Perfection. He gave her care, pure love; cleansing her visible and unseen wounds, healing them with a soapy cloth and his utmost commitment. The vows he spoke, the promises he made long before they were married were not taken so lightly. He planned to uphold them with devotion. If she had any willingness to attempt to salvage their love, he would pursue it. And he would call her to the version of herself she did not seem to see.
For now, her wet body craved warmth, and he planned to give it to her, with the same unwavering attention that he bathed her. Alistair reveled in the crumbling of Caoilainn's walls.
Sure, she may have gone kicking and screaming, but the results were well worth it.
"Yes, my King," he heard her say over and over. With willingness, eager to discover what would happen next if she obliged his orders. It certainly stimulated his urge to continue. Most importantly, he did it without using pain, though he knew she liked that. Through the absence of hostility and with the depth of their intimacy as he bathed her, he required Caoilainn to let down her armor.
The rain fell steadily and the echo of thunder resonated through the room with more frequency. The apex of the storm neared, making the space thick with moisture. Despite their lack of activity, a layer of condensation covered the window, the result of steam from heat within the room.
After her last reply, her permission for him to continue, he lifted her off the ground and carried her to the bed. Their eyes locked. Water dripped to the floor from her hair and body and doused his tunic where she pressed against him. Her timid simper suggested the guilt she felt: the worry that emerged about spilling water. And her silence, her lack of resistance expressed assent to his actions.
Water transferred to the bed as he laid her on it. A light layer of droplets rested on the top of their bed sheets, still unmade since he arrived. She did not break their gaze; her eyes stayed with his, waiting, questioning but silent. He knew well the patience required for the Commander. Patience became a skill he had honed adeptly in their years apart, a skill with which Caoilainn needed practice.
Once her body was resting fully, he inched away. Though he desired her greatly, his wish to prolong this intimacy proved greater.
"Relax, my Queen," he ordered softly.
"Yes, my King," she replied through a seductive smile as she rolled to her side, resting her head on one hand. Curious eyes followed his actions, much like a cat following the movement of a meal out of its reach.
Dimmer than before, as the heavy storm clouds blocked the remaining light of the sunset, he lit the lone candle of their room resting by the sink basin. The light provided enough for them to make out one another's bodies. Shadows cast across their faces, their expressions just visible. He walked back to the stool resting near the bucket. Casually, he lifted it and brought it to face the side of the bed where Caoilainn laid. He sat and caught her eyes studying him. This powerful woman is my wife.
Their eyes engaged, stimulating one another with wordless tales of their hunger and motives. Consciously, he broke their gaze to take her body in with his eyes. He wanted her to watch him laud the image of her. Stray beads of water traveled down her front as she dried. Her long damp hair clung to her body, draping over her side. And with curve upon curve, she was muscular, provocative, and graceful. Absolutely exquisite.
She is mine. The thought came to him filled with lust and the slightest shred of relief for his accomplishment.
Then he noticed her look away as her discomfort returned. Her thumb found its way to her mouth again. Uncertainty overwhelming her in the most subtle way, she bit lightly. The digit pressed against her plump lips and the pressure accentuated the elegant lines of her face. Memories of stolen, savored glimpses of that nervous gesture came to him, showing him when her restless mind had wandered, carried by her emotions. Did Nathaniel steal the same glances? The question drove through the pleasure of studying her, interrupting his thoughts.
No. She's here now. I have her back.
"You're not relaxing," he admonished, scolding her proved a successful attempt to lessen his internal distraction.
Her eyebrow rose wickedly and she bit harder for just a moment. Alistair's brow lifted with curiosity, recognizing her test. To see if he would step forward, she was attempting to bring him to her. But he had her attention; her mind was not wandering, and that satisfied him.
She moved her hand to speak. "Is this better, my King?" She relaxed her arm and elongated her body, draping it lithely along the bed. He saw her ribcage rise and fall with each breath, her breasts rested against one another as she stretched on her side.
Eyes studied her lovely mouth which shifted delicately as she bit her lower lip, waiting eagerly for him and his answer. My love, you don't even know how you tempt me. "Perfect, my Queen," he assured. "Just like that."
His grin returned, and he unlaced his boots, kicking them off before he rose from the stool. He found the silk cord from her robe that lay on the floor, still there from a few nights prior. A few large paces brought him to the bed to face her. He noticed her held breath as she bit her lip. A small smirk was curving up the corner of her lips.
