Notes: Each chapter is a one-shot only, based off original and gathered prompts, that all, in some way or another, involve Sebastian – breaking his vows, more often than not. I do so love to torture him. NSFW!

Warnings: Heavy smut, 16+ at all times, drugging/spells, blackmail, threesomes, slight bondage, etc. This one contains a very dominant Sebastian, might even be just ever so slightly non-con in the beginning.

Original Idea/Prompt: Sebastian snaps.

Thanks: To Hatseput as always; if it weren't for her urging, this series wouldn't likely exist at all.

Disclaimer: Bioware

Torturing a Prince

Very Dom!Sebastian/F!Warrior!Hawke

Sebastian was restless; his body was covered in a layer of perspiration, his chest rising and falling in time with the rapid beat of his heart, his body writhing and tangling itself amongst his meager sheets. He was no mage, but each night he was tormented with his desire for one woman, and he could have sworn to the Maker that a demon had come to break him, break his will, and make a deal with him to give him what it was that he desired.

Each morning he woke, shooting up in the bed, his hand so tightly clenched in his damp sheets his knuckles were stark white. He then cursed when he felt the wet cling of his loose trousers to his groin.

Maker, he wasn't going to be able to hold out forever.

He felt like he was losing his mind; during the days he would see her, unable to keep his thoughts of her pure as they went about business as usual, and during the nights the demons tempted him with dirty dreams of her. Each night he would see himself; hips thrusting hard as he gripped her hips with bruising force, cock burying itself over and over between her luscious thighs and deep within the heat that was her cunt; his teeth buried in the skin of her shoulder as he held her down, growls loud in the silence of the room, the slap of his skin against her pert ass just as deafening, but not nearly as deafening as the roar of his heart in his ears. Or the sound of her pleasure screams, moans, breathless whimpers; Maker, he could live on those sounds alone.

It was getting so bad that the simple sound of her voice – it didn't matter what she was saying – made his cock rock hard; his belt buckle of Andraste's face was almost a mockery at this point. Vows of chastity? The Maker certainly had a sense of humor – his clash of faith was cemented with temptation embodied. Perhaps this was a test. If that were the case, he was no doubt failing. And drastically so.

He knew he hit the point of no return when he came by her manor home one evening. This was no doubt Isabela's idea, otherwise he couldn't see Hawke dressing herself this way. She was a warrior before she was a woman, often putting practicality before all else when it came to her clothes. Whose idea it was didn't matter, his cock stirred and hardened painfully in his breeches regardless. She stood before a mirror, tilting her head as she looked conscientiously at her reflection; the tight corset laced tightly around her abdomen, white blouse cinched at her shoulders to give a more than generous view of her heaving, tan breasts, the skirt falling over her curvy hips to hug her supple rear and hang just under her knees. He licked his lips like a hungry wolf who'd found his dinner; he certainly felt as if he might consume her.

The dreams were there, taunting him as they danced ever so teasingly on the edge of his thoughts. All he could seem to muster up was the image of tossing her over the edge of her bed, flinging up her skirt, and fucking her with abandon while they watched themselves screw in the mirror. His whole body shuddered and he found himself gritting his teeth, hands fisted, as he strained to keep himself in check. Maker, he didn't want to. His mouth watered at the mere thought of what she would taste like.

Before he realized it, he was striding into her room with purposeful steps; he was going to have her, even if he burned for it.

Hawke studied herself – her tall, slightly muscular frame, in the outfit Isabela had given her to seduce the ever illusive Sebastian Vael. She didn't look...unappealing. In fact, with the way her hair looked, all curled and spilling around her bare shoulders in copper waves, she looked almost...pretty. She stuck her tongue out at herself, green eyes glinting with amusement; it was a fleeting thought, at best. She knew she wouldn't be able to muster the courage needed to seduce Sebastian, but she would thank her pirate wench best friend regardless.

She sighed. To think she could kill a high dragon, but when it came to seducing one man, she was a complete coward. Maker, some warrior she was.

The sounds of booted feet entering her room had her snapping around like a coiled spring snapped free. Her wide eyes widened even further when she saw it was Sebastian striding toward her; his expression almost frightened her. It was hungry – that was the only way she could explain it; jaw tight, lips pressed together thinly, brows tight, eyes glinting, and his nostrils flared with each breath. Maker, was he mad? Had seeing her this way disgusted him to the point where he'd become angered?

"Sebastian, what are you - " She didn't even get to finish her question as Sebastian reached her, shoving her against the mirror and pinning her there with strong hands. Then his lips crashed down hard over hers', bruising them, forcing them apart with his tongue so it could snake within her mouth and tangle with hers; what in the void was happening? She should be appalled, be shoving him away, but her knees melted like butter as desire pooled hotly between her thighs.

