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Altar	By : Larania Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 4268 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Dragon Age: Origins belongs to Bioware, not me, and I make no money from this work of fanfiction at all

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- 1-Altar
- 1
Alistair and M!Warden:
Magic made them do it.
�� Alistair
winced, rubbing his head as consciousness came
flooding back to him in a wave of pain. The last thing he had remembered- what
did he remember? Nothing much.
�� Of
course, finding Darath Amell
unconscious beside him helped nothing, and he hissed, lumbering to his feet and
taking off his gauntlets. Fingers probing, be noticed a good sized lump
starting to rise off his head, but none of the softness that would indicate a
concussion. Darath�s ankle was twisted at an angle
that meant it had to be broken. A quick inventory of his own body revealed,
beyond a miserable headache, a wrenched and tender arm, but he nothing that a
little rest and a few poultices couldn�t cure. Thank the Maker for small blessings.
�� There
were no signs of their allies, and his quick glance told him that for the
moment, until his fellow awoke, there was no way for them to get out. It looked
like they had fallen into some kind of pit. Out in the Brecilian
Forest, they had been hiking to find Witherfang, the
wolves� They�d stopped for the night, and he had noticed some sort of building
behind a rock outcropping. Investigating it had preyed on his mind since the
beginning of his watch, had grown into a heavy weight when he had heard Darath and Zevran start to flirt
but retiring to separate tents, and become unbearable when the mental image of
them doing� all sorts of� things to
each other had started in the back of his mind. Then, going to the outcrop for
privacy had taken on an entirely different dimension, because by Andraste�s lacy knickers he was hard.
�� He did
not find men attractive, never had (but some Templars
did, he just wasn�t one of them) but even the suggestion of sex tended to mess
with his good-little-Chantry-boy mind.
�� The room
was round, probably what was once the cellar of some
decayed elven house. It wasn�t large- maybe six yards
across the middle- and moonlight filtered through the sizable hole they�d left
in the ceiling.� The walls were too
smooth to be climbed and carved with runes that he couldn�t read. No ladder and
no stairs remained after centuries of abandonment. He might have tried climbing
anyways, if he were alone, but with Darath having
apparently followed him and winding up falling with him when the ground level
floor gave way, that was right out. There was no way he was going to leave his
friend, let alone another Gray Warden.
�� He
hollered for help for about twenty minutes before realizing that none was
coming. Dark thoughts rose up but he squashed them. They�d get out of here. Somehow.
�� Well,
that out of the way� The floor had a good layer of moisture on it, and getting Darath off that floor was the first matter of business. He
didn�t need to catch a chill on top of having a broken ankle, too. He grimaced.
Taking off his chest and shoulder armor, he let the metal clang to the floor,
doing his best to toss the unconscious mage over his shoulder and looking for a
perch. There was a good deal of stone debris around the walls, but the highest,
driest and flattest piece of stone was a squared off boulder the size of a
large table that was half buried in more rubble. It took some work, but
Alistair managed to get his fellow up and on the stone, and with some luck
their friends would find them soon. Or Darath would
wake up and magic them out. Or maybe� His thoughts
trailed off as he did his best to set the break, removing his leather boot and
tearing strips off Darath�s robe to bind it up and
hold it still. Not much else to be done. It was another small mercy that the
mage did not awaken during this; setting bones sometimes were as painful as the
breaks.
�� Letting
his mind wander, Alistair sat back and tried to get comfortable. Odd, but this seat
wasn�t even that bad. Nowhere near as cold as a stone table ought to have been.
The clenched fear in his belly drained away, aches fading, muscles loosening as
he looked up. The moon shone through the cracks, lending a gentle glow to the
room. Fresh air blew, a warm breeze despite the hour,
caressing his cheek and he settled back further. Air surged down to the bottom
of his lungs and out again, urgent thoughts all but evaporated. Limp, he felt
like his muscles had turned to water, moving on strings. He exhaled, looking at
his friend, now sprawled out over his lap with his lower legs propped up over
the edge of the stone and found himself wishing that Darath was a
woman. It was a strange thing to be musing about, but the thought came
unbidden. Better than worrying about escape, anyways.