Flashes of lightning occurred with more frequency, brighter than before. The thunder that followed grew in intensity, echoing the flashes with just seconds of delay.
The greedy rapture of watching her aroused him; his growing erection pushed against his breeches, a reminder of his innate attraction to her as he stepped closer. And the signs of her body were clear as he neared the endured eye contact, the flush of her cheeks, her hardened nipples, and the slight shifting of her thighs indicating her own arousal. The subtle scent of her sex clung to the thick air of the room.
She looked up to him as he reached the bed; he grinned and broke their gaze to pull the tunic over his head. Before throwing the tunic to the floor, he tore into it, creating a long band of fabric. Caoilainn looked up, her eyes wide with anticipation, brows furrowing briefly in passing confusion. Alistair sat next to her, facing her as she stretched along the bed. The cord from her robe and the fabric from his tunic lay beside her. She was far more compliant this time.
The sensation of their body heat meeting magnetized them to one another, longing for contact. Caoilainn's arms extended above her head from the way she laid. The slightest nudge on her shoulder led her to roll onto her back, and then he applied lingering pressure to her wrist with his hand. She mewled, delighted at the much anticipated touch. The pressure allowed him to relax her muscles and move her wrists to bind and secure them with silk. It was a simple bind, not as immobilizing as the other night. And she could free herself if she desired, but something told him that would not happen tonight.
Once he secured her wrists together, bound with her arms extended overhead, her body fully exposed, her attention was even more undivided. He leaned to her, one hand resting on each side of her body, like an animal hunting its prey. But to devour her with a kiss, a small peck that demanded her to crave more. She opened her mouth to let him in, his tongue sliding between her lips meeting her own. Sensual, a reward to the long build up of their intimacy. Their energy combining, their intentions unified with their shared desires. Pent ravenousness, subdued by their active use of discipline.
He broke away first and gave a sinful smile. Hands reached for the fabric he tore from his tunic.
"Close your eyes," he ordered as he stretched the fabric before her eyes.
"Mmm, my King," she mumbled in pleasure, clearly approving of this addition.
Coarse fabric came over her closed eyes. He tied the strip of cloth behind her head and made final adjustments to limit any possible vision from underneath the makeshift blindfold.
His lips, curving into a smile brushed her jaw line and wandered to her collarbone. She shivered. He could feel her urge to move, to blindly take back control; her chest fallen, held in an exhale as she awaited his next action. Caoilainn stayed her desire to pursue this moment to fruition. To completion. Instead, she remained, patiently, obediently. In darkness.
"Don't forget to breathe," he whispered into her ear.
"Yes, my King," she answered breathily, inhaling slowly as she waited to sense his movement. With no other contact, the space between each kiss filled with suspense as he traveled down to her chest. His nose nuzzled against the space between her breasts until his lips met her skin. Caoilainn knew this was one of many of his favorite locations of her body.
Lingering light kisses traveled down to her belly. Ticklish, her nerves jumping, muscles withdrawing, she withheld her resistance. He was proud.
"What would you like next, my Queen?" he inquired as one hand ran along the inside of her thigh.
Silence. She's thinking. Her response delayed as she pondered her answer. Lightning cracked, closer. Louder. Accenting the silence with impact.
"Pain, my King," she said bluntly. He grinned. Predictable.
A rough palm slid against her chest, finding its way to her neck. His hand wrapped around, applying the faintest pressure as she expected him to press and squeeze. Caoilainn's kinks were unique, he had learned, and despite being obliged to engage in them with her, he understood why she enjoyed them: to escape and depart from reality while she relished the pain. And Caoilainn had been escaping him for far too long.
"Not today, my love," he chuckled as his hand moved from her neck to caress her face. "I want you here with me. Try again."
Caoilainn sighed, a mere whimper that morphed into a wicked grin. "Then have your way with me, my King." She resigned all control. Alistair knew how much Caoilainn disliked surprises. They were evidence of her lack of power. And here, she welcomed them. These changes have long been in order.
His arms returned to their position on either side of her. His head silently moved to her other ear. "Gladly," he whispered, grinning beside his blindfolded wife. Her arms bound well above her head, flickering candlelight made their shadows dance along the opposite wall. The rain blew against the windows, rattling the glass. Wind howled outside their room.
She felt his breath against her skin, heard him inhale and exhale. Subtle shifts in movement, changes in weight on their bed. Her senses activated as long as she was limited of her sight. The beating downpour outside made it even harder to hear his lesser movements to predict his actions. It forced her to accept whatever happened.
