#alyss writes

“I should probably start getting used to the shadows again. Who knows how long I have left in the sun?”

“You did the right thing, stopping the Black Mass.”

“I know.” He huffs. “That doesn’t mean it stings any less. Maybe never seeing the sun again is just the price of freedom.”

You can feel your heart breaking at the despondent tone of his voice; getting tadpoled, while not ideal, had given him so much—autonomy over himself, the ability to stand in the sun, friends, and love, and he wasn’t ready for all that to disappear. If you have your way, it won’t—you’ll find a way for him to bask in the sun when this is all over and The Absolute is defeated; between Sorcerous Sundries and Gale, you have a wealth of knowledge at your fingertips whenever you need it. You fumble for the soap with the hand he doesn’t have clutched to his heart, and run it gently down his torso and his arms building up a sudsy lather. When you finish you ease him back into the water to help him rinse off before the two of you clamber out of the tub together. You wrap him in a fluffy towel, using the fabric to pull him closer so you can kiss the tip of his nose.

“I’ll be with you either way. I hope you know that.”

“I think I do.” Astarion looks you directly in the eyes as he catches your hands in his, tone shifting to teasing as you gently dry the water droplets clinging to his skin. “Assuming we survive, of course. Because a horrible death is always just around the corner with you.” You laugh and he shoots you a small smile, fingers curling around yours as he leads you over to the pile of your clothes, a flicker of vulnerability running across his beautiful face. “There’s…something I’d like to show you, if that’s all right? Something out in the city.”

“Of course.” You nod as you grab your shirt off the pile and pull it over your head, the two of you donning your clothes in companionable silence.

“It isn’t far.”

Astarion grips your hand as soon as you’re both dressed and leads you from the baths, away from the Elfsong and he doesn’t let go as you wind through the darkened streets of Baldur’s Gate to a desolate and out of the way cemetery. The graveyard is appropriately silent—there isn’t a proverbial soul around as he stops in front of a lone headstone covered in ivy that clearly hasn’t been maintained, staring at it for a moment, before he releases your hand and carefully moves the vines. He wipes his hands on his pants and takes a step back so you can read the simple epitaph carved in the stone:

Astarion Ancunín 229 NR—268 NR

And suddenly you realize the importance of this moment, glad he’s finally lowered his walls and is letting you all the way in, trusting you with this piece of himself. His trust isn’t misplaced; you two have been through so much together, and the love you feel for him will never go away—you’ll be by his side as long as he’ll have you and you plan to show him he can rely on you every single day.

“Nearly two hundred years and I never came back. Not since the night I woke up down there. I had to punch a hole in the coffin and claw my way through six feet of dirt. Then when I finally broke the surface, retching up dirt and congealed blood, Cazador was waiting. From that day on I was his. Until today.”

You step closer and gently cup his chin in your hand, his piercing red eyes gazing into yours. “You were never his. Whatever he had, he took by force.”

“Maybe, but he did take it. There’s almost nothing left of the person I was. Just a name on a rock. For nearly two centuries I stalked the streets like a ghost while the person I was lay here, dead and buried. Now I need to figure out who I am. What I want.” He shoots you a small, tentative smile and it makes your heart soar, but you want to hear him say it—to use his newfound autonomy and voice what he wants, having never had anyone to hear it before or have it matter.

“And what do you want?”

“You…I want you. You were by my side through all of this. Through bloodlust and pain and misery. You were patient. You cared. You trusted me when that was an objectively stupid thing to do. I feel safe with you. Seen. And whatever the future holds for me, I don’t want to lose that.”

“You won’t. Whatever comes next, I’ve got you.”

Astarion heaves a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Well, I should probably fix this.”

You watch him as he pulls out a dagger and kneels in front of the tombstone, digging the tip into the worn rock and carving out a number—a new date you realize with a burst of affection. He sits back on his heels, his eyes flicking from the headstone to you and you find yourself gazing at the edited writing; a promise of a new life—a new beginning.

Astarion Ancunín 229 NR—268 NR *468 NR—

You hold back for a moment, giving him time as you cast your eyes around and lean over to pick a nearby white flower from the ground, laying it beneath the epitaph on the soil of what was once his grave. Astarion cocks an eyebrow at you, a small smile on his face, as you kneel beside him.

“Cute. I’ve been dead in the ground for long enough, It’s time to try living again.” He turns towards you and takes both of your hands in his, a wistful smile on his face. “With everything that life has to offer.”

“Meaning…?”

“If a night of passion is on offer, I could be persuaded.” He gives you that lopsided smirk you’ve come to expect when he flirts with you as he rubs his thumbs across the back of your hands.

You give his hands a squeeze. “Sounds good to me.”

He drops your hands and rubs his palms nervously on his pants, a shaky breath rattling past his lips. “You know, I didn’t care for you when we first met. But I do now. Being with you is about more than lust or manipulating you into a tactical alliance. I love you. I love this. And I want it all.”

You smile at each other, Astarion reaching out and cupping your face, brushing your cheek with his thumb. He leans forward and presses his mouth against yours in a sweet kiss. He pulls back and cocks his head to one side bracing his hands against your shoulders and giving you a gentle shove. You fall back into the grass, his gaze sweeping over you and you can't miss the hitch of his breath as he takes you in, the look on his face like he wants to devour you and you bite your lip. A smirk tugs at the corners of your lips as he crawls towards you, his leg hooking yours to drape it over his hip and the stretch of your muscles at the action makes you gasp. He nestles himself between your thighs and rocks his hips, his lips meeting yours in a passionate kiss, his mouth opening against yours, tongues colliding as his hands tangle in your hair. He sighs contentedly as you wrap your arms around him, pressing every inch of your body to his.

Bruce Wayne was not a good man.

