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Lavellan was no stranger to sex.
But the inquisitor was a stranger to humans.
She’s a curious woman — going places she shouldn’t, looking for things she had best stay away from, picking at scrapes of conversation as she passed by, and watching — always watching.
And humans, those whom did not call her knife-ear or grimace at her markings, were a marvel to watch. Her collective of companions were of a noted interest.
There is nothing sexual about her gaze. She has a respect for these people she lacks for many others and, while she wallows in her loneliness, this is not the time nor the place for relations. Besides, there is only so much trust she is willing to give someone not of her clan or kind and she’s not keen on crossing that barrier in the midst of such chaos.
Then she met this Warden, this Blackwall and her eyes linger longer than she’d like and her breath caught in her throat the moment he stepped forward and blocked an arrow for her.
Humans always had so much...more. More weight, more muscle, more height, more hair — just more. It made her curious. It made her look and want and question.
*
That morning in Haven when she saw him shirtless would haunt her forever.
It’s the sound of wood splitting, sharp and echoing, that distracts her from her daily walk around the frozen lake. She turns her head before she can think on it.
He was hard at work, chopping wood for the quartermaster, and neither the crisp mountain air nor the earliness of the day seemed to deter him from stripping.
She means to look away but cannot because one minute he is raising that axe up and splitting a log in half, and the next he’s chucking off his shirt, revealing too much skin too quickly before tossing the damnable piece of cloth to the ground. He picks up the axe again, lifts it high, and — oh.
He was so broad, so wide. Nothing like she had ever known.
Her cheeks flare pink and her teeth sink into her bottom lip, nimble hands knotting into the coarse material of her tunic as she takes in the sight.
His arms, glistening with sweat, large, strong, and refined by years of battle.
The thatch of hair over his chest, trailing down, down below his waistline and onto better things.
The flex and pull of muscle under skin as the axe comes up, comes down, comes up — never relenting, somehow taunting.
The indent of his hipbones, deep and defined, shifting under the strain of muscle as he lowers for a fresh log to split.
His waist, sturdy as a tree trunk, fit for his shield, fit for work and carrying her to bed.
She doesn’t realize she was holding her breath until she shivered and a grounding, sharp gasp escaped her lips, hot breath visible on the cold air.
She should not be doing this. She should not be ogling him, or anyone for that matter. It’s neither the time nor place and —
And it’s the same rhetoric she’s repeated again and again. Now is not the time or place, nor will it ever be, so she turned on her heel and took another hour on her walk, fleeing into the woods. When she returned, Blackwall was again in a state of dress and her panicky heart settled some.
Then, things happened and she dropped a mountain on herself. That was enough to change her view on a few things
She flirts. She’s bold, brazen. He rebuffs her at first, as he did before, but slowly even that comes to a close.
Things continue to happen.
*
She’s never kissed anyone with a beard before. The way the coarse whiskers brush and scratch her skin delights her to no end and she refrains from giggling once he has her against the stair-railing, his warm mouth moving with hers.
He is almost greedy, kissing her now. Months of restraint and coy looks unraveling all at once and that familiar heavy want settles between her legs again, yet somehow worse, somehow better. His mouth nipping at her lips to feel her shiver, pulling away whenever she chases him for more and then returning, his tongue slipping inside when she moans, quiet and needy.
He tastes delicious, reminiscent of wine, sweet and heavy on the tongue. She decides she likes it.
His hands keep her pressed to the railing, swaying her a little to direct and bend her up towards his mouth and she’s standing on her toes as he dares to squeeze her ass. She whimpers into his mouth; the feel of his wide palm sends a rush of heat through her as she pictures how easily he could pick her up, both hands on her ass, carry her, spank her, and that — that is not something she ever thought of wanting, craving but she moans all the more. Blackwall takes that as a good sign and gives another playful squeeze before skidding back up to her waist.
Her fingers curl into his tunic, helpless because she’s not sure what to do with her hands. She grabs at the back of his neck for more of his delicious kisses and then his hair to feign control before failing, and back onto his shoulders, defeated.
Then, he dips down to kiss her neck, his tongue hot on her throat and trailing lower. The tops of her vest come undone and he presses his teeth to her collarbones, nips, and all she thinks of is bed, bed, bed — now, please. But then he pulls away suddenly and looks down at her, grip firm on her waist to keep her still.