"You taste even better than I dreamt," Sebastian growled, his teeth nipping her lip hard enough to draw a bead of blood. His voice was low, deeper than she had ever heard it, and the sound of it was enough to make goose bumps pucker across her flesh.

"This is highly inappropriate, Sebastian," she muttered as she tried to gain her composure; she wasn't a strumpet, or a paid whore, he had no right to come barging into her room and treat her this way.

He scoffed, his eyes traveling the length of her body as he kept her pinned by shoulders against the glass of the mirror. "And what you are wearing is highly inappropriate, Hawke."

That made her bristle with anger; who did he think he was talking to? She was the Champion of Kirkwall. With all her warrior strength, she took him off guard and shoved him away from her; he wasn't expecting a retaliation and actually stumbled. Her eyes narrowed, glinting dangerously. Not that he kept his gaze there for long, she realized; his stunning eyes fell to her breasts, where the swells of flesh heaved with each harsh breath. She grit her teeth and raised her hand, bringing it across his face with a harsh slap.

It didn't seem to surprise him, or phase him for that matter. He narrowed his eyes with a soft growl, his cheek tinting red from the contact of her palm. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. Hawke felt like cornered prey and she realized this situation was one action away from becoming volatile; she had to tread carefully.

"Sebastian...I think it's best if you left. You are not thinking clearly." She laid her hand on his arm, trying to keep it from trembling.

"I haven't thought clearly since the moment I first laid eyes on you," he growled as he took her hand, turning her around roughly and pressing her against the mirror. She tried to struggle against his hold, but it only made him growl louder as he twisted her arm up behind her, making her wince. His other hand shot out to grasp her other hand, twisting it behind her back; she couldn't see what he was tying them with, but she felt him tying her wrists together, almost tight enough to make her skin tingle from the loss of circulation.

"Sebastian! Stop this!" She snapped, more angry than scared now. Her leg shot back to try and kick him, but was of little use bare as it was against his armored leg.

He didn't seem to hear her, or he was purposely ignoring her. His hand came down sharply against the curve of her rear making her cry out from the sharp sting despite the cloth of her skirt. She tried to kick her leg back against his again, squirming, but he simply slapped his hand against her ass, but harder this time. She hissed, the sting more potent, sure her buttock would be burning red if he looked upon it.

"Sebastian!"

"Hush, my little Hawke – you'll feel pleasure like never before, this I can promise you." He murmured the words against the shell of her ear, making her shudder; how could she not? It wasn't as if she were immune to his charms. If she weren't so livid, she might even go so far as to admit that she liked this dominant, forceful personality of his. She had wanted this, hadn't she? She had gotten this very outfit to seduce this very man, so she couldn't, in good conscious, play the victim and cry wolf – she had been asking for it, to say otherwise would make her a liar. Or a tease. She wasn't sure which was worse.

He gripped her by the shoulder and turned her, shoving her back against the mirror for the third time, making her grit her teeth. They stared each other down and she found her resolve weakening beneath his lust-filled gaze; that lust, that desire, was all for her. She licked her lips and he watched, almost mesmerized. She watched as he swallowed thickly. To say that she didn't feel something would be the same as saying she wasn't a woman, or human.

"Sebastian. Go, please," she swallowed, tried one last desperate plea. She didn't know where she stood any longer, or where he stood for that matter; would he come to regret this in the aftermath, having forsaken his vows for a tumble with her? There were too many variables here, and it was better to avoid the situation all together.

"No."

"Sebastian - "

"I said no." His hand – the one not holding her against the mirror – slid up her front, over the swell of her breasts. Then higher and gripped her throat, not tight enough to cut off her air, but enough to say 'this is what I want and I will get it'. His message was clear in the way his fingers tightened ever so slightly, his eyes glinting dangerously as he both felt and watched her swallow nervously. He must have felt superior, having such a strong woman under his hand – Maker, why did that arouse her so?

Sebastian released her throat, took a hold of her and dragged her to the other side of the bed. She tried to pull herself free multiple times, only to receive sharp smacks on her ass each time. Eventually she just glared at him. He grinned, yanked her to him, and kissed her until her head was reeling; his tongue was an expert in dueling, coaxing a response out of her masterfully. Once she was butter in his hands, he turned her and shoved her so that she landed on her stomach on the edge of the bed with an 'oomph'.

"Sebastian!" Her face heated red with embarrassment – and yes, arousal – as he flipped up her skirt and ran his hands over her bare buttocks(she cursed herself vividly here for having not put on undergarments when trying on this outfit).