A good man didn’t need rules, and Bruce had many of them written in blood on the skin of those he failed. A good man certainly didn’t need a rule against killing, and a good man wouldn’t need to have a body count in the hundreds before making such a rule. However, that was what Bruce had needed before he had made a rule to never take a life again. A good man wouldn’t struggle so much to follow that self-imposed rule either, but, to Bruce, that rule often felt like a line in the sand in the face of a rising tide.

Bruce always felt like he was on the edge and that it wouldn’t take much for him to slip back into those old habits, even all these years after leaving the League. When Jason died, Bruce was prepared to kill the Joker. He thought he had, albeit indirectly, when he brought down the helicopter Joker had commandeered. Even more recently, Bruce had left KGBeast crippled in the middle of a Siberian Tundra. The broken neck Bruce had left the assassin with wasn’t necessarily lethal, but it was unlikely that he would be found and treated before he succumbed to the cold. A good man would have taken KGBeast to get medical treatment. A good man would have felt remorse for taking a life, even one as depraved as Joker’s or Anatoli’s. Bruce didn’t. The only regret Bruce had was that Joker had survived the crash and that he couldn’t guarantee that KGBeast would never again be able to harm his family.

Bruce knew he could rectify both of those regrets, but he couldn’t allow himself to actively, personally snuff out someone’s life. Not anymore. Even if he disregarded the spirit of his rule against killing, he needed to at least follow the letter of it. He knew he had no right to sentence someone to death, not when anyone would be well within their rights to sentence Bruce to the same. Clark would probably say that Bruce was being too harsh on himself, but Clark didn’t know the depths of Bruce’s crimes. Clark knew Bruce had killed before, but Clark didn’t know that Bruce had the blood of hundreds on his hands. That Bruce was the best assassin the League had ever produced.

Ra’s and Talia were the only ones who knew the details of Bruce’s actions during his time with the League of Assassins. They were the only ones who knew that he hadn’t just trained by the League, but that he had truly believed in Ra’s al-Ghul. They were the only ones that knew the “World’s Greatest Detective” hadn’t been able to see Ra’s and his cult for what they were.

Bruce had taken to Ra’s teachings like a fish took to water, it was why he had been made the Demon’s Heart and Ra’s al-Ghul’s heir. Ra’s gave Bruce a direction for his purpose, and Bruce had really, truly believed that he was doing the right thing. That by killing these criminals, he would prevent any more children from going through what he had.

By the time Bruce had come to his senses, the blood of hundreds stained his hands. He didn’t know how many of those people were really guilty of a crime other than crossing the Demon’s Head. The first people Ra’s had sent him against were the worst of the worst, but over time, Bruce stopped looking deeper into the people Ra’s had him target. He let the trust and belief he had in Ra’s and his cause lull him into complacency. He swore that he would never allow that to happen again.

Bruce returned home to Alfred and never spoke of what he did while with the League. There were some days when it almost seemed like Alfred knew what Bruce was hiding. It wouldn’t surprise him, Bruce had never been very good at keeping things from Alfred, but he could never be sure. If Alfred did know, he never brought it up. Talia and Ra’s never mentioned it either when Bruce fought them. He wasn’t sure why they didn’t, what they were planning to do with that information, but Bruce couldn’t help but be grateful. It meant that he could still keep this particular bit of his past from his children. He didn’t like to imagine what would happen if they found out, but he didn’t imagine the outcome would be positive.

Dick had never shied away from calling Bruce out on his faults, but he also always seemed to believe the best in Bruce. They had always been able to reconcile before, but Bruce was certain that this would cross the line. Dick would finally see that Bruce wasn’t the man his son seemed to believe him to be. Similarly, Cassandra would see that Bruce was no better than David Cain. They would see that Bruce was far too broken and angry and dark to ever be the father they deserve. They would both walk out and never come back.

He had considered telling Jason of his past before. First, when Jason was struggling with finding out that Two Face had killed his father. He was worried that Jason would want to repay the villain in kind, but his son was so much stronger than Bruce had ever been and let the police take Two Face to face judgment. Bruce had been so proud and also relieved that he wouldn’t have to share something that may change the way his son looked at him.

Then after Jason had died and returned to life, Bruce thought that Jason already knew about Bruce’s bloody past. He’d assumed that Talia would have told him, but it became clear that either Talia hadn’t told him or Jason didn’t believe her. He wondered, sometimes, if it would have helped his second son understand why Bruce couldn’t kill the Joker. He was a coward though and feared that revealing just how much of a hypocrite he is would just push his son even further away. He feared that it would just fuel the ever-present belief that Bruce just didn’t love Jason enough to avenge his death.

Tim’s disappointment would possibly hurt the worst. He had always believed the best in Batman, in Bruce even after having seen him at his worst. If Tim learned that, deep down, Bruce was every bit that vengeful, violent man Tim had tried to save, he would realize how many years of his life had been wasted trying to help a man no better than the one who had murdered his father.

Damian, at least, Bruce didn’t have to wonder about. He grew up hearing stories about that time of Bruce’s life from Talia and Ra’s. Bruce’s actions were the standard to which Damian was expected to measure up. He and Bruce had spoken about it some, and his ability to help his son come to terms with his past actions had been the only good thing to come from it. But in the end, even Damian wouldn’t stay with Bruce if this were revealed to his other children. There’s no way Dick would allow his baby brother to stay with a murderer.

Unfortunately, there was no more running from that part of his past. It had finally caught up to him and now he had to face his judgment. He had been spared from death by the person who most deserved to be his executioner, but he arrived home to a different jury. His children (with the exception of Damian who was still at school for another half hour) were waiting for him in his study when he arrived home.

It happened when he was Bruce Wayne, not Batman, so when the young woman pulled a gun on him, Bruce couldn’t do anything.