His pink mouth has swelled to a deep red and his breath comes out in stifled pants. If he looks like that from merely kissing, she can only imagine what kind of state he’ll be if she dropped to her knees right now.
But he’s frowning and those sad eyes are back again.
She feels panic bubble in her chest. “Blackwall?”
“Are you certain? Do you want this?”
Do you want me?
It’s almost endearing if he didn’t seem so heartbroken by the very words. They’ve been over this; he’s given her the choice and she chooses him.
She smiles, small and shy, and the dust of her flushed cheeks and starry, wide eyes steal his breath away.
“Yes,” she whispers and leans up to kiss him, softly.
She unfolds his hands from around her waist, taking them into hers, and guides him towards the bed. He still seems conflicted but follows along, always at her mercy.
She stops at the foot of the bed, pulls Blackwall closer, only to push him to sit down. He does so.
He’s docile but stiff as he gazes up at her, hands set to his knees.
She continues to smile at him, though now there’s a wicked glint to it that visibly sets him on edge, if the pronounced bulge between his legs suggests anything.
She bends down and starts to unbutton his over-tunic. He barely notices what she’s doing. The undone clasps of her shirt reveal the swell of her breasts and he’s free to ogle at this angle.
It comes off and he’s left in a flimsy undershirt as she gets on her knees and settles between his legs. He sucks in a breath; the implication of the position is hard to ignore.
She fixes him with a smug look and presses her hands to his hard, thick thighs.
Creators, was every inch of him like this? Apparently so.
She eyes the straining laces of his breeches and licks her lips. Not yet, she tells herself. Exploration is in order.
Her hands trail up and down his thighs, before moving over his hips, cupping them for a brief moment — she can’t wait to hold him there, just there; to grab onto him as he thrusts — and tugs on the hem of the shirt.
He lets her undress him, a gentle smirk playing on his lips when more skin is revealed.
She tosses the shirt somewhere in the corner and openly gapes. It’s endearing.
"You are...” she begins, a little breathless, "a very handsome man, Blackwall."
He tries not to laugh, honestly.
"Are you alright, Inquisitor? You seem flushed."
She hushes him with a pointed look and then her fingers are dancing over his skin, starting at his hips, tracing the indents with her thumbs. His muscles flex involuntarily and he gives a little grunt when her fingertips brush over his soft belly, over the coarse, fine hairs that lead down.
"Careful, my lady," he growls. She laughs and doesn't cease her wandering hands.
She takes her time; marvels in every inch of him. His shoulders, the strength of his arms, his hands, and then to his neck, down his chest and the hair there. She dances over his sides, along his ribs —
He chokes out a laugh.
"Sorry, ticklish there."
She hums and kisses the spot, before standing up.
Her eyes remain on his as she begins to undo the last of the clasps of her tunic, gaze heated and lips curved, each clasp revealing more and more of what he never dared to hope for.
She shrugs off the tunic, let's it drop and kicks it away.
All that is left is her breast band and trousers. Her hands go down but then—
"Allow me."
Blackwall reaches forward and tugs her in by the hips, suddenly. She gives out a giddy, breathless laugh that makes him smile.
He nuzzles her stomach, pulling another laugh from her, beard rough and ticklish on the tender skin as he plants a little kiss below her belly button. He thumbs the waistline of her trousers before slowly undoing the laces. He watches the tremble of her stomach as he does so and listens to her shaky breaths as he slides them off.
He doesn't care much for her smallclothes and tugs them off rather hastily. In the mean time, her breast band comes undone and she drops it at her feet with everything else.
Bare, she stands before him and reverence bleeds through his gaze as he looks upon her.
But not for long. Her eyes plead for him to do something, anything so he does.
Blackwall teases her with his fingers. Starting at the sensitive backs of her thighs, up over her ass, battle-worn palms smooth across her hips to her stomach. She is a good measure muscle and fat and exceptionally soft to touch. His hands are rough on her skin in a wonderful way and she shivers, head dipping back, as he slides up to cup her breasts.
She sighs at the warm sensation and bites her lip when he gropes, squeezing with one hand. He takes the distraction to kiss her stomach again, licking and biting ever so slightly as his other hand wraps around a thigh to nudge them apart, and then he's there, pressing his face between her legs, open mouthed.
