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The Bull's Pen	By : LadySummerisle Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 4591 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age: Inquisition, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 7
- 8
   Malika stared into her half-downed tankard of ale. What am I even doing here? She thought. Tucked away in the corner of the Herald’s Rest, she had left her chambers with the idea of seeking company, but neither of her brainy mage friends could be found. It was a shame; it was so easy to get lost in Solas’ tales of the fade or one of Dorian’s enthusiastic tirades and forget all of her troubles. Instead, she found herself alone in perhaps the only uninhabited part of the tavern, drinking. It was a cozy enough spot made even more comfortable as the warm haze of liquor took over. Tucked behind the stairs, it was near enough to the bard to hear her clearly and right beside the toasty fire, but there was something so devastatingly empty about it...maybe it was just in her mind.
   Having just returned from Adamant Fortress, the brutal assault weighed heavily on her mind. Haven was a tragedy; they had been victims of the attack, fighting for their lives against the forces of evil...but Adamant? She lead those men out of safety and into danger, some even to their deaths. And the Champion of Kirkwall...another casualty. She wanted a distraction and even more than that she needed companionship. Intimacy. The touch of another. She wanted to see the Iron Bull, but thoughts of their last meeting haunted her. The nightmare demon made sure of that. It raped her mind, searching for painful thoughts and memories, but it didn’t need to delve deep to find them.
“If you defeat me,” it said, “with whom will you celebrate your victory? Will it be alone in your chambers with your toys or with the Qunari you pay to abuse you?”
The deeper they traveled into the fade, the worse the taunting became.
“Do you think he could ever actually want you? You are a tool and he will discard you once you’ve worn out your usefulness.”
She wasn’t sure if what she heard was said out loud; as far as she could tell, no one else noticed it. Even if they could hear, they were surely being confronted with their own fears and doubts; too busy to care about hers.
She held her hand to her cheek, rubbing in the spot where he kissed so close to her mouth. It felt like he wanted her when it happened, and ever since, she had felt the urge to write to him. To lay her desires bare and ask him to forget their arrangement; beg him to touch her, kiss her and fuck her...but to what end? Even if he were to agree, it would still be make believe. The demon had been right: his heart and body belonged to the Qun and she was merely a tool for his service. Surely, she deserved something better, something more. A lover capable of actual love.
   “My Lady?”
   Malika’s head jerked up. Blackwall. Of course it was Blackwall. She took a long drink as he came toward her, completely draining her cup.
   “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you in here before.” he said, hands nervously playing with the hem of his padded shirt.
   “Warden Blackwall.” said Malika, nodding her head and tipping her tankard towards him.
   “What’s the occasion?”
   “I was lonely.” she said truthfully, but immediately regretted how pathetic it sounded, “I mean--I guess I just wanted some company…” Blackwall chuckled.
   “Not going to get much of that hiding back here.” he looked to the floor and Malika saw the slightest flush peek out from behind his beard, “Might...I join you?”
   It was a dangerous offer. She lifted her tankard to her lips only to remember she had already drank it dry. She was sober enough yet to know this was a bad plan. More drinking would lead to more bad decisions and another embarassed, hungover morning....but wasn’t this exactly what she had asked for? Blackwall was a good man--a nice man--and he did seem to care for her. He didn’t make her heart pound, nor had he ever come to mind during her private hours in her chambers--nice men rarely did--but with enough drink...No, she thought, this is a bad plan. Tell him no, tell him sorry...go to bed. Sleep it off.
   “Sure.” is what she said, then signaled the barmaid for another drink.
   Three drinks down and Malika was flying. It was nowhere near the blackout drunk she had been the last time, but still her consciousness fluctuated, one moment focusing on conversation, the next drifting off into fevered daydreams that left her flushed and aching. It didn’t help that with every passing minute her and Blackwall grew closer. He grew brave as he drank and now he was so close that she could feel the heat of his body and the weight of his hand on her shoulder. Her head lulled to the side to rest on it.
   “Inquisitor…” he said, so softly it was almost a breath.
   “I should...it’s late…” she mumbled and stood up only to find herself staggering to stay upright. Blackwall jumped up to catch her before she toppled over.
   “Maybe I should walk with you.”
   She leaned on him, letting her back rest against his bulk. He was large...not nearly the same size as the Iron Bull, but he still towered over her by almost two feet and the solidness of his body coupled with the throbbing between her legs was enough to convince her to give it a chance.
   They left together, neither walking very steadily until they reached her chambers. At the top of the stairs, Malika turned back and saw him standing before her, two steps down and looking at her with those familiar, pleading eyes. She placed a hand on his chest and was greeted by the feeling of stiff muscle beneath his padded shirt. Her hands traveled up to his collar and began toying with his buttons. He wasn’t what she wanted, but it had been so long that even feeling the heat from his body made her feel like a broken templar, desperate for her next fix.
   “I...I should go, my Lady…” he said, cheeks red from drink and arousal. Malika pulled gently on his collar until their faces were inches apart.
   “Probably.” she said, then their lips met.
   It was a fevered mess of lips, teeth, tongue and beard. Details blurred in Malika’s memory, but she could recall moving to the bed and hearing Blackwall object. Saying they shouldn’t do this, how it wasn’t right...she remembered herself agreeing, but neither of them stopped. Then he was on top of her, holding himself up on his elbows while he rutted against her. She reached down to feel him. He was thicker than she was expecting and it seemed the liquor had little effect on his hardness. She lined him up with her entrance and sighed as he entered her. She closed her eyes and felt his body moving above her, all muscle and hair. Finding a bare patch to clutch onto towards his back, she couldn’t help but fantasize about the Iron Bull. Imagining him holding her down while he stretched her with his massive rod. The thought caused her to squirm and buck into Blackwall’s hips. He responded by increasing his pace and deepening his stroke. He found a good spot and hit it over and over again; Malika cursed and whined. In her head, the Iron Bull continued to fuck her, hard and mercilessly, his mouth widening into his perfect, evil grin. That was enough to bring her to peak. She panted and sighed as she came, but then opened her eyes and remembered who she was with.
   Panic set in and suddenly she was crawling backwards towards the head of the bed,
   “My Lady…?” said Blackwall with surprise and concern on his face.
   “I’m sorry--” she said, folding her knees up to her chest, “I can’t--I’m sorry--I shouldn’t have--we shouldn’t have done this. I need to stop.”
   She rested her head on her chest, looking down at her legs and nothing was said for a long moment.
   “I...understand, My Lady…” he said,
   “Please don’t call me that.” she snapped and was taken aback by her own harshness, “I’m sorry, I mean...you could just...call me my name?”
   “Maybe just, ‘Inquisitor’’s best for now,” said Blackwall as he stood up. He dressed in silence then walked towards where she sat curled up on the bed,
   “Are you going to be alright? Do you need anything?”
   “You are very kind, Warden Blackwall…” she said softly, “But I think I’ll be fine.”
   When he left, Malika turned on her side and held her face in her hands. This was just what she needed, more tension in the ranks. She would have to think twice before bringing Blackwall anywhere now. Things would be uncomfortable at best...at worst, she supposed, he might leave. Across the room, she heard her phone chime. Unwilling to let her indiscretion impair her performance as a leader, she swiftly went to check it.
She opened her email and nearly dropped her phone,
from: theironbull@thebullspen.com
to: mabari@inquisition.org
We need to talk. How soon can you and Red get to Val Royeaux?
- 7
- 8
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The Bull's Pen