“Do you remember me?” 

He did. Even 20 years later, she still had the same look in her eyes as she did as a child. That pain and hatred towards the ones who had taken her parents away from her.

Dick and Jason all but ambushed him as soon as he was in the room. They confronted him with footage from a security camera. Barbara must have sent it to them, but then again, the source didn’t really matter.

“Is what she said true?” Dick asked.

They already knew the answer. This was just Dick giving him a chance, wanting to believe the best in him. Even after all the times Bruce had let him down, Dick kept giving Bruce more chances to disappoint him.

He had been sent to kill a couple. Criminals, but of what variety, Bruce wasn’t sure. All he knew was that if Ra’s was targeting them then the world would be a better place without them. It was a simple mission for Bruce, both targets were dead before either had hit the floor. He could’ve made it more painful, but the risk of discovery by one of the neighbors was too high.

“Mom? Dad?”

For the first time since the night in the alley twelve years ago, Bruce froze.

Bruce sat heavily in the office chair, too emotionally exhausted to muster up any emotion, but pure resignation.

This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. He had been trying to prevent this from happening to any other child. These people were supposed to be criminals, the scum of the earth. Not a mother and father.

Bruce didn’t remember if the child said anything else before he fled from the scene. All he could remember was the look in her eyes. It was the same look he saw in the mirror every morning and it was because of him. And now those same eyes were burning into him from behind the barrel of a gun.

“It’s true. Ra’s al-Ghul ordered them dead and I killed them,” He said. There was no justification for what he had done, and he wouldn’t try to give any.

She couldn’t go through with it, in the end. She lowered the gun and was taken in by the police. No one believed that Bruce Wayne had actually killed her parents. Anyone who actually knew Bruce could see that he had.

“I always knew you were full of shit, but this is a new level,” Jason's voice was tight with some emotion Bruce didn’t have the energy to decipher, “Y’know, I never believed Talia when she claimed that you were the best assassin the League had ever produced. I didn’t think even you could be that much of a hypocrite. Looks like you proved me wrong.”

Jason grabbed the front of Bruce’s shirt and pulled him up, forcing Bruce to meet his eyes. Dick didn’t move to intervene. Bruce felt his gut churn.

“You’ve killed before, people who probably didn’t even deserve it. So why is that fucking clown still alive?”

Bruce heard the real question hidden behind the anger

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said.

Jason scoffed and let go of Bruce’s shirt. 

“You’re pathetic,” Jason declared and stormed out of the room, taking a piece of Bruce’s heart with him.

“I’ll go after him,” Dick said after a few moments of silence, “Make sure he doesn’t do anything too stupid. I wish you had told me B,”

Those words calmed some of the anxiety left behind in the wake of this. It signaled that maybe things weren’t completely unsalvageable, at least with Dick. He still had two other children who hadn’t made their opinions known.

“Do you two have anything you want to add?”

Bruce had prepared himself for more accusations, for anger or disappointment. But he wasn’t prepared for Cass to hug him.

“Knew you killed before,” Cass said slowly. Her face scrunched up as she tried to put together the words she wanted to say. She made a few aborted starts before stepping back from the hug so she could sign instead.

You were like me, Cass signed at him, You were a killer, but you felt shame, guilt. You stopped, like me.

“No, I was never near as strong as you, Cass,” Bruce said, making sure all his admiration for his daughter shone through in his body, “You were raised to kill and rejected it. I was raised knowing that it was wrong and I chose to kill,”

But you changed, Cass argued passionately, You changed like I changed. Like people we save. You saved yourself first, now you save others. You saved me.

“I already knew too,” Tim admitted, “I found out while I was with the League. I saw the records of your time with them, and Ra’s liked to bring it up when I refused to kill,” Tim shrugged with a feigned nonchalance, “He’s a hard man to refuse and he knew that. I think that’s why he liked to bring it up,”

Bruce knew what Tim was trying to say, but it wasn’t any excuse for his actions.

“I know it doesn’t negate what you’ve done,” Tim said before Bruce could interject, “I just meant that, I understand it. If I didn’t have you, if I hadn’t had Batman and Robin, I don’t know that I would have been able to hold out.”

Bruce was overwhelmed suddenly by awe for his children. He had been certain that none of them would want anything more to do with him. He thought that they would finally look at the broken man he was and realize that he wasn’t worth it.That both Tim and Cass had known and hadn’t immediately walked away. He needed to stop underestimating how good and amazing his children were. He pulled them both into a tight hug.

“Thank you.”

Bruce and Dick did speak later that night after they had returned from patrol. It went better than Bruce had expected and with significantly less yelling than their conversations of this type normally contained. It seemed that Dick was more upset that Bruce had kept this from him than by the fact that Bruce had killed in his past. Maybe he shouldn’t be surprised, Dick and Jason’s relationship had improved significantly since where they had been when Jason had first returned to Gotham even with Jason continuing to dole out the occasional death penalty.

Jason, who Bruce, a week later Bruce still had yet to hear from. Dick had told him to give Jason some space, that he just needed some time to come around, but Bruce wasn’t so optimistic. They had come a long way in improving their relationship, but it was still incredibly shaky, owing to Bruce’s continual refusal to kill the Joker and his disapproval of Jason’s methods of cleaning up Crime Alley. Jason had pushed Bruce away for less and Bruce wasn’t sure that this wouldn’t be the final straw in their relationship.

It was nearly two weeks after the incident that Jason returned to the manor to confront him.

“Bruce,” Jason said neutrally, leaning against the study doorway.

“Jason,” Bruce greeted awkwardly, setting aside the WE paperwork he’d been reviewing, “Did you need something?”

“Yeah, matter of fact, I do.” Jason pushed off the wall and moved forward to slam his hands on Bruce’s desk. “An explanation.”

