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The Armory	By : myghinmin Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 3641 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age: Origins, and I do not make any money from these writings.

Chapter List
- 1-The Armory
- 1
Title: The Amory

Word Count: 1983 words.

Pairing: Cailan/Alistair

Author Notes: Please read, rate, and review? Constructive criticism greatly appreciated.
"You are to do anything that Prince Cailan asks of you. Answer any question, be as polite as possible. If he asks you to fetch something, by the Maker, do not argue, just do it." Eamon was harried, spending the last few minutes before the king arrived to prep his ward. Alistair had been scrubbed vigorously, placed in fresh clothes, and then coached for the past several hours on what to say, how to hold himself, what topics were not to be breached unless the prince brought them up first...
He was beginning to lose focus at this point, and the king hadn't even arrived. Eamon was still fretting, adjusting Alistair's hair, smoothing out wrinkles in the tunic. Alistair wondered, somewhat vaguely, if the only reason he was present at all was due to being close in age to the prince. As he thought on this, Bann Teagan arrived.
"They're here," he said, and the whirlwind of activity dispersed as Eamon fled the room, actually running to the front gates. Once Eamon was gone, Teagan knelt in front of the youth and offered him a smile. "You will do fine. Just entertain him," he added simply.
Alistair nodded. Entertainment... He was sure he could manage that, at least. Besides, Teagan made it sound so much more reasonable than Eamon did. Then Teagan led Alistair out, and they met the arl to await the king.
Maric and Cailan both entered the gates with the same easy stride. It was easy to tell that Cailan was Maric's son, particularly since the two even wore their hair the same way. The only physical difference was their eye color--Cailan had Teagan's eyes.
So many things happened at once that Alistair wasn't even able to follow them all. The last thing he heard was his introduction to the prince, and he jerked into a stiff bow. "Good day, your highness," he managed, and he was more than just mildly irked when Cailan's eyes slid over him, then right on past him.
"Are those swords?" he asked quickly, and then he was striding off. Helplessly, Alistair glanced up at Teagan, who only shrugged and offered him an apologetic grin. Sighing, Alistair followed his prince, cursing his luck and his age. At least he wouldn't have to deal with the king's eyes on him, which he could feel even as he fled the courtyard to the armory.
As he entered, he immediately dropped flat on the floor to avoid the flashing steel that the prince was waving around. He pushed himself up, unable to stop the frown on his face. "What are you doing?" He knew his tone was probably a little condescending, but Maker's breath, who swung swords around like that right by the door?
Cailan looked over at him, and a small grin curved the other youth's lips. "What was your name? Al?"
"Alistair, your highness."
"Al." He nodded, pleased with himself, and it was all Alistair could do to keep his temper in check. "Well, Al, I have a proposition for you." Here, he raised the sword and struck a fighting pose. "Duel me."
"... Are you serious?" His eyes wide, he stared at the other youth, trying to figure out if he was having a jest at his expense. He couldn't tell.
"Duel me. Whoever wins will get a boon of their choice."
"What sort of boon would you want from me?" He eyed Cailan's stance, wondering if he was seriously considering this. The prince didn't look to have much combat experience. His stance was horribly skewed, his weight in the wrong places. He also held the sword a little oddly, as though unused to the weapon's balance.
"I don't know. It'll be fun. Come on." Cailan grabbed a second sword and tossed it to his companion. "What have you got to lose? I mean, honestly, I could just order you to do it. I'm trying to get some entertainment here."
Entertainment. All Alistair had to do was entertain him for a few hours. Surely he could manage that. He swung the sword once, feeling the heft of the blade. It was a touch lighter than his normal blade, but he could use it. If anything, it would give him a bit of an advantage. He nodded slowly. "Fine then," he heard himself agreeing and was momentarily shocked. "Let's do it."
Cailan's grin turned wicked, and Alistair felt his stomach sinking. Suddenly, the prince's stance shifted into something a little more deadly. His sword slid further into his hand, and his weight redistributed, becoming more even across his frame. He should have known better than to consider the prince a pampered brat, no matter his attitude.
The swords met in midair, crashing together as the two youths tested one another, trying to determine each other's level of skill without giving away their own. It was an intricate series of moves, one stepping forward as the other stepped back, matching each other's techniques in mirror image.
Finally, the tension snapped, and Cailan lunged, his sword knocking Alistair's out of his hand and sending both weapons clattering across the ground. His hand sank into the other boy's hair, pulling his head back and baring his throat. They were only inches apart, and with Cailan's other hand gripping Alistair's throat, there could be no doubt as to the winner of the duel.
A grin curved the prince's lips, and Alistair drew a deep breath. "Good match," he murmured, deciding to not move a muscle until Cailan released him. "What is your boon?"
