cleared his throat. "Right. I mean... I can come to you? For-for advice? You aren't... 'one of those women' I take it."
The mage let a small, genuinely warm smile grace her lips. He was worried about her feelings. "No, I'm not." she said simply. "I'm not the type of woman to fall for anyone, you needn't worry." Catherine grinned wickedly, clutching her heart for dramatic flair. "Alas, I shall only see your studly body in my dreams, nothing more. Woe!"
The tips of Alistair's ears turned pink and he muttered something about her being a 'bad lady' and he ran off so quickly that she couldn't help but be reminded of Cullen; she wondered idly if perhaps that remarkable speed was something Templars were blessed with; a way out of potentially risque encounters.
A chuckle escaped her lips as she let herself plop back fully onto her bedroll, curling herself around Damon, nuzzling the fur of his shoulder. Damon huffed and cuddled back, tail thumping lazily when she gave him a pat.
With a long yawn and a measured stretch, Catherine's eyes closed once again, wicked little thoughts dancing in her mind in hopes to encourage another dream.
She may want him to be with the red-head, but that didn't mean she didn't like looking in the meantime.