It's so sudden that she gasps and tries to jerk away but is kept there easily by his wide grip, both hands now on each thigh and tugging them further apart so he can tongue her wet cunt.
She gasps again and has to brace herself on his shoulders, legs already beginning to shake as he licks along her slit.
He means to be gentle but his tongue is ravenous; like his kisses, he is greedy. He laps almost messily, taking his time to taste before fucking in his tongue as deep as he can. He has to tighten his grip when she starts to fuck herself on his mouth. Punctured breaths — "Ah, ah!" — are forced from her lips and he grunts, tugging her closer so he can properly tongue-fuck her.
She’s too short to be doing it like this and the angle emphasizes that but the brush of his beard along her thighs is just right and he can glide his tongue down and up her slit, catching on her clit so he can suck —
"Blackwall! Ah, fuck, fuck - please."
Hands now twisting in his hair, he brings up one leg onto the mattress so she's spread wider for him. It gives him the right angle to trail his other hand up to her cunt. Before she can brace for it, there is the pressure of his thumb against her hole, just barely pushing in and she's coming, thrashing and rutting against his tongue, mouth wide in a voiceless scream. His tongue doesn't let up until she's frantically pulling at his hair, unable to speak, so he draws back, releasing her.
Her leg comes down and she all but sinks into his embrace as she’s pulled into his lap, cradled in his arms.
There is a moment of panting and trembling as she curls against him, body taut with the aftershocks of bliss. She tucks her head under his chin, nuzzling him there with the slight brush of nose and lips.
"Are you alright?" he says, petting her back.
She makes a sound that is less a "yes" and more a purr.
She loves how his chest vibrates as he chuckles, deep and low.
“Don’t tell me you’re tired now.”
Rather than reply, she cups his cheek and brings him down for a kiss. It is soft and slow, like how she intended this evening to go. She wishes she could explain how good it is to finally kiss him like this — open mouthed and breathless, not a worry in her mind. It was wonderful, dizzying, the ecstasy she felt seconds ago was on par with something as simple as this.
“I want more, Blackwall,” she breathes against his mouth, as they part.
He considers her for a moment, a look in his eyes that was equally amazed and loving.
A thumb runs along her bottom lip; it was plump and tender and a shade darker. “Is that right?” he mummers, voice husky, and then her tongue dips out to taste the salt of his skin and she grins as his breath catches.
“Alright,” he says, more to himself than her.“Alright.”
Wordlessly, he readjusts her in his arms to have her kneel in front of him, on the bed, knees braced by his thighs, both hands on his shoulders as his palm runs over the soft skin of her legs.
Like this, she was wide and open for him — not in the way she imagined but it was a display to admire, to touch. He likes it. She likes that he likes it.
With a smile of feigned innocence, she lets go of his shoulder to take his hand and draw it up from her legs, over her thighs, her hips and the expanse of her tense and quivering stomach, to cup her breasts. She sighs at the touch of his rough hand, and he can’t keep himself from squeezing and groping and brushing a thumb over a pert nipple before pinching.
She shakes, violently enough that she has to quickly grab his shoulders again to keep from falling over.
Sensitive there, then. He’ll have to remember that for later because soon his hands are sliding down towards her wet cunt. But he takes his time and maps the length of her all over again. Thumbs wind over her jutting hips bones and fingers caress her ass (and Maker, but she is so small, a hand wraps almost fully around her hip) again and again until she whines.
He laughs, the sound scarcely more than an amused huff. “You’re so soft,” he says as he pets her there, just over the thatch of curls. “Like velvet.”
She would say something in reply but then he palms her cunt, gently but so abrupt, she jerks against him.
“And wet.”
With his other hand on her hip, he braces her for what is to come for a second time. “Spread your legs a little more for me. Come on — that’s it.”
She does so weakly, trembling at the prospect of his fingers, only two, trailing up and down her slit as she spreads herself open for him.
The bump of fingers against her clit is near-accidental and she fists his shoulders, unable to keep herself from jerking away only to be held steadfast.
That first orgasm didn’t leave her satisfied. Far from it, in fact. It was the sort of climax that left her burning and aching for more, so much so that her stomach twisted in anxiety for that reason alone. She entirely forgot about the girth of his fingers.
