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Strangers with Cookies	By : pirouette Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 9211 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age/Bioware, its characters, or any content used for the basis of this fanfiction. I am making no money from this work.

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Title: Strangers with Cookies

Chapter Nine: �We will never speak of this again.�
Rating: M (NOTE THE RATING SWITCH)

Word Count: 3,400

Characters: f!Mahariel, Sten, Leliana, Alistair, Wynne, Morrigan,
Zevran

Summary: Adhara unleashes herself upon Denerim, Alistair upon
Leliana, Zevran upon Alistair, Oghren UPON THE WORLD, and Sten upon Adhara.
Pity the bartender. �

Denerim makes it clear that it is the capital of Ferelden:
where the other cities only smell, it reeks; where people gather elsewhere,
here they throng; and everywhere, of course, there are dogs. Dogs and mud, and
dogs covered in mud, and children covered in mud playing with dogs. In more
mud. Adhara appears as horrified as Sten, even though this is not their first
visit, but the others seem oddly at home amidst the clutter and the filth.
Tension eases from their shoulders, and even the witch seems more pleasant. Overwhelmed,
but pleasant.
The assassin leads them all to an inn which he assures them
is relatively nice, but the instant he walks in with Adhara behind him the
bartender looks up from his post. �We don't serve knife-ears here.�
�Huh. Must be new management!� the assassin says.
This again. They had dealt with this when they attempted to
join the merchant caravan they had traveled with to get here. After being
waylaid by bandits again, it was decided that rather seek out the Dalish,
they would stop in Denerim to resupply and find new armor for Adhara. The
leader of the merchants asked Adhara where she'd stolen her sword from, and she
punched him in the face and then asked if he had any other questions. By the
end of that night, not a single human in the caravan doubted the existence of
the Dalish elves, and Adhara had been smiling perhaps more widely than usual.
Now, she turns that same smile on the bartender. �Yes, you
do.�
A tall man by the door is motioned over.� �Come on, little
lady,� he rumbles, crossing his arms and letting his tattoos bulge
conspicuously. �Let's go outside without a fuss.�
Sten can't help but be impressed by how quickly she has him
floored and under her boot. While he spits blood, she smiles at the bartender
again. �A round of your best ale for the house, please.�
And that is how she wins the favor of the inebriated human
patrons while one of their own twitches and bleeds beneath her. The bartender
she wins with her coin, and soon they have a corner table, what passes for good
food in Ferelden, and three rooms reserved: one for the women, one for the men,
and one for Sten, who is deemed �too large to share a bed.�
He doesn't mind. A night to himself will be a welcome respite
after the noise of the caravan. Traveling in such a sizeable group meant that
they didn't have to stand watch themselves, which he suspects is a large part
of why Adhara threw in with them in the first place; they have not spoken alone
since he kissed her. Around the others she is still pleasant to him, but he has
caught her giving him a calculating stare more than once. Tonight she is
sitting beside him at the table, warm, and close, and yet radiating a chill
that discourages him from attempting conversation.
�I'll be getting new armor tomorrow,� she tells the group
after she assigns rooms. �You're free to do as you like, so long as the Watch
doesn't catch you and I don't end up owing anyone money.�
�What are the chances of borrowing a few gold, Warden?� asks
the assassin.
�A few gold?�
�Yes. I want to walk into a brothel and not leave until I
have to crawl out on my hands and knees, weeping from exhaustion.�
She rolls her eyes and tosses him two sovereigns. �That
should be enough for five whores. If you can survive that, I'll be amazed.�
�What if I simply take on all five at��
�No,� the Templar interjects. �No. I don't want to hear
this.�
�Tsk, tsk,� the assassin replies. �That's the wrong reaction
entirely. Perhaps you should come along!�
Sten leaves the table once the elf turns his attention fully
upon the Templar, thankful that he will not be in their room tonight. The bed
in his room is too short, but it is better than solid ground and twigs, and it
does not take him long to fall asleep.
Unfortunately, he is in the room beside the Templar
and assassin, and the walls are thin enough that he is not spared listening to
the end of their conversation, which has devolved into a full-blown argument by
