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Maker's Abandon	By : TropicalFool Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 4434 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Dragon Age & all characters are owned by BioWare & EA, not me. I make no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 1-Maker's Abandon
- 2-Maker's Abandon 2
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- 2
[Very definitely 18 and over ONLY warning. This is a bit debauched, even for me. Also, if you are a fan of Sebastian, you may want to stop reading now… or perhaps not… but don't blame me if you chose to continue. You have been warned.]

"You don't buy that act, do you?" Morrigan studied the dour elf across the table as she held up her cup for another round. She had come to the Free Marches in search of Flemeth, and had been questioning recent arrivals from Ferelden when she noticed the elf with the lyrium burns. She knew what they were immediately, of course, and their more… intimate… possibilities for pleasure.
She had been bargaining with a merchant for a lovely, but overpriced, maroon scarf, when the elf came up and offered full price, undercutting her haggling. For a moment she had been incensed, but then he had turned and bowed, presenting her with the piece of silk. It was a charming and gallant gesture and she had been intrigued.
They walked and talked for some time about the politics of Kirkwall and the plight of the refugees and other matters of less import. As evening was closing in, he invited her to his Hightown mansion. A elf with a mansion? In the most exclusive part of the city? And a lyrium burned former slave at that? This was an offer she would not refuse.
It was a mansion, but sadly derelict, which made it feel homey to Morrigan. She had nothing against comfort, but little time for pretension.
When the second bottle of wine had been consumed, and the elf had brought the third, manipulating the corkscrew expertly, she boldly reached out and touched the lyrium mark on his chin. It hissed and spat sparks as he snarled, "Apostate!" pulling back from her stroke.
She laughed, saying, "It's going to be like that, is it? You know that you are every bit as magical as I am, so don't play noble Templar and despised apostate with me."
He sputtered at her accusation, unable to deny it, to himself at least, but still outraged. "These," he indicated the pattern, "were forced upon me by a mage. At the cost of great pain, I might add."
Amused, Morrigan retorted, "And you think when I was a little girl someone came to be and said, 'Morrigan, my dear, you now have a choice. You may be a hated apostate mage, despised throughout all the lands and hunted by the remorseless Templars, or you can be a normal little girl. Now which will it be?' and I answered, "Oh yes! Sign me up for despised mage, kind ser!"
Fenris narrowed his eyes at her. He hated in the very depths of his being to admit she was right… but she was right. Mages did not ask to be mages any more than he had asked for his fate.
Seeing the slight softening in him, she cajoled, "I know what those are, and I know uses for them that you may have never considered. You look like the sort who understands battle and blood, but there is more to life and more to magic."
To say that Fenris was untrusting would be to badly understate the case, but there had been a certain thrill throughout him when she touched him. He found that with most women, it was a matter of overcoming the discomfort any pressure on the burns caused. What if they could bring pleasure, rather than pain and the memory of pain? He dropped his head, considering the possibilities, and when he raised it again, staring directly at her with those malachite eyes, Morrigan knew she had won.
The witch, however, enjoyed the game as much as the resolution. When the elf had suggested she spend the night, she had demurely refused, but suggested that they meet at the Hanged Man the next day.
They had soon found a mutual fondness for Wicked Grace as well as fine wines and the afternoon tête-à-têtes became a regular thing.
Morrigan was amused as the elf became more and more obsessed with her, bringing gifts to their meetings and making various overtures. Finally she decided that she had tormented him enough and suggested that they spend the night together, loudly enough that everyone in the pub heard. All conversation ceased and everyone turned to see the pale gloomy elf blush deep crimson. He growled something indecipherable, grabbed her hand, and all but ran from the bar.
When they were safely at his manor, he demanded, "Was that really necessary?"
"Necessary?" she queried. "Perhaps not, but it was very funny."
"So," he snarled back, "you enjoy humiliating me?"
She looked at him innocently, her eyes wide, and said, "But, of course!"