Then her body played tricks on her. Or maybe it was him. She felt, or so she thought, his breath against her chest, against her neck until she suddenly felt him kiss her belly. She released a small giggle that Alistair clearly took as incentive to continue. His lips brushed against her skin, spurring the reaction of her nerves.
A long pause followed. He's making me wait. This is a test. She calmed herself, diligently. Remembering to breathe as she attempted to listen for his actions, or for any orders he might give. None came. And then, she felt his mouth near her breast. Without warning, his lips met her nipple. She gasped. His tongue teased slowly until she acclimated to the sensation. Then his mouth came down to surround the pink flesh. Sensitive to his tongue as it lapped against her. She groaned at the torturous and pleasant feeling.
Just bite me. She wanted his teeth against her, his hand around her neck or pulling her hair. Or to feel her carotid artery pulsing against his tongue as his teeth clenched her neck. She needed the physical discomfort to distract from the mental strain of all this affection. Caoilainn longed for pain though she knew he would not give it. Alistair had been all too consistent in following through with his statements since he found her in Skyhold.
The thoughts did not last long as she suddenly felt his hand slide up her inner thigh, causing her to moan inadvertently. His palm separated her legs just enough so he could cup her heat, applying pressure against the slick flesh that was already throbbing for his attention. Yearning for him. His fingers parted her lips, and he felt her wetness.
"Mm," she heard his short sound of approval.
Stroking her skin, he taunted her. His hand tactfully explored with familiar precision, deliberation. Running long lines along her slick folds. Her warmth spread by his fingers. Squirming, she rolled her hips to meet his hand, desperate for him to reach the center. To find her sensitive nub or her aching entrance.
His hand ceased, and she made a wordless whine. "Eager, are we?" He posed. She heard the smirk in his voice as he asked the question, one he asked often.
"Please," she begged.
"Please what?" His question filled with earnest as she sensed him moving.
She mewled quickly in reply. "Please touch me, Alistair." Her neck stretched in frustration; the knot of the blindfold pressed against the back of her scalp. She could not take it off.
He did not reply, nor touch her. But she felt him. Close to her. And smelled… herself.
"It's King Alistair," he reminded and purred an order. "Taste yourself."
"Yes, my King." She opened her mouth, expectantly waiting. Then his palm rest against her chin. His fingers found her lips, coated in her wet warmth and slid into her mouth. Her tongue met his digits, eloquently gliding along the length. And her mouth closed around them, her head tilted back. She sucked his fingers fervently; her body curling up to meet his arm as it hovered over her.
Alistair's movement was indefinable, but she suspected he liked this. She could hear him breathing purposely, patiently. And he allowed her to suck his fingers long after the taste of herself was absent.
"Perfect," he eventually rewarded. She opened her mouth allowing him to remove himself. Her tongue still pressed against his fingers until he reluctantly pulled away.
And again, silence. Waiting. Caoilainn gave the faintest pout, the result of frustrated and excited impatience. Though she could not see anything, the changes in light from the storm outside were noticeable. Strong rumbles of thunder echoed her heartbeat and the rain beat against the well-established fortress tirelessly. Weight shifted from the bed, he moved and she heard the sound of clothes hitting the floor between bouts of thunder. Then the bed lowered as he returned, but his location was different this time. Abruptly, Alistair's hands divided her legs. Quick motions with his direction led her legs to his shoulders. Heart pounding, panic over the overwhelming sensations she expected, her lip bitten and her breath held. Waiting.
Then his kisses found the heat between her legs, preceding his tongue that lovingly explored her drenched folds. She gasped loudly. Her hips rolled to meet him until his hands pressed against them, limiting their movement as he worked her body. Quickly, his tongue danced against her, teasing her entrance and flickering at her bundle of nerves. It was too much. But he gave her no choice but to breathe. To acclimate to the intense pleasure. His ardent persistence against her most sensitive area caused her back to arch. His control of her hips made them desire to buck even more.
"Alistair!" She screamed. "Can I finish, my King?" She pleaded, reluctantly. He would have to stop to answer, and she was not sure if that would happen before she did not have a choice. Her heart pounded and thunder shook the room.
He paused just for a moment to peer up from his mission. "No," he said vengefully. Then returned to lapping against her.