Maker knew that Darath was pretty enough. Pale skin, large eyes and long
lashes made his face lovely, but he was all hard edges and lines. He had none
of the soft curves that made Morrigan so tempting
even as she repulsed him.
�� But
those thoughts lead to him wondering what Darath�s
relationship with Zev actually was, and what they did, and because some of
those noises they made kept him up at night.
�� His skin
was soft, too.
�� Alistair
blinked. When had he started touching Darath�s face?
There was just a hint of stubble, and his lips were warm but firm, not like how
he imagined a woman�s at all.
�� This
wasn�t right. The other man was unconscious� and his earlier hard-on
reawakened, straining against his codpiece. His hands had taken on a life of
their own; sensation from his fingers going to his groin without his mind
getting in the way. Smoothing over Darath�s forehead,
lingering over the pulse point on his neck, dragging down the front of his
heavy woolen robe, his hands wandered by themselves. His mouth watered of its
own accord when he circled a nipple, feeling it harden under the fabric before
pinching it and hearing his friend�s soft intake of breath.
�� He rode
behind his own eyes, a smile curving his mouth as Darath�s
lips parted, still unconscious. His hands left Darath�s
chest, following the line of his ribs down to his stomach, before hovering over
his elaborate belt buckle. A tent was forming in the lower end of his friend�s
robes, and the idea that he caused it, that he was the one rousing his fellow
caused Alistair to swallow convulsively. Not enough. He could hear Darath�s breathing, but he wasn�t touching enough skin. And
to taste- �he
leaned down despite himself, his tongue running over the mage�s full lips,
tasting lyrium and herb tea and firm wet heat. Good. Very good. He had felt like a teacher was guiding his hands
a moment ago, but he stepped into the role, eager for more. The taste turned
into a kiss, his tongue probing further against the roughness of another�s
tongue. Better. What would other places taste like?
�� Pain
forgotten, he eased his way off the stone, stepping away to get a better angle,
when he stopped cold.
�� What am I doing?�
�� Realization
hit him like an ogre. The daze of riding behind his
eyes while he played with the body of his friend popped, leaving him feeling
ill, confused, and angry. Darath was unconscious. Not only that, he was
injured, and helpless. He couldn�t say no, yes, maybe�
�� And by Andraste�s cu- by Andraste�s
woman parts, his balls ached.
�� Shutting
his eyes, he whirled around, before fixing his gaze on the wall and muttering
to himself while unbuckling what remained of his armor and dropping it to the
ground. His skin was too tight.
�� Stripped
to his smallclothes, he reached down, swallowing a whine at how his hands just
weren�t enough, his body wanting the heat and tight just right behind-
�� Alistair?�
�� Darath�s voice had him doubling over, hands on his knees as
he gasped. The sound of his name in that needy, breathy voice made gooseflesh
crawl down his arms and he nearly came right there.
�� Alistair,
are you,� there was a pause, and he could hear Darath
propping himself up, coughing and groaning. �Are you all right? What happened?�
Another pause. �Um. Turn
around?�
�� I�d
rather not.�
�� What is
this place? Last thing I remember was going to see if you wanted company for
the rest of your watch, you were gone and you� um� the floor fell out.�
�� Alistair
still hadn�t turned around.
�� Help
me?�
�� The
sound of his friend�s voice, rising in tone but almost inaudible did him in. He
turned, seeing Darath on the stone slab, pulling his
feet up and wincing as he touched his head. The knot there wasn�t bad, and the
ankle was turning purple. His friend seemed to notice for all of a minute.
�� Alistair
shuddered when he saw Darath absently tug off his
robe, shucking his trousers and sweating hard either in pain or arousal, eyes
half-lidded as he lay on his back. It wasn�t pain, though, that
made him put one big hand over his crotch and idly stroke, up and down,
the tent in his smallclothes pitching higher. Long, muscular legs fell apart,
back arching into his own touch while his free hand pinched a nipple.
�� But Darath didn�t look to be riding this, the way Alistair had.
His eyes met the templar�s in a mix of��
lust and panic. �What�s going on?�
�� I don�t
know. We fell down here, you were injured and I tried to get you off the floor.