"You are impossible, woman," he replied as he pushed her hard against the wall, his lips seeking hers. His hand held her by the throat, and he applied just enough pressure to be threatening.
Morrigan opened her mouth to him, enjoying his need and his brutality. She hated softness in lovers, it was just so… bland. She undid his belt and let it drop, reaching under the jerkin to find more of the lyrium pattern. When her magic joined with his, she dropped the elf to the floor as well.
He sat up, stunned, shaking his head, and as aroused as he could ever remember being. Reaching a hand down, she said lazily, "I supposed that you do have a bed? Tile floors are such a bother."
Refusing the hand, not bothering to rise, he tipped his head and said, "That way," watching her back disappear through the arch. He needed a few moments to come back into himself before he could trust his legs to carry him, and was grateful that he had been granted this small reprieve.
As he he entered the bedroom, still unsteady, he found Morrigan naked on his deep violet silk sheets. She had thrown the bedclothes onto the floor and was toying with a nipple with one hand, while two fingers of the other were buried deep inside her. Looking up, she said, "I wasn't sure you were coming, so I thought I'd start without you."
Fenris answered by ripping off his jerkin and peeling the tights from his legs. When he stood, Morrigan examined him critically. Not bad for an elf. Not large, of course, but thick enough, and that lovely lyrium pattern that was now glowing and throbbing softly, there, and everywhere else on his body.
Roaring with frustrated desire, he jumped between her outstretched legs, wresting her hand from within her, and savagely thrusting his entire length into her. It was a brutal act, but it was the elf who screamed. Through his agony, he vaguely realized that he had not considered what it would be like to be completely surrounded by her magic.
He threw himself off her and across the room, where he huddled in torment and, to his shame, wept. Every fiber of his being was alight. There was no part of him that was not in hell as he writhed on the floor. Morrigan replaced her hand and ignored him.
When he could speak, Fenris said, "Out. Just get out. That was… horrible. As bad as when these were made. How could you do that to me?" There was a slight whine in his voice, and he hated her all the more for that.
Blinking up at him, coming out of her self inspired revelry, she replied, "And just who's fault is that, hummm? I do not recall inviting you to jump on me and impale me. There are ways that this can be done, but that was not one of them." She negligently waved the hand that had been at her breast, and the elf's pain disappeared, to be replaced by a pleasant lassitude.
The witch patted a place beside her on the bed, saying, "Come, elf, let momma make it all better." Feeling very much the moth to her flame, he crawled to the bed, then climbed to sit beside her.
"Now, little one," she began, "we touch here, then here," she waited, watching the ardor rise within him, "then here." The lyrium beneath his skin lit up like iron straight from the forge.
She took his hand and placed it on her breast, wrapping the fingers around an erect nipple. "Squeeze," she ordered. He gave a tentative tightening. In disgust, she said, "Oh surely you can do better than that. Squeeze as hard as you can." Annoyed and angry still for the pain he had suffered, regardless of the cause, he compiled. She gasped, the air escaping in a musical note, and said huskily, "Good. Yes, very very good.
"I am afraid," she continued, "that you will never be able to enter me in the conventional sense, well, at least not again. You experienced what happens if we do that. But we can set up a sort of circuit between us. Give me your other hand."
He held it out, but when she grasped it, he pulled back. "Now, now, do not be afraid, mon petit amoureux," she purred. "Hands are not the same as cocks. You will experience pleasure this time. Perhaps a bit of pain, but I assure you there will be enough pleasure overlaying it that you will be happy you compiled."
He let her draw his hand down to the soft black mound between her legs, her womanhood glowing pinkly, distended, glistening and pushing out from the dark hair that surrounded it. "Do not forget your other fingers," she chided. "I expect you to keep them in place and squeezing hard, whatever else happens. It is essential."
Fenris could feel his cock fairly pounding on his stomach, a solid thump for each beat of his heart, and his heart was beating faster by the minute. His breathing was ragged and rasping in his throat. He felt that if he were not granted release soon, he would explode, not just in orgasm, but literally in little bloody pieces that would decorate the walls of this room and the cruel temptress who had enthralled him.