“An…explanation?” Bruce was caught off guard. Generally, Jason didn’t care for Bruce’s reasons

“Yeah, for why you won’t kill the Joker,” Jason’s neutrality melted away to reveal the anger that Bruce always managed to evoke, “The real reason.”

“I never lied to you, Jay,” Bruce said, “I can’t go back to who I was back then. I-”

Bruce paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. Jason did deserve a better explanation.

“While I was with the League, I let the anger and the pain inside drive me. I thought killing would end the pain. I thought that if I could kill all the monsters in dark alleys out there, I could finally heal. I was wrong. Killing…all it did was spread my pain with others. It didn’t heal me. It blinded me.

“Protecting Gotham, helping others, caring for you and your siblings, that’s what healed me.

“When I lost you… I lost myself again. The pain was blinding me again, I was prepared to do what it took to kill the Joker. I was sure if I did then the pain would stop. I would have killed him, if the government hadn’t called in Superman to stop me.”

Bruce paused for a moment. He needed to say this correctly.

“I was angry, at the time. I didn’t care that it would cause an international incident. All I knew was that the Joker was a monster who took you from me and that I couldn’t live in a world where your murderer got to walk free.

“I had hoped he had died when I took down his helicopter. We never fished up his body, but he was presumed dead. By the time I found out that wasn’t the case, I had Tim to think about.”

Jason scoffed.

“I did wrong by you Jason, I know that. I failed you as a father and as a partner. When Tim showed up, with the knowledge of our identities and a firm belief that Batman needed a Robin, he reminded me of you so much that it hurt. I knew that I couldn’t fail another son, that I had to be a better man.

“I wasn’t good at it. I nearly killed the Joker again and was stopped. It would have been so easy, and that’s the problem for me. I’m good at killing. I was the Demon’s Heart, the heir to the Demon’s Head, the best assassin Ra’s al-Ghul had ever trained. It would be too easy for me to slip back into that role, and I don’t want to have to kill hundreds in order to get out of it.

“So, I’m sorry Jaylad. I’m sorry that I can’t give you what you need, but my weakness has nothing to do with how much I love you, son.”

Jason’s silence hung over Bruce like the hangman’s ax.

“I still think you’re full of shit,” Jason declared after what felt like eternity, “but I guess I get it,”

Bruce found himself, once again, overwhelmed by love for his children, and their ability to forgive his many, many flaws. He wouldn’t have blamed any of them for walking out on him for any number of things in the past, but they kept giving him another chance. He didn’t deserve them. Bruce stood from his desk and pulled Jason into an awkward hug, earning an indignant squawk from his Jaylad.

“Fuck off, old man,” Jason said, but there wasn’t really any heat behind it. Jason, tellingly, did not pull away from the hug. “This doesn’t mean we’re cool or anything, you’re still the biggest fucking hypocrite on the planet. And you don’t get to give me anymore shit for killing. None.”

“That’s nice.” She smiled sleepily, her back arching as she stretched before collapsing back into the sarcophagus, her hand covering a large yawn as she gazed up at the ceiling of the mausoleum, but she wasn’t really seeing it; her mind far away. “Peaceful down here. You could almost pretend nothing’s wrong up top.”

She was trying not to think about Harding and Bellara missing, and that she was about to fight for her life against Elgar’nan; survival seemed a bleak and distant prospect, but she had to put on a brave face for everyone else—she couldn’t afford to falter…not now, not when they were so close. Emmrich reached out as she took a shaky breath and cupped her chin, his thumb gently stroking her cheek and grounding her. He closed his eyes, a ragged breath escaping him as he leaned down and bumped her forehead gently with his and Adelaide felt a pang of guilt—they hadn’t known the extent of Solas’ plan and there had been a chance she wouldn’t make it back and that she’d be trapped in the Fade forever, but it had forced her to realize just how precious every moment was. She placed her hand over his as she leaned into his touch and kissed his palm, Emmrich feeling his heart flutter at the intimate gesture—he’d spent so much of his life dreaming of love like in the stories, and now that he had her back, he wasn’t going to squander their time together. 

Hazel eyes darted a glance at her lips before staring deep into amethyst. “When I’m with you, it feels as if there isn’t.”

She sat up more, cupping his chin and brushing his jaw with her fingertips as she brought their faces closer, lips mere centimeters from each other. “We could stay here just a little longer.”

“What are you—”

Adelaide put her mouth by his ear, whispering all manner of filthy things to him, his body instantly reacting to her suggestions.

“If you insist.” He chuckled as she grabbed his lapels and pulled him in for a kiss, their lips meeting as she dragged him back into the coffin with her, Emmrich settling himself between her legs and rolling his hips, the fabric covering the bulge of his rapidly growing erection rubbing against her clit.

She giggled. “Ooh!”

Eager hands pushed the waistband of his pants down just enough and grasped his cock, lining it up with her entrance, Emmrich groaning as he sank into her slowly, letting her feel every inch of him as he filled her to the hilt, her walls stretching and shifting around him as he bent to capture her lips with his own. She didn’t bother with the rest of his clothes, the man was wearing far too many layers and she was impatient…though, with how wet she was already, she was going to make a mess of him and he’d probably have to untuck his shirt and use it to cover the front of his trousers as they headed back to the lighthouse to clean up. Which would make it very hard for her to keep her hands to herself, as she loved seeing him disheveled. Loved seeing him let his guard down; he was fastidious with his appearance and did his utmost to keep himself well groomed, and getting to see beyond that façade was a privilege—one he shared with only her.