Damn it. She whimpered. Willingly, her senses and effort did everything in her ability to stop the urge for motion of her hips. The great force required to stay her climax made her body tighten. She quivered, shaking. Her body perspired lightly from the battle this was to overcome. Caoilainn groaned, panting through her clenched teeth. Then the buildup plateaued. She sighed with relief and felt his smile widen. His tongue pulled away as his teeth just barely brushed her tenderness. Now hypersensitive to all sensations, including his breath. She giggled and squirmed at the feeling.
"That was impressive, my Queen," he rewarded her efforts with his voice, purring through the air that clung to her now sweaty body.
He was moving up from his position. Her legs stayed wide following his muscular sides, rejoicing the feel of his body between them as he crawled up to her. A hand met her wrists to keep them pinned to the bed. And his head neared hers. He kissed her again, this time with more force. Passionately, his confident mouth crashed against her pouting lips, their tongues warred against each other with delight.
His other hand found its way back to her heat. Fingers stimulated the senses that had calmed enough to furiously welcome his touch.
He pulled away from their kiss to lovingly growl in her ear. "You can finish now." And he worked her again. Heavy breathing, panting, that quickly crescendoed. Her body tightened, her hips rolled forward to him willingly.
She drew her breath in, holding at the top as she came. "Alistair," she groaned lowly and the howling wind echoed her. He continued to rub her relentlessly. Her body stopping all motion, frozen desperately for wave, after wave of her climax. His hand refused to cease until her hips lowered, her body involuntarily jerking from his touch. She exhaled and shuddered.
Determined, ready. Alistair took no time to decide how to move forward. He knowingly caressed her long, slender leg as he directed it over his shoulder. Caoilainn's other leg came out to his side to give him as much space as possible. She bit her lip again as she waited for him to enter. And he held her there, so he could observe: loving the look of this ferocious woman so prepared to feel him inside of her.
So he gave her that as he guided his length inside. She surrounded him with familiarity, taking him within herself. A place he had explored in similar fashion more times than he could count, and yet it was still exquisite. Her plump heat, swollen, hugged his length with fervor. And as if she had missed him, and this placement of their bodies more than she realized, her other leg wrapped around his torso. Caoilainn moaned lowly and his rushed inhales lingered at their crests before he exhaled. Their infatuated bodies collided, melding into one as he thrust.
He shuddered. The pleasure of feeling her from the inside, something long awaited and well deserved in their evening of intimacy, enthralled him. He kissed her raised leg softly as he rocked against her, welcoming the push of her hips against his.
Each breath, each rise and fall of her chest accentuated the round curves of her breasts; her arms tied above her head. He patiently slowed his movements, wanting the moment, this sight to last as long as it could. As he continued, the tumultuous storm outside of Skyhold drowned their moans. The steam on the window had beaded to water and traced lines as it dragged down to the sill. Alistair closed his eyes, reluctantly blocking the wondrous sight that was Caoilainn moaning softly in pleasure. Absorbing himself in the feel of her around him as his hips repetitively rolled into her with poise, reaching the places he knew would stimulate her. He was climbing, diligently, with discipline, savoring her body and its graceful acceptance of him within it. His breathing slowed. The veins on his forehead defined along with his focus, sweat misting on his body. The storm at its apex reverberated around them. Hard clinks of hale tinged against their window. Thunder boomed and grumbled, only to be followed with more loud booms.
Then Alistair felt her body tighten again. Caoilainn was close.
"Come with me," he murmured to her in a breathy growl, opening his eyes to watch her greedily. She whimpered and nodded her head blindly, her state of enjoyment stealing the words to reply.
She gasped, "Alistair." And flexed around his shaft. He blinked. Long, slow, blissful blinks under full lashes. Her fleshy slick heat held tight around him.
"Caoilainn," he muttered as his thrusts strengthened, reaching the top of his climax with a shudder. His length pulsed within her, expelling fully, exhausting all energy to release himself. Her moan requited his effort.
The storm was passing. He looked down to her, the woman he wooed under the most unlikely circumstances so many years ago. The woman that still knew all the ways to infuriate and entice him; the woman he loved passionately. Thunder quickly lessened to murmurs, mumbles that held little strength or intensity. He removed himself from her and let down her leg, then took off the blindfold and untied her arms. The flashes of lightning faded in the distance. His body came to rest against hers, and she adjusted to the weight. Adoringly, her hand came to his face, stroking his cheek and jaw with elegance. The rain softened to a light shower. Their bodies covered in sheen veils of sweat as they quickly fell asleep in each other's arms with no other words.