He toys with her clit for a moment, deft touches that are too light and continue to make her jump. Gradually, she relaxes and her grip uncurls as the slide of his fingers ache more than they shock. Still, it’s not enough.
She hisses, “Blackwall.”
“Hm?”
“Hurry up so you can fuck me, damn it.”
He gives her a chastising look but does as commanded. A finger at her entrance and she’s so wet and ready for this, that the mere breach of her cunt has her biting her lip. But then, he slides in one finger, slowly, and she just about breaks. It’s not — her own fingers are so small and other lovers might’ve been dexterous, clever with their touches but never so thick that sliding in one finger might as well be sliding in a cock. It’s an exaggeration; of course, it’s an exaggeration, mind muddled with pleasure, but it feels so good and just the one finger too. Then he’s pushing it deeper, spreading her open and she squeezes her eyes shut and tries not to beg.
She both wants to push down and pull away, the burning hot need unbearable.
“Talk to me,” he says and he sounds just as broken as she is. “Tell me how this feels for you.”
Talk to him? How is he expecting her to form coherent thoughts, much less words when he is touching her like this, so slick and tight around just one finger?
But when she opens her eyes and finds him gazing up at her with that same reverent look of wonderment as before, she complies.
“I like how thick you are,” she says, licking her lips before continuing with a shaky breath. “Everywhere. And warm, almost burning. You’re not — you’re not like other men, like other humans.”
Words come out thick and croaky but he rewards her with a wonderful thrust, in and out, that turns her mind blank.
“Oh?”
She feels the nudge of a second finger and his thumb on her clit. She gasps: “Yes.”
“And it goes without saying that you — ” He pulls out, then inches two fingers in at once. “— Are like no other woman — ” Her mouth falls open in a breathless moan. “— I have ever met.”
“Hearld of Andraste, you mean,” she laughs, breathless.
“Even before that, I have no doubt you were...” He searches for a word and finds it in the way she tosses back her head in another gasp and her hair comes undone from its ruined bun, falling to fan across her face and breasts. “Immaculate.”
He whispers the words and she’s too far gone to hear him now. No matter. This is how he will worship her.
It’s a struggle, to take him, but it’s wonderful and she think she might love him more than she did before tonight. He pushes and stretches and curls. In turn, she spreads her legs, cants her hips, and slumps against him, opening further to his endless prodding and stretching and fucking.
His thumb switches from its loose cycle of slow circles to flicking and teasing sensitive sides of her clit as his fingers glide in and out more easily, fucking gently but not gently enough. Every thrust is dizzying, every stroke of his thumb has her catching her breath and soon, he’s learned enough to make her clench on ever up-stroke.
His hand on her hip is her only anchor as he encourages with soft words of “Yes, that’s it. It’s aright, just like that” and ruts his finger deeper and deeper to feel every inch of her as she clenches around him tight only to come in broken, choked gasps. She jerks and twists, up and down on his fingers, greedy thrusts that fuck out more broken sounds from her. He worries if it’s too much, but no, no. She begs him not to stop and his grip tightens on her as he fucks her through it.
He’s slower now, as she comes down. Her body has eased into uncontrollable tremors and scarce breathing. She’s still slumped, a bit awkwardly, over him, her body arched out at this angle. How she has remained braced on her knees is a wonder.
His thumb has left her clit but fingers continue to stroke her, her cunt soaked and quivering. Even this, the gentle of glide of his fingers, has him stoking a second fire in her belly.
She moans when he doesn’t stop. “Enough, Blackwall,” she huffs. “I want you to fuck me, properly.”
“I’m not entirely sure, Lady Inquisitor.” He brushes his fingers over a spot he’s discovered, just to feel her stiffen and gasp. He’s addicted to the way her cunt flutters around his fingers. “I don’t think you’re ready yet.”
With shaky limbs, she stretches up into her previous position so she can look him in the eye. His fingers continue their lazy prodding and words are hard but so is he.
She glances down at the bulge straining against the laces of his breeches and licks her lips. His brow arches, partially amused, but he’s ignored his the ache of his hard cock for too long so he pulls his fingers from her cunt — but not before flicking her clit, forcing a delighted hiss from her lips.