the time they retire. He wakes to the sound of drunken shouting through the
wall and instantly wishes he were outdoors where he could simply take his
bedroll further from their tents.
�No, Zev, I'm not sharing a bed with you!� It is as
though the wall is not there. Sten can even hear the man swaying.
�And why not?� An ominous rustling sound. �I am lovely and
warm, and even clean!�
�Because you just spent the past half-hour trying to kiss
me.�
�Would you rather I spooned you, then?�
�...Maker.� The Templar trips and slams into the
wall, and Sten rises from his bed with a sigh.
�It is either me or the dwarf, my fine human friend.�
�Just....� He pauses. �Keep your hands where I can see them,
alright?�
�That lends you less safety than you might think.�
�Augh!�
Sten decides to return to the common room until they have
stopped. He takes his sword out of habit and re-enters the hall, glad to hear
little sound coming from the bar. There are only two people still awake, in
fact, when he enters: the bartender, who is wiping down tables, and Adhara, who
is nursing a glass of beer. He is relieved that she beckons him over and saves
him the necessity of deciding whether to approach or sit on the other end of
the room. When he stands beside her chair, she gives him another calculating
stare.
�Nice shirt.�
Sten is not wearing one, and so shrugs and sits across from
her. �The others woke me on their way to bed.�
�Be glad you left when you did,� she groans. �Alistair got
drunk and kissed Leliana, and then Zevran got offended that he didn't get one
too, and next thing I knew Oghren had no trousers on and I was ordering
everyone to bed.�
�The Templar and the priestess? I am hardly surprised.�
�It makes an odd sort of sense,� she agrees. �Which reminds
me. Aren't I a little short for you?�
�Yes.� He stares down at her grey eyes and her mouth, curved
in the slightest hint of a smile. Neither of them have armor on. If he kissed
her again, he would be able to press her against him and feel her react with
hardly any barrier at all.
Adhara licks her lips, opens her mouth to speak�and is cut
off by the bartender. �Look, not that I don't appreciate you coming in here,
beating up my bouncer, and scaring my clientele, but could you go to your sodding
rooms so I can clean in peace?�
�Stupid shemlen,� she mutters, and grabs Sten's hand,
dragging him from the bar. �Where's your bedroom?� she asks once they reach the
hallway.
He reaches over her head and pushes open a nearby door, and
she walks under his arm and lets herself into his room. As he closes the door
behind them, she turns and crosses her arms, staring at him thoughtfully.
�Kiss me again.�
Sten takes two steps closer and looks down at her. An
impossible task when they are both standing. She realizes the problem and pulls
on his arms with a laugh. �Get down here, you bleeding qunari.�
He falls to his knees, bringing her face closer to his, and
she spends a moment inspecting him. �Huh. Sometimes I forget that you're not
all jaw and chest.�
�Understandable. To me, you are all hair and tattoo.�
She smiles and wraps her arms around his neck. �I wasn't
teasing. Kiss me again. I want to see how it feels.�
He needs a place to keep his hands. Resting them on her hips
seems right, and allows him to pull her slightly closer so that they may kiss.
She leans into him as their lips meet, and so he feels as well as hears her
breath when it begins to go ragged.��
When her tongue seeks his again, Sten's heartbeat deafens
him; all he hears is blood, and with his eyes closed, her smell seems stronger.
He breaks the kiss and presses his face into her neck, inhaling more. Adhara's
fingers brush against the back of his neck, and as he tilts her head to get at
her throat he feels her speak.
�You're not to surprise me like that again. I thought we
were friends, lethallin.�
�We are.� His tongue traces her collarbone, and she gasps.
�Shouldn't you be nervous? I thought you'd never done this
before.�
Sten growls in frustration as she pulls him away from her
neck by his ponytail. He forces his eyes to open. �I haven't,� he replies,
wondering that she should ask at all, considering what she knows of the Beresaad.
�But why does it follow that I should be nervous?�
To his surprise, she giggles. �Oh, that's wonderful. Shemlen,
and some elvhenan, associate sex with maturity. So adults who haven't
tend to be... nervous. Like Alistair.�
Was that what was wrong with the Templar? Parshaara.
�I'm not nervous. Why are we still talking?�
�I guess it makes sense, if the Qun dictates that some
people wouldn't ever do these things,� she continues with a smile. Now she is
baiting him. �If physical closeness was a sign of adulthood, you'd still