Morrigan was sliding his hand between her legs and pushing his fingers into her hot slick cavern, using her own to position him on exactly the correct spot. When all was to her satisfaction, she reached out with her free hand and stroked the pattern on Fenris' chest. Light and heat surrounded them in shimmering waves, slamming the elf with pleasure so intense he could feel his eyeballs burning. His cock gave up its burden in a fountain of white hot come as the witch moaned and clamped herself around his trapped fingers.
It seemed to go on and one, wave after wave slamming against him. He was sure that he would be drained not only of a lifetime supply of semen, but of every liquid his body could produce, be left nothing but a dried up husk to be blown away by the next draft. And he could wish for life to give him nothing more.
Then it ended. Dark descended on the room like a heavy curtain dropped over a bright stage. Dark so complete next to the brilliant light that he found himself completely blind. The witch had pulled his hands from her body and tossed them back to him. He now groped for her, but when he felt a soft breast, she grunted. "Leave me alone. Go to sleep, or whatever men do, but keep your hands off me."
Puzzled, and he admitted it, hurt, he turned on his side and did as directed.
That had been several weeks ago, and they had grown in expertise together since, but Morrigan had to admit that she was becoming bored with Fenris. Or at least with Fenris alone. Now Fenris and another man?
She had began scouting, and found one she thought a likely prospect. She had always been fond of pretty men, and this one certainly qualified. Plus he had a lovely voice and a certain innocence about him that was greatly appealing. It was this prospective conquest who was the subject of their current conversation.
She had been surprised to find such a rarified creature in the dingy tavern, but there he was, and he seemed comfortable with Fenris and his cohorts.
From long experience, she knew that the way to excite most men, was to ally herself with a woman. This seemed strange, but was almost infallible with even the most stubborn male. It therefore delighted her when she found that the Hanged Man was not only the local, but the residence of, her old friend Isabella. They had become quite the item, at least in public, always together, sitting on each other's lap, kissing and fondling. At first Fenris had been a bit jealous, but he soon realized that it was only a tease and sat back to enjoy with the rest of the male, and a goodly proportion of the female, customers.
More than once, Morrigan had glanced up through her lashes to see the redhead staring open mouthed, then catching himself and looking away. He was, after all, only a man and they were all susceptible to the sight of two women pleasuring themselves and each other, at least all of those who liked women at all and a surprising number of those who didn't.
"He claims he's taken a vow of chastity," Fenris remarked.
"I have heard such claims before," she replied. "They are usually shallow as a piss puddle. His intellectual posturings do not interest me at all. His body does."
"But he's boring," the elf contested. "He spends all of his time saying Maker this, Maker that as if he had a direct line to the divine."
Morrigan looked at him in mild exasperation. "Did I just say that I don't give two figs for his mind? Assuming he has one, of course. I just want that body, to do the things that you can't do, while you do the things that he will never be able to do. That isn't asking too much, is it?" She batted her eyelashes girlishly and he laughed.
"All right," he said, "I'll invite him over. I don't know if he'll accept, but I'll couch it as a tactical discussion between to men of arms. And appeal to his guilt and his heroism. That always works with those sorts."
Especially when aided by a touch of subtle magic, Morrigan thought smugly to herself.
Sebastian was not sure why he had accepted Fenris' invitation, but it all seemed innocent enough. He'd brought a bottle of fine Orlesian wine and dressed well, feeling a bit silly, but he had had few enough dinner invitations since joining the Chantry.
The elf greeted him as warmly as one could expect from Fenris, and led him to the dining room where a surprisingly elaborate meal was already laid out for them. The candles were lit and the wine decanted. He was escorted to a chair and given a large silken serviette while his host fussed and asked if he would like brandy as well.
Declining the stronger drink, Sebastian poured himself a glass of the heavy red wine and took a large sip, rolling it around his mouth with pleasure. One thing about the elf, he knew his wine.