She’s about to say something in retort. Instead, she is dazed into a silence as she watches Blackwall bring his fingers up to his mouth. Lips part just enough to slide them in, slowly. He watches her watching him, her snark and teasing nature apparently rubbing off in him as he hums at the taste of her, heady and heavy on his wicked tongue.
He slips his fingers from his pretty, pink mouth and says, voice low, “What did you say wanted?”
It’s a fine discovery to learn that sex brings out the worst in Blackwall. Her lips curl in satisfaction.
Rather than reply, she reaches forward and strokes the tips of her fingers over his cock through the coarse breeches. “This,” she says, “I want this.” She rubs, gently, and feels him twitch against her palm.
His hips jerk but he swallows down the want to rut, taking in a deep breath to ask, “Are you sure? You’re so...” He trails off. He cups her face, thumb stroking her lip in thought. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
Months of wanting, lusting, and denying herself fades for a moment and her expression softens. “Yes, I’m sure, Blackwall,” she says and kisses his cheek.
He smiles back at her. “We’ll take it slow, then.”
Good. Hard and fast fucking can come later. Now, she wants to feel him.
She moves forward on his lap, close enough that her breasts brush against his chest and she can practically feel his cock pulse, so achingly close to her wet and bare cunt. Without saying anything, she urges him to lie down. He only goes as far as to brace himself on his elbows so he can watch her. Good enough, she thinks.
She makes quick work of his pants, leaving him for just a moment to slide them off and gone. Now, she stand at the foot of the bed, looking down at him as he looks up at her, her eyes on his cock.
Worry swells in his chest. “If you’d like to stop here, we can...” Her loopy-sided grin stops him short.
Though she knows he’s above average for a human, he wasn’t a monstrous size either. He’s simply the biggest she’s ever had and it excites her. He can tell because she has the same look on her face now as she does when they’re about to fight a dragon. It’s worrying, if only a little.
It’s his turn to blush. “Well, alright then,” he mutters as she returns to the bed. She, being who she is, makes a show of crawling over him, on her hands and knees, breasts swinging just within his reach. Before he can do anything about it, she settles in his lap again, on his thighs.
Nimble fingers reach out to caress his cock, weighted down against his stomach. He breathes in a sharp breath and it breaks into a shudder and a gasp when her thumb teases the head.
She does it again, but harder and takes him into her grip to stroke, slowly.
He collapses onto his back and groans. “You’ll be the death of me, Inquisitor,” he says.
She laughs, ridiculously giddy.
“I’m beginning to think you like calling me that in bed. In fact, I think you like it a lot.”
He says nothing because he can’t. She strokes up and down in the same moment as she begins to rut along his thigh, cunt nice and slick. Both moan.
He’s so hard at this point, a little more of that, of her using him to get off, and she would have him in pieces. But that’s not what she wants.
Soon, she pulls her hand away and he bucks up, missing her touch and he chants her name in beautiful agony. She grins and rewards him by bending down and licking a strike up his cock, flicking at the sensitive, glistening head. He jerks again with a pained hiss but hands on his hips hold him down.
Again, he pants her name, eyes pleading.
“Later. I promise,” she says with a wink.
With heavy eyes, he watches her as she sits up and begins to raise her hips to hover over his cock. One hand moves to brace against his stomach as the other grips his cock but he reaches out, stops her.
“Let me,” he says, his voice thick and low and broken.
With a shiver, she nods and lets him align himself while she holds herself steady.
The head of his cock brushes along her slit, bumping her clit. He does it again, sliding up and down to feel how wet her cunt is for him. She groans, fingers digging in as she fights for some semblance of control as the head of his cock now presses against her hole, catching on it. Just that feels impossibly large and her cunt clenches with anticipation.
Now, she spreads herself as wide as she can while he leans forward to grip her hip with his free hand and guides her down.
Her fingers don’t compare. His do, just nearly. The same agonizing, wonderful feeling of being stretched apart takes over her but it’s better and worse and oh she can scarcely breathe. It goes on and on, Blackwall lowering her down slowly so she can feel every — last — inch of him, and all she wants to do is slam down and fuck herself until she breaks.
“Blackwall,” she begins but he hushes her, soothing with soft caresses of his thumb on her hip.