"No undergarments? You are so very naughty, aren't you, my little Hawke?" He chuckled. When she went to snap at him angrily, he brought his hand down against her ass cheek much harder than he had thus far. She cried out, the pain sharp and intense, her skin burning hotly as she whimpered against the bedspread. He did it again, in the same spot, almost making her eyes water, but this time she stubbornly bit her lip to keep herself quiet. He tsk'd her and did it again, harder, but on the opposite cheek, thank the Maker. She groaned, closing her eyes tightly; this had to be a dream, right? There was no way Sebastian was in here spanking her.

"Sebastian!" This time his name was a drawn out whimper.

She felt him shudder behind her. "Maker, yeeeees. Do that again," he hissed.

"Do what?" He smacked her ass again, hard, making her whimper his name. Then again, and she did it once more.

"Delicious," he panted. "Can't wait. Want to, but I can't." He squirmed behind her and she tried to wiggle her way away from him, but he stubbornly kept her half pinned with one arm as he went about doing whatever it was that he was doing behind her. She resigned herself to look forward and saw their reflection in the mirror; he was fumbling with his armor, gloriously bare chested now. She saw his hands going for his belt and she gasped, renewing her struggles; he stopped long enough to swat her ass hard enough to quell her fighting, turning her into shuddering, whimpering mass of limbs on the bed.

He wrenched his hand in her hair until her neck was craned back and she was looking at herself in the mirror again. "Watch," he growled, his other hand yanking down her blouse so that her large breasts spilled free into the cool air, her tan nipples pebbling into tight peaks. She moaned, biting her lip, finding the sight strangely arousing. He didn't stop moving, his free hand then caressing down her back, over her hip, before smacking her rear end again, this time his eyes watching in the mirror as her breasts jiggled from the action. "Maker, you're a goddess. Perfect, I can't wait any longer, I must have you, my little Hawke," he muttered the words like a crazy mantra, undoing the ties of his breeches and pulling free his impressively large cock.

She blushed red in the face, her body shuddering under him. He kept his hand wrenched in her hair even as rubbed the head of his cock against her wet lips; when had she gotten so wet, anyway? "So wet..." he breathed, his whole body shuddering. "Are you a virgin?"

"W-what?" she squeaked the word out in surprise, the question unexpected. "N-no..."

"Good," he groaned out hoarsely, thrusting his hips forward so that he sheathed himself within her in one slick, hard, penetrating motion. She cried out, her back arching and wrists straining against her bonds as her walls clenched down tightly on the intruder. He filled her so wonderfully, maker, he was hot, like velvet steel and it felt so good. His hips pulled back, then snapped forward again, his skin slapping against her already sore ass, making her whimper and moan at the same time. The pace he set was brutal, hard, fast, flesh against flesh, his cock spearing her deeply and hitting her g-spot every single time. He, too, watched in the mirror as he thrust himself in and out of her drenched core, his own voice loud in the silence of her room, mingling with her own strangled sounds. He released her hair and moved both his hands to grip hard on her hips, using the hold there to pull her back each time he shoved himself deep within her.

"Sebastian!" She screamed his name as he slammed impossibly hard within her.

"Again!" He growled, withdrawing just enough to tease her lips with his head, before thrusting back hard, his flesh smacking against hers with a pleasant burn. She obliged, whimpering his name and he rewarded her with another smooth thrust. One of his hands dipped down under her, finding her clit and massaging it masterfully as he kept his hard, brutal pace. Her head spun and watching this in the mirror was almost too much; again and again, over, and over, and then there it was, crashing over her like a tidal wave, making her scream out as her body was wracked with an intense release. He shouted her name, thrust hard a few last times, before she felt the hot splash of his seed deep within her. When it was all said and done, he collapsed atop her, his breathless pants falling against her ear as she lay there trying to compose herself.

"Sebastian..."

He shot up, withdrawing from her and hastily dressing himself, at least from the waist down so he wasn't indecent, as she sat herself up gingerly on the bed. His eyes were wide, almost panicked.

"Do you mind?" She titled her head in the direction of her back, indicating her somewhat sore wrists. If possible, his eyes widened further as he moved to do as she said, releasing her wrists from whatever he had used to bind them.

"Hawke, I - " he pulled back from her, then pressed his lips together tightly, unsure of what to say.

"Sebastian. I doubt it would surprise you to learn that I got this outfit from Isabela...to seduce you," she mumbled as she rubbed her wrists, getting the blood back into her tingling fingers.

"Hawke I am not sure I - "

"What I am saying is – don't apologize." He looked troubled, but nodded without argument.

"In fact, I quite like this side of you."

"But Hawke," he sat beside her on the bed. "You didn't...you were..."

"I didn't think you meant to do this...that you would regret this...what, with your vows and all," she blushed, and shrugged her shoulders. "And I would be remiss if I didn't say I was enjoying fighting back..."

This time he chuckled, turned her face, and brought their lips together in a gentle, lingering kiss. "I'll keep that in mind for next time," he breathed against her lips.

"Next time?"

"And the time after that, and the time after that."