My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  Maker, he could lie back and let her have her way with him so easily. But watching Lanny squirm instead of the other way around was what he'd dreamed about. Mostly. 60:40. "Hey now," he called out, then coughed a few times to bring back his voice. "I refuse to be the only one who's going to freeze to death splayed out on the deck of the ship."

  "Is that so?" Lanny challenged. She didn't yank her fingers away, but they stopped doing that circle and rise thing she loved to torture him with. "Well," she positioned herself higher to expose the corset, "I'm curious if you think you can remove it without entangling yourself."

  He had to release her wrist as he reached towards her back, rifling up an eternal knot of strings along the cursed thing's seams. If he had a real dagger on him he could make quick work of it, though Isabela might be less than pleased with it being returned to her in that state - especially for her missing out on the fun. Alistair clenched together his underused stomach muscles to rise higher. Even with his lower back on the deck, he nearly met Lanny eye to eye. She smiled at him so close to her lips, but Alistair was too busy trying to solve the riddle of female couture to fall into her kiss trap. He barely understood male clothing for that matter. Wrapping both arms around her, his hands rubbed up and down the back he couldn't see, looking for any kind of opening to appropriate. Lanny was no help, of course. She placed both her elbows upon his shoulders, raising herself higher to shove that distracting cleavage in his eyes. Did she want to be naked or not?

  Ah! The end of a string yanked free and continued to unravel without any snags. Alistair was still careful as it slipped free, opening up at the back. Without any fanfare, Lanny grabbed onto it and tossed it to the side along with his tunic. Then she returned her elbows to his shoulders, and raised an eyebrow.

  "You've learned."

  "I had a good reason to figure it out. Two good reasons," he said, his fingers sliding up under her tunic. He flattened them against her stomach, cupping the same small build of muscle he remembered all those years ago. Of course the Commander of the Grey didn't let herself get fluffy. She had all that darkspawning to do.

  "For all the..." Lanny muttered. Taking her elbows off of him, she pulled on the collar of her own blouse and yanked it clean off without any fuss. "You're taking too long," she complained. After tossing her own shirt aside, she turned to let her naked breasts dangle right next to his own less impressive chest. Perfect. He didn't care what was in season or fashion for a woman's form, what the latest it-sculptors thought was right. Lanny's would always be perfect -- even age wouldn't change that fact. Just enough to flow out of his palm. And those freckles, a haphazard speckle of dots up the sides of both her breasts like her own leopard spots. They highlighted her silken skin like beauty marks placed by a renowned artist. He'd so badly wanted to connect them when he was younger, but couldn't work up the courage to ask.

  Alistair giggled which caught Lanny. She rolled her eyes from the absolute joy in his face, but there was a smile mixed in there. Carefully reaching out as if he was about to touch the most precious jewel in thedas, he cupped his fingers under her breasts. His thumbs brushed against her freckles as if trying to knock away crumbs, which caused Lanny's nipples to prod even further out for attention. Sliding his body further under her for a better grip, Alistair lifted her breasts higher and proceeded to press his thumb into her nipples as if they were buttons.

  "Maker's breath," she laughed a full chortle, bringing her forehead down upon his.

  His eyes broke from her chestal game to stare up into hers. She'd shut them tight, her lips parted as she gasped from either pleasure or struggling to keep from laughing. "I've missed you," slipped out of him. He didn't mean to bring all the weight of this down upon them in that very moment, effectively smothering any chance he had, but he meant it. Thought the words often. He missed talking to her, watching her laugh to the point of snorting, kissing her lips, tugging on her hair, parting her legs and hearing her moan. He missed it all and so much more.

  "I..." Lanny's dark eyes rolled open and he spotted the same golden halo again. "I've missed you too."

  "I dunno," Alistair paused, his one hand slipping off her breasts to massage his back, "sure felt like you got all of me."

  "Shut up," she chuckled, play swatting at his chest. He let her get in a few more half hearted slaps before grabbing onto her wrist. She eyed him up, a challenge floating through her face.

  "Let's see if you can manage to get my pants off with only one arm."