“You’re so tight,” he groans. She opens her eyes, not realizing she had closed them in the first place, and sees him, flushed and breathless beneath her, just as wrecked as she is as he watches his cock slide into her, hands moving to grip her waist.
“Too tight. So fucking tight. Are you — ? Do you need — ”
“More,” she moans and rocks her hips up and down. “I need more.”
So he gives, fucking out only to slide in, deeper, more and she throws her head back. That’s what nearly breaks him — the same sight as before but better: her, atop of him, moaning with her hair strewn in a fray, tits taut and mouthwatering as she pants and takes his cock like a whore.
He thrust up and he pushes her down at once, his cock nestling up into the hilt in one delicious push. So sudden, so good and violent and she damn near collapses, the only thing keeping up her is his hands and his cock.
From there, it’s a fall into oblivion and there’s nothing stopping her from fucking herself on him. Using his hands to guide her up and down, over and over again, Blackwall just... lets her take him, however she so pleases. His chest feels tight and his nails dig into her skin and it’s a battle, really, to keep from rutting up into her like some sort of fucking animal.
She fairs little better. Eyes slipped shut, her skin glistens as she rocks, timidly, with him all the way inside. She’s biting her lip, reminding herself to breathe while she fucks herself open on him. It’s not easy — fuck, it is not easy but it’s good and hot, licks of sinful heat run down her neck, her breasts, and her back, all of it going down, down to pull tighter at the coil in her belly and the grip of her cunt, both fighting take him in and push him out.
She slides up, down, and moans, wanton. It’s so good. She’s taking him so, so well and when she cracks open her eyes and finds him watching her where she’s spread open for him, she feels herself tighten. A moan is dragged from his lips and there goes the last bit of sanity she had.
Her hands leave his stomach to brace back on his thighs. She cants her hips, fingers digging into his skin. So broad, so wide.
Like this, she’s forced more open for him, stomach tensing and cunt clenching with the arch of her spine. It makes Blackwall choke, the way her cunt’s spread out obscenely for him and he’s done — his control is gone. He can’t keep himself from thrusting up, hard and rough, making her tits bounce.
She whines for more. It’s too much, it’s too much but she wants it.
He, however, can’t take it anymore. In a second, he’s sat up straight, his arms caging her against his chest. She gasps, hips fallen still, and he takes the opportunity to kiss her, to lick into her mouth and moan.
When he pulls away, he ruts his cock up and finds it to be easier like this. She tries to bounce to meet him half way but he holds her still. She fights it — clenches down on his cock.
The chuckle that spills from his lips is rough and breathless and dirty. He pushes back the strands of hair sticking to her cheeks and forehead so he can see her face.
“Insatiable,” he says with a grin and kisses her.
She makes a whining sound, swallowed by his mouth, and tries to thrust down on his cock hard. She’s so tight no matter what angle he fucks her at because yes, yes she is — Insatiable.
The discovery makes them both go mad with pleasure, fucking each other harder but not as fast they’d like. But she’s close, so close, squeezing him tight like a fist, her clit brushing against his pelvis just enough to make her squirm.
The kiss is broken with a growl and he’s pulling her up and off him, so easily she can’t fight him, despite her incoherent protesting.
He shushes her, petting her face and hair.
“No, no — I don’t want this to end.” She blinks blankly at him, vision hazy, too close to the edge to understand his meaning but then — “On your hands and knees.”
Before she can react, a hand comes down on her ass, sharp and loud and she squeals.
“Now.”
She blinks again, her ass cheek tingling from the force of the spank, and he’s worried he might have gone too far but then she’s skidding off his lap, crawling onto the bed, laughing.
Laughing.
“Oh Blackwall, I didn’t you were the type,” she says, once she’s gotten into position. She wiggles her ass at him, cute and pert.
She has him grinning too, her excitement contagious, but the mirth on her face is wiped away when he grabs her hips and tugs her closer, forcing to her lose balance and collapse onto the bed with her ass arched high in the air.
“What are you — ” her voice is gone with a gasp as she feels the whiskers of his beard brush the back of her thighs.
Warm, rough hands palm her ass while a clever tongue licks a line up her inner thigh. She shivers but keeps silent, waiting with bated breath.
“You taste better after you come.” His hot breath makes her cunt tingle. “Did you know that?”
