No Armor Against Fate (a Dragon Age fanfiction)

Pillow Talk

Thora lay on her side in the blankets, feeling her heartrate slowly return to normal. Alistair held her from behind, and though she couldn't see the big grin on his face, she could feel it. He'd done quite well for his first time. Natural skills, apparently, she thought. Her pulse began to speed up again from the memory. Or it could have been from his fingers, which were slowly tracing the contours of her arm. She sighed.

In the darkness, she heard him chuckle. "You know," he began, and she smiled. Of course, he couldn't stay quiet for long. "According to all the sisters of the Chantry, I should have been struck by lightning by now."

"That so?" she murmured sleepily.

"Oh, yes. Lightning and ... and a rain of toads, and the end of the world as we know it." He bent and slowly kissed her shoulder, tasting her soft skin. "I'm a bad, bad man," he murmured.

Thora didn't say anything, but she shifted onto her back to allow his hand, which had now wandered to her flat stomach, better access.

Absently, focusing on the small patterns he was tracing on her skin, he said, "Our little band is going to talk. They do that."

Abruptly she giggled, startling him into halting his operations, which had just begun to drift southward. Her laughter was so rare, and a girlish giggle like that was like pure gold. He only wished he knew what he'd said so he could say it again. "They already have," she said, laughter still tinting her voice. "Wynne took me aside a few days ago and gave me a lecture."

"What kind of lecture?" She had his full attention now, although his fingertips were resting in a very distracting place. She shifted slightly to get him to continue his earlier activities, but he shook his head at her, enjoying teasing her. "What kind of lecture?" he repeated.

"It was—" She broke off, gasping, as he wiggled his fingers. "Do you want me to tell you, or—do you want to keep doing that?"

"Both?" He grinned.

She grabbed his hand, holding it away from her body. "Wynne's lecture was about equal parts 'isn't it selfish of you to be thinking of yourselves at a time like this,' 'what will you do if ending the Blight means giving up each other,' and 'you red-headed hussy, keep your hands off that sweet, innocent boy.'"

Alistair laughed, wrenching his hand from her grasp. "I see how well you've listened, too."

"What can I say?" she asked, her heart shining in her brown eyes as she looked at him. "You're irresistible."

"I've always thought so," he said. "But it appears to be a minority opinion."

Her fingers twined in his hair and drew his mouth down to hers. His hands roamed her body, ending up cupping her breasts.

"I don't mind, you know," she whispered, arching her back to give him better access.

"Mind?"

"The others. Talking. About us." The words were mostly gasps as his hands and mouth moved down her body.

"Oh, you say that now," he muttered, kissing her inner thigh, "but tomorrow it will be icy glares and frosty silence just before battle." After that there was no more talking for a while.

As they lay cuddled together in the afterglow of the second time, his voice broke the darkness again. "So ..."

"Yes?" Her voice had a slight edge to it. Talking was all well and good, but eventually there would need to be sleeping. Oh, by the Stone, she thought in mingled annoyance and affection. I bet he even talks in his sleep.

"Er, what now? I mean, where do we go from here?"

"Besides to sleep?"

"Well, after that."

Thora sighed, running her hand up the firm muscles of his back and holding him close. "We stay together, Alistair. No matter what."

"Right," he said. "I can handle that. ... I hope." After another few moments, he said, "Have I told you I love you?" At her nod—how could she forget how he had held himself back, shaking with the depth of his need for her, so that he could say the words first? It was the most erotic thing she could ever have imagined—he said, "Well, it won't kill you to hear it again, now, will it?"

"No," she growled, "but I might kill you if you don't stop talking and go to sleep."

"Hint taken," he said. But he sounded slightly wounded.

After a pause, she whispered, "Alistair?" It was little more than a breath—she'd said it the same way earlier, in the midst of their activities, and he thought he could become completely addicted to hearing her call his name that way, it was such an intoxicating feeling.

He sighed in mock exasperation. "I thought we'd agreed you'd stop talking and go to sleep."

"Sorry," she said, a hint of laughter in her tone. "I just wanted to tell you something."

"What's that?"

"I love you, too."

She felt his smile and then his kiss, and neither of them slept for a long time.