Slender fingers wove into her long brown hair and tilted her head back, Emmrich kissing a slow trail down the column of her neck, his lips closing over her pulse point and sucking gently, her heartbeat fluttering under the stroke of his tongue as he tasted her skin. His free hand roamed across her bare skin, mapping her body with his touch before taking her hand in his and pressing a kiss to the inside of her wrist, her palm and her fingertips, the gentleness with which he was handling her nearly undid her right then and there. Adelaide let out a low moan of pleasure as she arched towards him, breasts pressing against his chest, the fabric of his outfit rubbing against her nipples and reminding her she was completely naked and at his mercy as she draped one leg around his hips, sending him deeper and making the two of them moan in unison.

“Emmrich…” She breathed as she canted her hips, whispering his name almost reverently as he reached between them and pressed the pad of his finger to her clit, creating a delicious friction, a whimper of pleasure escaping past her lips as he touched her with just the right amount of pressure and at a pace that had her seeing stars.

“Let go for me, Dearest.” He rasped, sucking at her pulse point.

He braced his hands on either side of her head, smiling down at her and relishing in the fact that she felt the same way he did—even if everyone thought they were moving too fast. But he’d spent a lifetime dreaming as everyone around him found their happiness and he had finally found his. The skin around his eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled down at her; every inch of her skin flushed as he watched her, before she cupped the back of his neck, bringing his lips down to meet hers again, their tongues intertwining. She rocked her hips back and forth, impaling herself on his cock, the coil inside her winding higher each time he pressed her clit with his finger. Her walls clenched around his shaft as he pulled back, only the first inch of his erection still inside her, before he surged forward, rocking his erection against the roll of her hips, the two of them seeking their release together.

Her back arched, insides clamping down around his cock as she bucked her hips against him and the need hit him like a tidal wave as he thrust forward again the tension inside him climbing higher. His touch was gentle as he trailed his fingers along the outside of her thigh, tracing little patterns on her hips and he felt her soften beneath him. A shiver of lightning skittered across her body as he grasped her hips and surged forward, relishing in the feeling of her core clenching around his shaft, stretching to accommodate his girth as he filled her. He stroked her hips with his fingertips, sliding them around behind her thigh, and holding her steady, his body flush up against every inch of hers, pressing her down into the sarcophagus. Adelaide’s hand snuck down the back of his trousers and cupped his ass as he rocked his hips again and the pleasurable pressure that had been building inside her snapped, heat swirling around them as he thrust into her.

He felt her muscles contract beneath him, the friction sending her over the edge of ecstasy, her orgasm racking her body as she climaxed around him, the tremors forcing his own orgasm, her name dropping from his lips as he came, pulling out and spilling his release across her stomach, the white a stark contrast against her tan skin. Emmrich rolled up onto his knees, his pants hanging open about his hips and bracelets jingling faintly as he worked at the knot of the red scarf tied around his waist. He was a sight to behold. Adelaide panted quietly as she watched him and when he brought the fabric to her skin to clean off his spend, his hands were trembling, reality catching up to them despite their best efforts. She pushed herself into a sitting position and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug, breathing in the comforting scent of him mingled with their sex.

“We’ll make it through this. I promise.” She whispered, stroking his hair as he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

“I can’t lose you again; I won’t survive it.” Emmrich muttered against her skin, his grip tightening to hold her as close as humanly possible and he realized in that moment how glad he truly was that he had chosen Manfred over lichdom, because losing her and having to keep going in a world without her in it was not something he wanted to experience ever again.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

Her touch felt heavenly and he felt like he barely got to enjoy it before she was helping him out of the tub and drying him off and leading him into the connecting bedroom. She pushed him gently back onto the bed, Solas wincing at the pain his wounds from Lusacan had caused, his vhenan tutting her tongue in dismay, as she leaned forward and kissed every wound on his face and neck, her healing magic working its way through his body. He sighed contentedly and cupped her chin in his hand, their lips meeting in a passionate kiss, his desire for her almost overwhelming as he pressed their bodies together, making her moan and arch towards him. Solas growled low in his throat, running his hands down her arms, determined to explore every inch of her with touch. Eldhira opened her mouth against his, deepening the kiss as Solas pulled her down on top of him, her knees on either side of his naked hips, his free hand gliding down the planes of her body.

She was his and he was never going to let her go again; he’d barely survived parting from her the first time and he knew he couldn’t do it again.

In one swift movement, he fell back onto the bed as her fingers continued their game of search and find, gently stroking over each and every cut and scrape and working their magic, even as he rolled them over so she was beneath him and he was settled perfectly between her thighs. He drank in the sight of her, blonde hair spilling across the pillows like a golden halo and he had never been more in love. Ten years couldn’t dull the affection he had for her—he wanted her when he had never wanted before—and that wouldn’t just go away, in this life or any other. She draped one leg around his hips, pulling him closer and making the two of them moan in unison as he rocked his hips against her, the two of them lost in bliss at finally being able to be together again.

Light streamed through the window, Solas opening one eye a crack, before rolling onto his back with a groan as he stretched in the bed, his muscles still sore; she may have healed all his wounds, but the battle with Lusacan had taken a lot out of him and so had she with their excursions the night before. He threw arm over his face, eager for even just a few more minutes to sleep. He reached his other arm out to grab Eldhira and pull her closer, wanting to drown himself in the scent of her, but found her spot on the bed vacant, the sheets cold to the touch. Purple-blue eyes shot open, his brain reminding him this wasn’t the first time he’d dreamed her into his bed—and if he had hallucinated her, this was going to be a long eternity of seeing her every time he closed his eyes. He lay there for a few moments until his brain fog started to clear—his wounds were healed and he knew he hadn’t done that himself and...was that…music? A little clunky, but strangely familiar.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he got up out of the bed, reluctantly pulling on his discarded trousers and following the sound. As he got closer, he heard humming and suddenly he knew why the piece was familiar; it was the one he’d composed—well begun to compose; the unfinished duet that he’d intended for her, and when he’d started it he’d been trying to capture the emotions she made him feel. Things he’d never felt before but had made the world worth saving as it was—even if he hadn’t wanted to admit it. A small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he approached her pushing the veil of blonde hair aside and trailed his lips down the side of her neck. A small part of him missed that cute little braided bun she used to wear, but he loved it seeing her let it down. Though the sheer length of it stood as a testament to how long they’d been apart and it made his heart ache. Eldhira giggled and leaned her head to the side to give him better access, her eyes still on the sheet music propped up on the piano’s music desk.