They had began eating, Fenris just carving the pheasant, when Morrigan strolled in. Sebastian was immediately on his feet, bowing low and stammering, "Forgive me, I was not aware there were other guests."
Laying a hand firmly on his shoulder, she pressed him back into his seat, saying, "Think nothing of it. I wasn't sure if I would be attending or not, and I didn't want to disappoint by making promises." Of course this was patently untrue. Morrigan had engineered the whole encounter, but if she had announced her intentions, she was sure Sebastian would not have accepted.
She allowed her hand to trail down his arm as she left him to sit on Fenris' other side, giving the new boy a very false sense of safety.
The meal would have been stupefyingly boring to her had she not spent it imagining Fenris and Sebastian in various configurations, some with her, some without. It had occurred to her that although the elf could not enter her directly, he could enter the other man, who could then enter her. It was something that she had not experienced, lyrium burns being so rare, since so few survived. She wondered if the magic would carry through the body of the mundane man, one to the other, and decided it was something that she must try.
They were having brandy by the fire, Sebastian happily relaxed and just a bit drunk, when she next touched him. It was made to seem like an accident, her hand grazing his jaw as she passed, but she could feel the little frisson within him. Yes, it had been too long, foolish boy, wasting all of that glorious youth on some mythical creed.
Fenris was doing his part, keeping the conversation interesting for their guest by discussing theology, which disgusted Morrigan, but anything to keep the pretty one in line.
She could, of course, use her magic at any time to make him her willing slave, but there was more fun in seeing how much she could accomplish without. She expected at some point he would need a nudge, but for now she was enjoying the game, and glad to see that Fenris seemed to be as well.
Her next opportunity came when Sebastian stood to retrieve more brandy for Fenris. She pretended to misunderstand the request, standing also and coming breast to breast with him, her hands innocently on his shoulders. She looked up into his lapis lazuli eyes and gave him the tiniest shove of desire. It was all that was required. Surprising her, he wrapped his arms around her and placed his mouth hungrily on hers.
It was then that Morrigan began to doubt her choice. She hated men who were clumsy and needy and the way he was kissing her, his tongue flapping about, his teeth pressing her lips, and hugging her too hard to be comfortable, but not hard enough to be interesting, indicated both. She wriggled in irritation and saw Fenris laughing at her over the redhead's shoulder.
Recovering, he thrust her back, rather insultingly, saying, "Oh Maker. I don't know what came over me. Can you ever forgive me?"
No, she thought, as she said, "Yes. Yes, of course." You will pay for this, Chantry boy, she vowed. She patted him maternally, saying, "There, there, it's the wine and the late hour. Sit down and we shall pretend that nothing happened."
As the large man sunk into his chair, his head in his hand in remorse, she gestured urgently to Fenris. Leaving the archer to his guilt, they retreated to another room, quietly closing the door.
"It seems I have made a mistake," Morrigan admitted.
Fenris could not resist an I told you so. He said, "Yes. Those cloistered types are rarely as much fun as they appear. Rather like virgins. Disappointing in the end."
"That though," she was pacing now, occasionally kicking a piece of furniture, "it was disgusting. And then to push me away like that after… after…" She was not sure which was worse, the physical distastefulness or the insult. "He will pay. Tonight. He will do things that he can't imagine, but we can, and he will remember doing every one of them and he will know in his heart that he wanted every dirty, nasty bit of it. And we will make sure that everyone knows every detail."
Fenris felt as if he should protest, but after an evening of 'the Maker' he was in full agreement. He felt quite as abused as Morrigan, possibly more so, so he joined in with her plans with a certain glee.
She was thinking now as she continued to pace, her hand on her chin. "Send a message to Isabella. Tell her 'perverted pirate party.' She will know exactly what that means. Then go to the Blooming Rose and hire anyone who is free. Especially bring Jethann, even if you have to pay extra, I quite like him."
Fenris sat about happily on his errands while Morrigan returned to check on their guest, soon to be their victim. If she had had the tiniest scrap of doubt, it was erased when she found him on his knees praying to his useless Maker. He would find out tonight just how much that faith was worth to him.