The next thing I knew I was touching you. Felt like a puppet on a string. A
happy puppet, but,� Alistair realized he hadn�t stopped touching himself, and
it felt like a cruel tease. �I�m sorry. I was about to, I don�t know. I just
remember feeling like I had to taste you.�
�� Before
him Darath licked his dry lips, a small whine in the
back of his throat. �I can�t read the runes, but they�re magic. So damn hard- I
can�t concentrate.� His teeth clenched, and Alistair recognized the signs of
him trying magical, insane, and powerful-
�� When he went completely limp. Well, not all of him, but the
fight was gone. When he opened his eyes again, they were dark with lust.
�Please.�
�� Getting
away from the stone slab had helped, but the sight of the other Gray Warden,
awake, aware, and wanting him now,
and making those small needy sounds that had driven him to distraction for
weeks as he touched himself-
�� He
tripped getting back, barely catching himself as he returned, bracing himself
between Darath�s legs and pulling free his
smallclothes. The other man�s heavy erection stood up, jutting from between his
legs as he leaned down to wrap his lips around the head.
�� The
heavy scent of musk mingled with the taste of salt as he tongued the slit
before engulfing the head, holding the base while the other man writhed. Large
hands settled in his hair, gripping but not pulling as he relaxed his throat.
This was good. Up, down-�
the feeling of riding behind his own eyes didn�t increase. Just
watching, waiting. �
�� The
whimper, whine from Darath rose, gasps getting louder
and louder- and Alistair pulled away.
�� Maker�s balls, Alistair! What are you-�
�� Do you
do this with Zevran?� he asked, climbing up on the
slab and carefully lifting the other man�s legs over his shoulders. �I mean,
you two- what do you do?� He could feel Darath�s
shaft against his belly, and his own pressing against Darath�s
ass, dryly rubbing up against his cleft.
�� So far,
we�ve only jerked each other off,� Darath whispered.
Pain seemed forgotten, or so far below pleasure that it wasn�t noticeable. If
he could think, that would make Alistair happy. As it was, he was ignoring
their hurts completely. �But,� the mage licked his lips. �Need you to stretch
me some. Fingers.�
�� He
didn�t ask what needed stretching, as Darath took one
of his hands, kissing his wrist, his palm, before taking his fingers into his
mouth and swirling his tongue about them. Alistair�s hips rocked, and he bit
his lips to keep from doing anything stupid-
�� Alistair
pulled his fingers free, well damp with saliva and found Darath�s
entrance by feel. He was so eager he thrust in two fingers, quickly, scissoring
them out and listening to the mage�s half-shriek. �Careful!�
�� The
words made him pause, and he shook his head. His muscles were trembling with
eagerness as he made a hasty stretch. Without much more preparation, he pressed
forward into the hot, tight body below him.
�� Darath�s large hands gripped his shoulders, drawing lines
of cold fire down Alistair�s back as he seated himself inside the other man�s
ass, balls deep before pulling back and slapping his balls against the other�s
backside. He started out uneven, his conscious mind
trying to shut out the other�s hard on against his stomach, moving in fits and
starts before settling into a rhythm.
�� He
doesn�t last long.
�� When he
comes, spilling himself inside the other Warden the feeling of being a puppet
ceases, back completely within his own skin and�
�� Exhaustion
played out in his muscles, but he remembered quite clearly what blue balls felt
like and helped his friend finished, their hands moving along the other�s
length until Darath came and he fell forward. He
might have felt a kiss against his forehead but he didn�t know for sure� he was
that tired.
�� What
the blazes was that?� he managed to drag out, after easing himself
out of Darath�s body and then collapsing on top. He
felt sticky, achy, and just plain wonderful despite the fact that he was
pressed up against a flat naked chest. Still softer than
stone and a lot warmer.
�� Dunno.� Darath�s breath in his
ear was not unwelcome. �But� that rune there? Looks
like the rune of one of the gods in the Dalish camp.�
�� Let me
guess. God of love?�
�� Goddess of fertility.�
�What?�
The end
��
- 1
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Altar