“Not quite how I imagined that piece sounding when I composed it.” He teased, punctuating each word with a gentle kiss and a nuzzle of his nose along the column of her neck.

“Hard to do a two handed instrument with only one hand.” She shot back, spinning around on the piano bench so they were face to face.

That was a low blow and she knew it, but he loved that she challenged him, the intensity in his eyes making a blazing heat settle in her core. 

He growled in approval as his long, slender fingers curling around her hips, gripping them as he picked her up and perched her on the piano keys, a discordant clash echoing through the room as he stepped between her thighs and claimed her lips. Solas took her left hand in his and brought his lips to the inside of her wrist, kissing the soft skin there, Eldhira sighing his name. Nimble fingers pulled her dressing gown open before tracing over the curves of her body, ghosting over her breasts, her nipples pebbling under the caress before his hands headed south. He kissed her exposed shoulder, goosebumps popping up on her skin under his touch and he smiled at the sound he pulled out of her.

“That’s my girl. Nice and tight.” He purred, easing her into the crossbow press, to hold her arms and keep her still so he could expose the old worn string that needed replacing to his gaze. “Let’s get you ready for me.”

At this point it was second nature to remove the frayed cord and replace it and he finished quickly, fitting a brand new one in place and giving it a playful tug before picking up one of the small jars. He dipped his fingers into the substance within, massaging the wax over the pliant and willing new cord with his palm before replacing the serving as well. He always preferred a hands-on method to using a cloth because he liked to feel how Bianca responded to his touch and use that as a guide. The second bottle held a clear, odorless oil which he dipped a small pipette into, collecting a small amount, and placing a few drops of the rail lube very carefully so as not to get it on the rest of her body, and rubbing it in onto her rail in slow, even circles with his thumb.

Varric grinned at the sight of her glistening for him. “Look at you. Just beautiful.”

When he was sufficiently satisfied at how slick her track was, he moved to fill her bolt chamber with more arrows, having fired more than expected in the last fight. One hand closed around the cylinder, the other holding Bianca steady as he gave it a firm tug but the bolt chamber didn’t want to release, almost like she didn’t want to take a new load inside her. Varric clicked his tongue in dismay, tapping the side of the chamber with the head of a small hammer, hoping to loosen it enough to remove and oil it so it would slide back in smoothly.

“Naughty girl. Open up,” he muttered, shaking his head at her stubbornness and turning the crank on the crossbow press to tighten the restraints holding her in place.

Two fingers plunged into the cylinder, curling against her inner wall to strengthen his grip, tugging firmly enough he felt her relax and come apart under his touch. Sometimes he just had to show her who was in charge. He collected a handful of bolts and released them into the chamber, filling her. Varric chuckled and patted Bianca affectionately, oiling her up first—taking special care of all four arms—and then the cylinder, sliding it into place and pumping it back and forth a couple times to make sure it was lubed up correctly before flicking several latches and locking it back into place. She felt perfect, every part of her responding to his touch and he breathed a sigh of relief—she’d just been used too much lately and was feeling neglected.

“Just like that. You took that so well,” he cooed, teasing fingers stroking over her to rub the rest of her down with the wood polish.

All that was left was to double check his work. He picked her up, his grip sure and confident as he turned towards a shooting target he had set up in the corner of his room ages ago as he wrapped his hand around her handle, pressing a calloused finger to her trigger. Bianca shuddered to life, loosing an arrow into the dummy with a satisfying ‘thwack’ and an almost inaudible twang as the string snapped back into place, ready for the next time he fired her in combat. He loved the sounds she made. It was good to know that even after all these years, he still knew exactly what made her tick, responding to his touches so quickly and it made her such a pleasure to use.

“No! I mean yes. I mean…I’m a little nervous, sure. Not that this is anything bad or frightening or…” He paused, finally meeting her eyes, and at the look in them he relaxed his stance a little. “Well, yes. Oh, how do I say this? You’d think it would be easier, but every time I’m around you, I feel as if my head’s about to explode. I–I can’t think straight.”

She laughed--Maker, he loved that sound. “That’s very sweet.”

“Here’s the thing: being near you makes me crazy, but I can't imagine being without you. Not ever.” He took a deep breath, amber eyes gazing into pale green. “I don't know how to say this another way. I want to spend the night with you. Here, in the camp. Maybe this is too fast, I don't know, but…I know what I feel.”

Alistair ducked his head to stare at his shoes, blushing from head to toe in embarrassment. Could he be any more red? Sure they'd kissed--a lot, and it was fun and amazing and just felt right, but he wanted more; she hadn't pushed since asking him to join her in her tent that first time, and now he was finally ready for that step with her--terrified, but ready. Odessa smiled and reached out her hand, twining the fingers of one hand with his as she took a step closer. Alistair let out a shaky breath, Odessa bringing her other hand up to cup his chin and she leaned in, their lips meeting in a sweet kiss. She felt a smidge guilty that his first time was about to be in a tent with their entire party nearby, instead of somewhere more romantic…and private, but he was staring at her with such earnestness as he trusted her with this part of himself, that she couldn't deny him.

Odessa stroked his lower lip with her thumb. “Are you sure?”