It’s the only warning she gets before his mouth is on her, his tongue in her, and her fingers rip at the sheets. It’s better than before, now that’s she’s all whined up, dying to come and he knows it.
She bites down another scream as he drags his tongue up her cunt, slowly, and his hands squeeze each cheek when she thrusts back.
He flicks at her clit, once, twice, before he loses patience and his thumb comes up to rub short, rough circles as he tongue-fucks her.
Now, she screams — or falls close to it, her face buried into the sheets as she comes and comes. She wants to get away but he’s holding her to his face, lapping at her and drinking her in so he will never forget how wonderful this is. She has to beg for him to stop, his name like a desperate prayer. When he pulls away, her cunt is red and slick and her thighs have been rubbed raw by his beard.
He soothes them with soft little kisses until her breathing evens out, though she remains quivering.
Gently, he guides her down to lay flat on her stomach.
He moves over her, his cock, aching and near painful, drags lazily across her ass. Braced on his elbows, he bends to kiss her shoulders, the nape of her neck, and she sighs, eyes flickering open again.
He noses her ear, tongue tasting the skin there. “More?” he whispers.
Her voice is scratchy. “Yes.”
This time, he moves slow and keeps it like that. He wants this to last, needs it too — two body flush against each other, her skin aglow with pleasure, his own burning and aching to taste her again and again, forever — but he knows he cannot. He’s too close. He needs to come.
His body nestles against her back and he sidles in, all the way, to end and it aches, so wonderfully.
She gasps.
“Is this good?”
She whimpers a soft “yes” and spreads her legs further as he begins to thrust.
It drags on and on, his body caging hers as he slides in and out. His mouth, along her neck moves to her lips to kiss and whisper praises in shared, gasping breaths. He keeps his weight up, only at a fraction, and a fire burns between them, eased only by the languid, steady roll of hips that build her up just to break her apart.
A hand drags down the side of her body as he presses his mouth to her neck again. Breathe in, breathe out, and his hips pick up speed, losing rhythm as his hand slips beneath her. Fingers nudge her clit and she doesn’t expect it — hips arch, against him, forcing him deeper and he thrusts hard on instinct, forcing her back down, onto his finger. She spasms and he has to press his weight down to keep her still as he fucks faster and toys with her clit.
Her last orgasm hits her with a whimper. She does nothing but tuck her face away and shake, uncomfortably, cunt clenching around him tighter and tighter as he gives her the last of what he’s worth, her name mixed with pleading and almost-“I love you”s as she breaks apart.
He comes with a groan, muffled against her neck, seconds after her and he doesn’t stop coming until he feels his seed pooling out of her, mixed with her slick and onto the sheets.
Then, on shaky limbs, he has the clarity to pull out and roll away before he squishes her.
He lands on the other side of the bed and relishes in the cold sheets on his hot and sweaty skin.
It’s a few minutes of panting, quivering, and no touching before Lavellan raises her head from the sheets and looks at him, eyes sleepy and smiling with love and lazy satisfaction.
“I think you broke me.”
He laughs — a sweet, baritone chuckle that takes too much of his energy so he cuts it off with a hum and closes his eyes. He doesn’t open them until he feels her cuddle against his side and swings a leg over his hips.
He rolls just enough to face her and finds her watching him with bright, beautiful eyes.
She smiles, he smiles and he feels young again, only he would never have deserved her then, as a boy. He scarcely does now — but that’s enough thinking. She chose him. She chose him and he’s only happy to give whatever she needs, for as long as she’ll have him.
His hand comes to cup her hip. He has discovered, with a great many other things tonight, that he loves to hold her here, to wrap around the fullness of her hip and simply feel the heat of her skin.
His voice is soft, tired but happy. “I feared I might hurt you. You’re so — small.” To emphasize, his wide hand drags down to grip her thigh and his fingers nearly meet all the way around. She arches a brow and opens her mouth to speak. “— But that’s foolish of me, isn’t it? You are not fragile. You’re Dalish, a hunter. You’re the bloody Inquisitor.”
She grins at that and moves closer, her cunt pressing against his hips. “And I like a little bruises, here and there,” she says.
“You are infuriating.” He scoffs but he couldn’t hide how much he loves her for it, even if he tried.
“Thank you. Now kiss me.”
And so he does.