be a chi�agh!� He bites at her neck to silence her, and is pleased with the
result: Adhara leans into his mouth, encouraging him to continue.
A delicious thought. But he can't get at enough of her from
where she is standing. So he picks her up by the hips and carries her to the
bed.
�Oh, really?� she asks.
�Yes.� Sten pulls her shirt over her head, allowing himself
to finally give in to his desire to see more of her skin. He had not understood
when she had paraded it before him during their initial fight. Her trousers
come off next, and as an afterthought he removes her smallclothes, as well,
leaving her as naked as she had been when he first realized that she was
female. She stretches and smiles, pale skin accentuated by the darkness of the
bedclothes underneath her.
So strange, to have such light skin and dark hair. It was as
though she had been built his opposite: black hair where his is white, pale
skin where his is bronze, and short stature instead of great height. He has
been among the Fereldans too long, perhaps; he finds the contrast as appealing
now as it was distracting the day she opened his cage.
Grey eyes meet his, and she smiles again. Smiles, and
arches, showing her body off to its best advantage. He accepts the silent
invitation and falls beside her on the bed, dwarfing her.
He wants to feel her skin, and so he does. His fingers begin
at her face, tracing the main line of the tattoo as it winds across her cheeks,
then brushing against her lips, feeling their firmness as her smile widens at
his touch. Her mouth is wide, and pleasant, and succeeds at making her seem
friendly even when she is scowling. The others have learned to rely on her tone
rather than her expression to read her moods because of the curve of her mouth.
Sten leans in and kisses her again, then pulls away when she tries to cling to
him and resumes his inspection of her.
The skin of her neck and shoulders is soft and warm. He
follows his fingers with his face, smelling and tasting her as he moves down
her body. A lithe, muscular frame that is far stronger than it appears, as he
is well aware, but still feminine, with soft curves. When his hands brush
against her breasts, she presses against his fingers more firmly. His tongue
traces a trail down her stomach, and when he pauses over the dark patch of hair
below her belly-button, she spreads her legs with a sigh.
Her scent has changed; its typical effect is almost narcotic,
but now it makes him desperately aggressive. Sten nips at her hips, and thighs,
and rakes his nails down her sides, trying to pass some of the sensation on to
her.
It works: Adhara wraps her arms around his waist and pulls
him atop her, pressing her mouth to his again. He breaks the kiss and returns
to her neck and ears, biting and sucking at a whim, and is delighted when she
moans. Yes, that. That is how he feels. More teeth, then, and
more pressure, and she pants and clings to him insistently. When she attempts
to flip them and moves her mouth to his neck, he holds her to the bed and pulls
just out of reach. At her protest, he takes a nipple between his teeth and
flicks, and she falls against the bed with a small sound of acceptance.
But now her hands are at his trousers, unfastening and
pulling them down as best she can from her present position. Cold air meets hot
skin, and before he can shift to remove them for her, she hooks a foot into the
crotch of his trousers and pushes them toward his knees with a knowing smile.
The feel of her skin sliding against his inner thigh is enough to make him
shiver. Her lips brush against his ear as he kicks his legs free, and she
orders him onto the edge of the bed in a voice just loud enough to tickle.
�Why?� he grumbles. He has no desire to be further away from
her naked skin.
�Just do it, you stubborn qunari.��
Sten obeys her out of habit: he rises and sits on the edge
of the bed, feet resting on the carpeting. Adhara follows and sinks between his
thighs. Her fingers tease him through the cloth of his smallclothes, and he
dimly notices her eyes widen. She has him completely naked seconds later, and
is staring at him with slightly parted lips.
�That... might be a problem.�
But he can't answer: she follows up her words by taking him
into her mouth. Her tongue dances along his head as her fingers wrap around his
shaft and begin stroking, and he is quickly reduced to clutching at the edge of
the bed and hissing as he is bombarded by new sensation.
It is torture. It is worse than pain because pain is not
all-consuming. If he were in pain, he would be able to think, but all he
can do is grab at her ponytail and bury his fingers in her hair as she
continues. He tries to speak, but cannot remember enough of the common tongue,