The fact that she was trying to figure out if he really wanted this–that, despite how much she craved this—she was still thinking of his comfort. His heart swelled; she didn’t want to force him and that meant the world to him...especially, because of how much he really did want to take this leap with her, even though he had no clue what he was doing. Brushing her cheek with his thumb, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth against hers again, showering her in several fiery and needy kisses. Odessa wrapped her arms around his neck, melting against him as she opened her mouth against his, letting their tongues intertwine and angling herself as close as she was able, the fabric of his shirt rubbing tantalizingly against her nipples. Groaning, Alistair's tongue trailed across her lower lip, one hand tangling in her red hair. She was so soft and he wanted more.

Pulling away reluctantly, he bumped his forehead against hers, relishing in her body heat from just that little touch, as his eyelids fluttered shut to capture the moment, a tiny smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth. “I wanted to wait for the perfect time, the perfect place…but when will it be perfect? If things were, we wouldn’t even have met. We sort of…stumbled into each other, and despite this being the least perfect time, I still found myself falling for you in between all the fighting and everything else. I really don’t want to wait anymore. I’ve…I’ve never done this before. You know that. I want it to be with you…while we have the chance. In case…”

She put a finger to his lips. “I thought you’d never ask. Relax; I've got you. I promise.”

Alistair squeezed her hand as she led him to her tent, the two of them ducking inside, the flaps dropping and muffling the sounds of camp a little. Thankfully, Krytz was occupied begging Leliana for scraps and hadn't followed them; he was nervous enough already without her mabari watching them. Her hands went to the hem of her shirt and she tugged it off over her head, tossing it onto the floor, a pink blush spreading from his face and down his chest at the sight of her cleavage, practically spilling out of her bra, all his blood rushing south. And when she shimmied out of her pants, he gulped--he'd never seen that much bare skin on a woman in his life, but Maker’s breath she was beautiful; he was a lucky man. Odessa kissed a trail along his jaw up towards his ear, sucking his earlobe and making Alistair groan as eager fingers traipsed down his body. Teasing hands slid underneath his tunic, Alistair sucking in a breath at the feeling of her hands on his bare skin as she slid the fabric upwards, her lips catching his as the garment cleared his head. When she removed her smalls, standing bare before him, his heart palpitated and he was convinced she could hear it pounding against his ribcage as she dipped her fingers below his waistband, grazing the bulge of his erection as she divested him of his pants, gentle hands pressing against his chest and pushing him backwards onto her bedroll.

"You'll tell me if this is too much?"

He nodded slowly, cheeks stained a deep pink as Odessa bent her head, her soft lips finding each and every scar littering Alistair's skin, his breath hitching in his throat. He watched her with bated breath, eyes wide in wonder as she traced patterns on his skin with her tongue, a shiver running through him. Alistair's whole body jumped as she trailed kisses across the stretch of skin just above his waistband, bringing him back to himself and narrowing his focus to just her and her touch, letting out a breath as she caught the fabric of his smalls between her teeth, scraping gently against his muscles and drawing a shudder from him as she pulled the cloth down and off to bare him to her gaze. He was already hard and she took a moment to take him in; his shaft was girthier than a lot of her past partners and she licked her lips, eager to taste him.

Odessa leaned forward, pressing a kiss to his crown, Alistair gasping at the new sensation, cock twitching in anticipation at the contact. Her tongue snaked out to taste him, flicking against his slit, one hand gripping his shaft as the other cupped and massaged his balls gently, making him groan, hips bucking towards her and chasing her touch. This already felt better than he could have imagined and she’d barely started. The sounds he made were so cute and only served as an aphrodisiac, spurring her on as she caught his eye and winked, arousal streaking through him as she savored him. She trailed the tip of her tongue along his sac, toying with his balls, and sucking them gently before giving them a squeeze. She slowly kissed her way up the underside of his shaft, where it curved up towards his stomach and pressed a teasing kiss at the base of the crown, Alistair panting and writhing underneath her as she swirled her tongue around the head before taking the tip into her mouth, sucking hard as she cupped him in her hand. She was killing him.

“Maker's Breath, Odessa…” He whined, blushing at the desperation tingeing his voice.

Red lips opened to take him into her mouth all the way to the hilt making his hips jerk under her attentions and drawing a moan from his throat at the sight as she sucked him off. She loved that she got to be his teacher in this–loved that she got to be the one to help him figure out what he liked and how he liked to be touched, every gasp and sound and jerk of his hips guiding her to his pleasure; she took her time with him, stretching out his rapture and making him relax. As she swallowed around his tip, she started to hum as she sucked hard, the rolling motion massaging the skin on his shaft before releasing him. Alistair swore as he watched her, entranced, his fingers slipping into her short red hair and cupping the back of her neck, trying futilely to dislodge her mouth; he was ridiculously overstimulated and only vaguely aware at how loud he was–their entire party just beyond the thin fabric of her tent.

As she felt him tense up, she pulled back, a string of saliva and precum connecting them and Alistair a frustrated, whimpering mess before her. He whined, chest heaving and hips arching towards her, eager for her to finish. Soft lips trailed kisses up his stomach and across his chest before she sat up and threw one leg over him to straddle his lap, heat emanating from her gaze before she captured his lips with her own, bracing her palms against his chest. Her nails scraped his skin gently as she moved her hands lower, Alistair arching towards her touch with a quiet, broken moan, his fingers gripping her blanket like a lifeline. She pulled back and bit her lower lip as she sat up straight and gazed at him from under long orange lashes, her hands finding his and removing them from the bedroll, bringing them to her lips. She pressed a kiss to the center of each palm before placing them on her breasts, making Alistair turn another shade of red, mouth agape as he stared at his hands. A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as she lowered herself onto his throbbing erection, her walls clamping tightly around his thick shaft, Odessa rolling her hips and feeling the way his muscles tensed as she used her knees to push herself off him before she sank back onto him. Curious hands glided down the planes of her body, taking her in and marveling at the feel of her soft skin under his calloused fingers, her lips parting in a sultry smile, as she licked her lips, impaling herself on his cock, breasts bouncing with every movement. He gripped her hips, fingertips digging into the flesh there as he guided her through his thrusts, hips jerking eagerly up off the cot as he brought her hips down to his.