Stalking away in disgust, Morrigan settled herself to wait, with a glass of wine and some cheese to keep her occupied. Her only task until the others returned was to keep the repellent man in place, and he seemed well poised to pray until dawn.
Fenris returned in good time with Jethann and six other inmates of the brothel; three handsome men and three particularly stunning women. Morrigan had just settled them in the bedroom when Isabella arrived with her crew. They were as dissipated and debauched as only pirates could be, not a man among them who would not do anything at all for a tot of rum or the promise of a kiss.
Showing the new arrivals into the fortunately large bedroom, she turned to Fenris and said, "Rope. I want rope. A lot of it. In various thicknesses, if possible." He nodded an headed to his storeroom, confident that he had just the thing. Passing the sitting room, he would hear whining with the occasional 'Maker' interjected, and he pursued his errand with renewed vigor.
When she returned with more drinks, Morrigan was pleased to see the whores and pirates disporting themselves. A little warmup never hurt. She smiled, distributing rum and brandy freely, then when to fetch the one who had dared to insult her.
She laid a hand on Sebastian's shoulder and felt him shudder as he begged the Maker for forgiveness. Lovely she thought. She stopped Fenris as he passed, his arms burdened with coils of rope, and picked out a thin strand, not too long. Walking back to the kneeling man, she casually wrapped it around his neck, tying it snugly, but not too tightly. He was so absorbed in praying that he was oblivious of her. When she reached for his hand, however, he broke off from his keening and pulled back.
"What are you doing?" he demanded in that voice that, despite herself, she still found stimulating. She tugged at the rope around his neck and he stood, indignantly glaring at her. "You have almost caused me to break my vows, evil woman. I am leaving now," he said.
"You are not," she replied calmly, a smile playing about her lips. "You are going to have an evening such as most men only dream of, and then only in their most private imaginings."
"Get away from me witch!" he growled. Well, you got that one right, at least, Morrigan thought. She had been wondering how long it would take him to twig to that little fact. He was pretty, but just not very bright.
He started to storm off, but found that his feet would not answer his command. Snarling down at the raven maned enchantress, he said, "What have you done to me? Let me go this instant! The Maker will punish you for this wickedness!"
"That," she answered, "is a chance I'm willing to take. Now come along." She pulled at the leash she had fashioned and Sebastian found himself helpless to resist.
Entering the main room, she paused to consider. Should she allow the crew she had assembled to disrobe him, or lead him in naked. After a bit of thought, she decided that the later would be more humiliating. "Fenris, a bit of help if you will," she called.
The elf came, his jerkin askew and a glass of rum in his hand. "Yes, mistress of my heart?" he said teasingly.
She indicated Sebastian. Fenris could see his muscles straining and bunching, but it seemed the human was unable to move. Morrigan said, "Until he is properly bound, I need to keep control. Strip him if you please."
It was said matter-of-factly, but the last word was drowned out by Sebastian's howl of "Nooooooo! Maker noooooo!"
"Yes," she responded and nodded to the elf. She was pleased to see that Fenris took his time about his task, giving Sebastian ample opportunity to realize what was happening. While it took concentration to hold the magic, she wasn't really all that interested in the process and let her mind wander to pleasures to come. When Fenris indicated that he was done, she looked at her victim and broke into laughter, almost loosening the spell. He was fully erect, and a rather nice, long, curved member it was too.
She pointed and Sebastian looked down in shock. Pulling his chin up to look him in the eye, she said, "That I did not do. That my boy is all of your own making. Or perhaps your Maker's making, but 'tis no magic of mine. That came from the touch of this elf, or maybe just the titillation of being stripped naked, but you will remember that it is all yours. Come now." She tugged the leash and led him to the party.
[I really don't know if this one will continue or not… if you would like it to, please let me know. If you are satisfied with your own imaginings of Sebastian's evening, then we can stop right here.]
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Maker's Abandon