and knows none of the proper words for what he needs to say. And she knows
this, and it makes her smile up at him. Smile, and increase her pace. When he
begins to gasp and pant, she echoes him; she is resting on her knees with her
free hand between her thighs, and is rubbing herself in time with her tongue.
Pleasure finally loses out to impatience at this
realization, and he pulls her to her feet by her hair, tossing her onto her
stomach upon the bed beside him. The bed leaves her hips at the perfect height
if he is on his knees, so he pulls her legs toward him and lets them hang off
the edge. When he kneels between them, she gazes at him over her shoulder with
dilated eyes and bites at her lip as he presses his fingers between her thighs.
There. Warmth, and wetness, and a willing half-sob as
his fingertips explore her. Sten brings his dampened fingers to his mouth and
tastes. Part of him wants to fall to his hands and knees and lick, but her
scent makes it impossible for him to wait any longer. He positions himself
behind her, leaning over her to hold her to the bed by the back of her neck,
and thrusts.
She might have cried his name, but his nerves are too
overwhelmed by relief for him to be sure. He pulls back and thrusts again, and
again, relishing the sensation. Nothing has prepared him for her warmth, and
how she seems to give around him yet provide enough resistance for his
instincts to order he pull out and experience it again. Another cry that might
be his name, but he cannot focus on the syllables, only the sound, and a nip at
her shoulder serves just as well to summon her voice again.
�Parshaara!�
A word that cuts through the fog; he pauses and glances down
to where Adhara is panting against the bed, fingers twined into the sheets. �Sten,
please.�
He blinks several times, forcing his brain to translate her
words and his response. �What?�
�You've got to go slow if we're both going to enjoy this,�
she gasps. �You're a little... more than I'm used to.�
Vashedan. �Have I hurt you?�
She shakes her head, which is a lie, because he can see now
how her jaw is clenching. �But I want to be able to walk tomorrow. So just
follow my lead, okay?�
He tells her to turn over, so that he can see her face
clearly as well as focus on her words. This time when he enters her, he does so
carefully, and watches with a strange sort of glee as her expression is
overwhelmed by pleasure, the pupils of her grey eyes so dilated that they seem
darker. Another slow thrust, and no wincing; as he continues, she brings her
hands up and begins to tease at her nipples. Eventually she relaxes around him,
and he is able to increase their rhythm. She cries out with each thrust, and he
listens intently to make sure there is no hint of pain in her voice.
Soon, entering her has become effortless, and he has ceased
worrying that he will hurt her again. She wraps her legs around his waist and
arches her hips toward him with a desperate whimper. He takes her by the
thighs, supporting her legs and pulling her slightly toward him with each
thrust until her head is tossed back and her voice has become low and hoarse.
�Harder,� she gasps. �Please.�
His body obeys the tone of her voice before his mind has
figured out what she is asking him. Adhara is tightening around him again, and
her nails are digging into his arms, but just as he is finding the words to ask
if she is okay she collapses against the bed with something like a relieved
laugh. She opens her eyes and smiles at him hazily, chest heaving, making
little animal noises with each exhale.
Sten's lungs are burning; the room is uncomfortably hot, and
it feels as though his nerves are on the verge of shutting down. His mind can't
take it, and his eyes won't focus, and her voice has gone distant again. All he
feels is her heat and skin, and all he smells is sex. His eyes shut, his teeth
clench and bare, and then his mind seems to freeze completely.

He is still breathing. She is, as well, though she is
pressed beneath him where he is collapsed on the bed. Both of them are gasping,
and sweating, but when he opens his eyes she smiles and begins to laugh again.
�I needed that. Creators above, I needed that.� She slides
out from under him and rests fully on the bed. After a moment, he joins her,
too dazed to speak.
Sten needed that too, he decides. His nerves insist that he
has needed that for years. And now that he knows, he worries that he
won't be able to go without any longer.
But when Adhara presses her face into his chest and inhales
his scent for the first time, he realizes that he doesn't care.
�Maraas shokra,� he murmurs into her hair. There is
nothing to struggle against.
- 8
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Strangers with Cookies