She draped her arms about his shoulders and leaned back, Alistair reaching that perfect spot within her, the two of them moaning in unison…and his climax taking them both by surprise.

He went red and buried his face in her neck. “Desi, I'm so sorry! I didn't mean–”

She laughed as she pulled back to look him in the eyes as she placed a finger against his lips; between the darkspawn taint and the anklet she wore at all times, the shell and pearl charm enchanted to prevent pregnancy, they had nothing to worry about…probably. “Shhh. It's okay. You have absolutely nothing to be embarrassed about; it's your first time. We have plenty of time to work on your stamina. Now, do you think you have a little more in you?”

He couldn't say what came over him in that moment, but suddenly Odessa was beneath him, her lips opened in an ‘oh’ and her surprise laced into a broken gasp as he thrust into her.

“I'll take that as a ‘yes’.” She giggled before Alistair silenced her with a kiss.

Odessa wrapped her legs around his thighs, grabbing at his ass to urge him deeper before he reached around and clasped her hands in his, interlacing their fingers together and bringing her hand to his lips–the tenderness of the gesture tugging at her heartstrings even as he rocked into the roll of her hips. His hands ghosted over her body, touches frantic, the need hitting him like a tidal wave as he surged forward again the tension inside him climbing higher, a shiver racking his body. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

“Desi--I'm–”

“Wait.”

This infuriating woman; if she was trying to kill him she was succeeding. With tremendous effort, he held himself still even though every muscle was screaming in protest as she dug her fingers into his hips and pushed him back, his cock retreating from inside her. She rolled over onto her stomach and pushed up onto her knees before leaning forward, elbows braced against the mattress and ass in the air. She glanced over her shoulder at him and smirked as she spread her legs and wiggled her butt in invitation. And he did exactly as he was bidden, his body eager to finish what they'd started. Her mouth fell open on a moan, as the head of his erection nudged her entrance, Alistair grasping her hips and pushing into her slowly. One arm wrapped around her waist holding her still as he bent forward and traced the outer shell of her ear with the tip of his tongue, chest smothering her back, the two of them flushed and damp.

“Guide me.” He panted, his breath hot against her ear.

Odessa turned her head and caught his lips with hers, her hand closing over his and dragging them down her body and between her thighs. Their fingers ghosted over her clit and she shivered. She'd already brought him so much pleasure and he was eager to learn how she liked to be touched so he could return the favor. She helped him find just the right pressure and pace she liked as she fucked herself on his cock, Alistair doing everything to match the rhythm she’d set. The speed of his thrusts was slowly increasing, as the tension inside him climbed higher. Odessa’s cry of his name as she came was the sweetest sound he'd ever heard. His mouth clamped down on her neck as he tensed, her walls closing tightly around his shaft and dragging his second ever orgasm from him on a shuddering breath. They collapsed together onto her bedroll, limbs intertwined, Alistair panting quietly as he rocked his hips, savoring the feel of her lingering quivers around his shaft, before he pulled out of her, the sight of his release dripping out of her making him blush.

He panted quietly as he buried his face in her neck and inhaled deeply, taking a moment to catch his breath as he raked his fingertips lightly over the curve of her hip. “Hmm. You know, according to all the sisters at the monastery, I should have been struck by lightning by now.”

She rolled over in his arms and placed a quick kiss on his lips. “Not for that performance.”

“Meaning it was so great that the Maker himself has decided to spare me the usual punishment, right? Right? Aww.” He pouted as she got up, taking her warmth with her and leaving him alone on the bedroll, Alistair sitting up on his elbows as he watched her poke around her tent for something, returning to his side with a small washcloth and a bowl of water. “You do realize the rest of our little party here is going to talk, right? They do that.”

They definitely hadn't been quiet…

Odessa smiled as she dipped the fabric into the warm water and gently and carefully started to wipe him off; sex wasn't something that embarrassed her--especially not after enjoying the company of six noblemen at once during one of her mother's salons. “Let them talk. I don’t care.”

“You say that now. But will you still feel the same way, when all they want to talk about is the two of us…together?” It was hard to think straight when the warmth of the washcloth as she cleaned his shaft felt nice--not as nice as being inside her, but still nice.

Odessa grinned as she glanced up from wiping his cock. “First smart comment and I feed them to the darkspawn.”

“See? This is why I love you.” He laughed, relaxing further under her careful attentions to get him cleaned up after their excursions, his expression turning somber. “So…what now? Where do we go from here?”

She set the washcloth inside the bowl of water before setting it aside and out of the way, pale green eyes meeting amber as she took his hand in hers. “We stay together, no matter what happens.”

“Right. I can handle that. I hope. Before I go, have I told you that I love you?” She nodded and he took her hand in his kissing the inside of her wrist. “I did? Well, it won’t kill you to hear it again, will it?”

Odessa rolled her eyes and kissed the tip of his nose. “I love you, too.”

“See? Was that so hard?” He cast his eyes about the tent, shifting to get up and collect his discarded clothes, but Odessa stopped him with a gentle hand on his chest.

“You don't have to go, you know; you could stay.”

“I can?” Alistair couldn't help the lopsided grin that spread across his face when she nodded–he hadn't even thought that was an option…but it was good because he didn't think he could walk anyways; his legs felt like jelly. “I'd like that.”