Just before dawn, the sound of activity in the courtyard woke them together, legs entangled, her head resting against his chest. Hesitantly, hoping the sounds might be a dream and they could remain like this longer, they opened their eyes then rolled on their sides to face one another. Before he could say anything, she pressed her lips against his. It was a pleasant surprise. She pulled from the long kiss with reluctance and smiled.
"Thank you, my King." She said simply, with no explanation of the depth of her statement, though he expected the gratitude was for more than just their coupling. At least he hoped. She leaned in and whispered. "I love you, Alistair."
"I love you, Caoilainn." He said through a smile. Then he watched her rise from the bed, naked, long, and elegant. She cleaned at the bucket, grinning to him occasionally as she used the same cloth he used on her the night before. He shifted up on the bed to observe proudly. His hands met to rest behind his head.
Eventually, he rose too and cleaned with a cloth and water before they dressed, making timid smirks and mischievous simpers to one another through the silence. The sunrise peering through their window was magnificent. The air crisp and clean expelled of all impurities from the violent storm the night before.
Wreckage of the weather was evident as they went into the courtyard. Foliage upturned, and the practice equipment knocked over. The camps outside of Skyhold for Ferelden, Highever, and Grey Warden troops had been the most impacted. But, as they learned in their training, mages used spells to fortify the encampments as best they could through the weather. The Inquisition forces were on task to clean up and pack for the upcoming expedition.
Alistair and Caoilainn watched the activity, prolonging their time together before they separated to their respective duties. Two Inquisition council members passed with a group, stopping to talk to the couple. Leliana and Josephine gave smirking glances at each other before looking to them. "We trust you had an excellent night, your Majesties," Josephine said cordially through an unreadable smile.
"And that the water you requested was to your liking," Leliana added, grinning evilly.
"Thank you," Alistair said curtly, uninterested in whatever the two women were trying to say with their expressions. Caoilainn's eyes were wide with shock but she remained silent.
As the two women walked away, they snickered to one another between whispers. Alistair turned to Caoilainn. "Leliana's gotten even nosier," he said, attempting to unite with Caoilainn against Leliana's subtle bullying.
When he met Caoilainn's eyes, his stomach tightened. She was furious; he could tell. "I can't believe you," she blamed and turned on her heels back to their room.
"Caoilainn," Alistair sighed and followed dutifully; determined to resolve this conflict to get back to the precious time they were sharing this morning.
She stormed back to the room, entering first and turning around to face him as he walked through the doorway.
"Yesterday, in the War Room!" Her volume rose as the door shut behind him. "That was so inappropriate and embarrassing. Inquisition meetings are not for you to use to get payback on me. You wasted their time and disrupted their meeting."
"Caoilainn, calm down," Alistair said steadily. His tone patient but frustrated. "It's over and everything is fine. See? We're all leaving for the Wilds today."
Her temper continued to rise, despite his attempts to calm her. "Alistair, you mocked me in front of them. I am a fucking Commander." Her voice desperately tried to convey the magnitude of what happened the day prior.
"Caoilainn, I'm sorry. That was not my intent," he continued to soothe. "Just sit down and we'll talk… calmly."
"I have an image to uphold as Warden Commander!" She yelled sharply, barking at him with her anger.
"And as Queen?" He snapped back quickly. His voice was low and the faintest hint of fury lit behind his eyes.
The question startled her and then stoked her rage; her tone elevated even more. "Yes!" She declared with exaggeration, the notes of derision ringing in each word. "As the Queen of Ferelden. The Queen to the great King Alistair!"
"Then fucking act like it!" He roared, the veins in his forehead prominent as his face turned red.
"Fuck you, Alistair," she growled with ferocity. He had never yelled at her like this before. Stunned, but her fury not diminished she paused before continuing. "How would you like me to do that? Come back to Denerim? Be the lovely Queen by your side? Seen and not heard? All while making the choices you don't want to out of sight of the rest of Ferelden?"
"No," he hissed through clenched teeth, unable to look her in the eyes.
"Then?" She asked loudly, her voice blaring against him. "What the fuck do you want from me?"
"Don't block me out, Caoilainn!" He yelled honestly, but he had no intention to hurt her with his words. It was evident in what he said. "You can stay Warden Commander if you want. I would never ask you to leave that. But Maker's fucking breath, Caoilainn," his eyes rolled and he looked to her, his voice still raised. "Give up Nathaniel."
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