He was intensely aware of how close Cailan actually was to him, and he was horrified to feel himself beginning to react to it. He knew that some men did react to being in this kind of proximity with other men, but he'd never had the problem and had decided it apparently didn't apply to him. Cailan was rapidly proving him wrong, however, and he just prayed that the other youth didn't notice.
"A kiss," the words weren't so much spoken as they were breathed over Alistair's ear, and he felt tingles shooting down his spine at the proximity. He wasn't certain that he'd heard it right, though.
"A-a.... what?"
Cailan didn't answer but instead pulled Alistair to him. The hand in Alistair's hair slid down to touch the side of the younger boy's face, but the hand on his throat didn't move. His lips pressed over Alistair's, his tongue hot and wet as he pushed it through his companion's gasp. He was demanding, unyielding, and Alistair rapidly found himself melting against him. A soft noise escaped him, and Cailan seemed to become more aggressive, his hand sliding from the side of Alistair's face down to his hips.
When they finally broke apart, the prince was staring at him, and Alistair was almost certain that his lips were bruised from the force of that kiss. They were both breathing raggedly, dragging their breaths in at uneven intervals. Their eyes met and for just a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then Cailan's hands were both buried in Alistair's hair, pulling him close even as he pressed him back against the nearest wall.
A weapon rack fell over, swords clattering across the stone floor, and then Alistair felt like his clothes were too hot, too rough, just too much. Cailan must have felt the same, because he jerked one of his hands away to push it under his companion's tunic, and at the feel of the prince's fingers over his stomach, Alistair moaned softly, forcing the other youth to muffle him with his own mouth. Heat coiled through him, and he felt himself beginning to tremble. He made only a soft noise of protest as Cailan pulled away, but when he realized that he was trying to get the tunic off, he was much more agreeable. He even tried to help, wanting the damn thing off so that he could feel the prince right up against him. Cailan agreed, and his own tunic was shed quickly too, so that their bare chests pressed together when they kissed hungrily again.
Something hard pressed against Alistair's hip, and he felt his head swim as he realized what it was there. His eyes fell closed, and once more the kiss broke. This time though, Cailan didn't pull away, and instead, he pressed those lips down his captive's throat. As that mouth moved down, Alistair's head dropped back, and when heat and wetness brushed over his nipple, he was lost in sensation. He bit down on a breathy moan, knowing that he couldn't afford to attract attention to them.
Fingers pressed against the laces on the front of his trousers, and he gasped then, the weight of them against that part of him just too much for him to not react to. He heard Cailan's soft chuckle; he knew that a blush lit his face, but he couldn't stop himself from bucking into the prince's touch. Those fingers traced the outline of the bulge, then they pressed themselves against it, and Alistair leaned forth to bury his face in the crook of Cailan's neck, stifling the next moan that was teased out of him.
He'd never had any idea that it would feel this good, and he didn't want it to end. He couldn't tell Cailan to stop, never mind that he'd only been asked for a kiss. If every kiss led to this...
"Tell me you want me." The voice was so soft, Alistair briefly thought he'd imagined it, but when he looked at the other youth, he'd realized that no, Cailan really had spoken. He swallowed thickly, barely able to concentrate. Then the hand squeezed just slightly, and Alistair gasped.
"Maker's breath, yes... I...I want you."
"Say it again," and the hand began to rub, making the younger boy cry out softly as he pressed his hips into the touch.
"I want you; I want you, Cailan," he whispered, his eyes closing.
The prince's tongue curled around his ear, making him gasp, and the laces were finally loosened. That talented hand slid down the front of his trousers, finding and gripping Alistair's length. Hips bucked into the touch of those fingers, and Alistair's breath hitched as they wrapped around him and began to pull.
He could feel some kind of pressure building in his belly, and as Cailan's hand moved, the pressure seemed to coil tightly, mounting and building and making all sorts of images fly before his eyes. He wanted something so much more than what he was getting, and yet he never wanted it to stop. Finally, just as he thought he wouldn't be able to stand it, with Cailan's mouth licking and sucking and nipping all along his shoulder--
"Alistair!" The voice that cut through the haze of arousal was sharp and familiar, and heat flooded Alistair's face as he recognized Bann Teagan. Cailan was reluctant to release the younger boy, casting a look over his shoulder before sighing and letting him go. Immediately, Alistair reached for his tunic, horrified that he could have been caught in such a position. Teagan disapprovingly swept the prince away, but Cailan's eyes were amused and darkened. Even through Teagan's angry words, the youth was tightening and ready to feel the prince's hands on him again.
Those eyes held a promise, and Alistair wondered if maybe, just maybe, he'd be able to collect on that promise later.
- 1
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The Armory