Naughty tales from Thedas, kept out of the official histories.
A Warden has crowned her lover king, but how will they survive the archdemon?
***
"You know, we could have had least had dinner and a glass of wine first," Alistair quipped, still not believing what he was doing. Or seeing. He leaned back on his elbows and looked up at Morrigan as she joined him on the bed in her scanty black small clothes, his traitorous manhood stirring at the sight of her dark beauty. At least he would be able do this quickly, before he changed his mind. He would just lie back and think of Ferelden.
Morrigan leaned over and blew out the candles next to the bed. When she sat back in the warm firelight, she held a small red candle which sparked to life at a wave of her hand. Morrigan made eye contact with him, and though tense, Alistair said nothing. Slowly, she dropped the hot wax onto his chest, now watching her own movements and murmuring softly as she did. The sharp sting melted into tingling, Alistair noticed, so that as she added drops to his chest and forehead each one became more arousing. She hesitated when she moved to his groin, just above his small clothes, and made eye contact with him again. He gave her a wary nod.
Morrigan took her time freeing him from the cloth, cupping his length in her soft palm before she resumed the spell. Alistair watched as the dripping wax took shape on his skin; flames, sprawling flames curled along the muscles of his abdomen, surrounding and framing his growing cock. As his arousal grew, so did the flames, no longer needing the wax to form their color and shape, they moved like living tattoos along his skin. He remained passive under the witch's touch. It seemed to please her.
She drizzled some of the red wax onto her own body, letting it pool and then weep from her belly button, flames forming at her words. Then she blew out the small candle and reached again toward the side table, this time coming back with a small stone pot, which she placed in his palm before scooting away from him. Her movements deliberate, she slithered out of her small clothes and naked, crawled over him, settling her weight on his thighs.
He looked up at her face and body - inky hair, pale white skin, tight breasts that defied gravity with their pink nipples pointing skyward; narrow waist, with a luscious curve to her hips. She was freshly shaved bare below, with lips as full and pouty as those on her face.
Alistair sighed. Beautiful, by any definition, but so cold and harsh in action and word, with eyes that cut like Serault glass. Stunning amber eyes that could have warmed like laughter in sunlight, but didn't. Power seemed to be the only thing that moved her. Power, pretty baubles, and a good mirror, he amended, the corner of his mouth twitching up.
She took the pot from him and dipping a finger into the soft green unction within, began to paint silvery green swirls along her chest and bare sex and also around the red wax flames over her womb. They were like waves, soft green waves that flowed along her pale white skin.
Morrigan held the pot out to Alistair. "As part of the ritual, paint the waves on my forehead. Think of a child, your child; think of Solona. What would you wish for a child of your own?"
Alistair frowned at her words. He thought about what she and Solona had told him. An Old God baby? What would that mean? Could he trust Morrigan when she said the child would not be hurt, would not be some sort of monster? Even the existence of a normal heir could be a threat to Ferelden, not that she wanted him to see this baby. Ever.
When he touched his clay covered finger to Morrigan's forehead, however, he thought about Solona, his love for her, the love that had brought him to this strange moment as king and warden. As for the child, he was afraid to wish for much. All he allowed himself to think about was raven hair and his father's eyes, kind eyes he had not gotten to see but once in his life.
He slumped back flat on the bed when he was done, knowing what must happen next. Solona wanted it to happen. Ferelden needed it to happen; he would make it so despite his anger with Morrigan, Solona, and his own stupid bloodline. He hated that his first act as king would be this - this betrayal. Unlike before, on the pirate ship, Solona would not be with him. Morrigan wouldn't allow it. Besides, he wasn't sure Solona could bear it. So no Solona caressing him, kissing him, encouraging him in his pleasure. He did intend to have pleasure, and to give it too. Nothing would annoy Morrigan more, he was sure. He had to do something with the seething fury inside of him.
Morrigan moved forward, bringing her sex to slide along his. He was surprised to find her hot and wet; she hated him. But perhaps the waves worked on her as the flames did on him, though hers had not sparked to life as his had. They remained pale swirls of color painted on her skin. She took him in her hand and moved him into place. Before engulfing him, however, she paused, her eyes lingering on him. They were eager, ravenous. Covetous?
Her eyes had taken him in like that before, at Flemeth's cottage, when she was tending his wounds and thought he was still unconscious. She had been attentive too, at least before Solona woke up. He did not understand that look or what brought the change then, but he did now. Now he understood more of what goes on between women and men.
The look was pure desire. Morrigan desired him, his body pleased her. Even if his conversation did not. This was news. He smirked, suddenly finding that perhaps he did not want it over too quickly.
He flexed his hips into her, leaving the rest of his body flat on the bed. Morrigan gasped and slipped the head of his cock inside of her sex, then settled down onto his shaft completely. She muttered her spell as she moved her body languidly, the words a language foreign in Alistair's ears, but then he caught a phrase of harsh sounds and a flash of meaning
~ free from the curse, through flame into life.
He closed his eyes then and took her hips in his hands; the feel of Morrigan in his grasp, her sex engulfing him, was strange and arousing. Still, he did not interfere with her movements. He simply allowed her to have her way with him, enjoying the feel of her hot channel clenching and releasing him in her efforts to get him to give up his seed. She felt good, but he was in no danger of a quick release. He had some wrath he needed to work out.
He started his movements subtly, so that Morrigan wouldn't notice, just an undulation in his hips to act as a counterpoint to her own. He often woke to Solona riding him and liked to respond slowly. He let one hand slip down lower on her hip. The other moved lazily up to her rib cage. He would wait until the witch was off her guard.
Morrigan made pretty little noises for him, soft and low, though as time went on, they pitched higher in frustration. She muttered again in a strange language, sending a shiver us his spine and causing their markings to glow dully. It was then that Alistair caught a breast in his large hand and gave the nipple a tight pinch. Her eyes flew open and he caught her surprised gaze, too. As he watched her the calloused thumb of his sword hand pushed down on her hard, unsuspecting bud, messaging it in rhythm to their thrusts. Morrigan cried out in pleasure, her sex gushing and grasping around him, forcing a low grunt from him. Her shoulders shuddered above him even as her lower back went stiff. Her face was the picture of triumph as she rode him. Clearly, she thought she had gotten her seed.
Alistair pulled Morrigan to him and flipped them over so that he was on top of her, pinning her hands with his and her hips with his own. He was still rooted deep within her, thrusting softly, drawing out her climax.
When she surfaced from her orgasmic stupor she said, "I said you would not hate it quite so much as you thought," she said, practically purring.
Alistair kept his eyes shut and didn't respond, remaining tight within her and hard. He wondered when she would notice.
"You can get off of me anytime." Morrigan said. She tried to pull her wrists free of his grasp, but he didn't budge. Instead he pulled out of her and then slowly sank back in. Her eyes went wide when she realized he was still full and rampant and nowhere near spent.