  Lanny smirked and he cuffed his fingers around her delicate wrist, nearly all of them meeting around it. Her free hand grabbed onto the edge of his breeches and began to slide them down. Surely it couldn't be that easy? But even with him laying on the ground, she yanked them down like his skin was coated in butter. Oh no, that was so not fair. Sitting up fast, Alistair caught her other wrist and bound them together in his hands.

  "Now do it with no hands!" he dared her, changing up the rules. He thought she'd call him on it but that dangerous glint rose in her eye, the one a lot of darkspawn saw just before they exploded.

  Slipping onto a knee, Lanny pushed all her weight to her right side. With a flexibility he damn near forgot about, she raised her leg up and snagged the lowered waistband with her toe. After that, it was just a matter of yanking downward. He offered no resistance, too shocked to try and stop her. Now as naked as the day he came screaming into the world, Lanny situated herself above him and smugly smiled down.

  "Your turn," she purred. Honest to the Maker purred. She'd never done that before, not without... Oh, she was going to drive him mad. To emphasize his descent, she began to gently rock back and forth right above his exposed dick. At least her own trousers were worn smooth, sliding freely right above him, which was a comforting thought until he felt that node building in the back of his head. Warning, approaching point of no return!

  Releasing his hold on her wrists, Alistair grabbed onto her hips to get her to stop. "Hey," she complained, "that's cheat-" Her admonishment died as he undid her breeches in record time, the knot falling away by the grace of the Maker, and he pulled them downward tight across his own hips. Well, it sort of worked.

  Lanny chuckled at the attempt, then delicately rolled out of them, perching on her feet to get one leg free, then kicking the second off. Pants were too complicated. He was going full robe when he got home. Everyone -- that would be the new edict. Everyone had to wear a robe.

  Running his fingers up her now exposed outer thighs, he paused at the infernal white strip of fabric draped across all her fun bits. She bent down, her breasts pressing against his chest, as her lips whispered next to his ear, "Now what?"

  "Like that's ever stopped me before," Alistair growled, unable to keep the need out of his voice. His fingers shoved aside the last barrier between them and he damn near lost it again at how wet she was. Lanny threw her head back and groaned from the bottom of her chest at his slight circling of her lips. That was certainly new.

  Her head fell forward, her lips skimming down against his face as she raised her back half higher to give him better access. He was about to try and ply off the last of her clothing, when she whispered, "I need you, now." There was no coy bumbling from when they were barely adults both trying to figure out the ins and outs of innings and outings. Lanny sat up high and grabbed onto his dick. Alistair's hands fell slack next to his chest as she pushed aside the strip of her smallclothes and guided him inside her.

  Sweet Andraste and other blasphemous things -- this, this was what he missed. Alistair lay upon the ground, his eyes screwed tight as he tried to mentally emboss every single second of him sliding into her. He could die there, happy, as if every inch of him was swaddled tight in a wet, warm hug. Sadly, Lanny had other plans.

  Those short thighs of hers raised her body higher and she began to take a few shallow thrusts of her own. Was that what it was called when a woman did it? Parry's maybe? Regardless, Alistair dug his toes in deep, chasing after that blankness inside him to keep
going. The strip of her smallclothes rubbed in tantalizing ridges against his dick right before she consumed him inside.Why didn't he think to try that before? Her breasts bounced, the hypnotic jiggle drawing him deeper into the point of no return, as Lanny increased her speed. Thinking he could slow himself, Alistair grabbed onto her breasts, holding them in place, but that didn't really help. Maker, forget death, just let him last a few more minutes. Was that too much to ask for?

  He only had one more option. Gritting his teeth while pleasure wrapped around him and ground out through his core, Alistair thought of Mafarath. Andraste's husband. Betrayed her. Made for an ugly statue. One that filled the forgotten side of the courtyard, and it looked like someone tried to knock his nose off. Was it him? He couldn't really remember and... A moan rolled through his entire body.

  Instinct took over. Grabbing onto Lanny's hips, Alistair met her thrust for thrust, increasing in tempo as he was certain he would either finish or his heart would explode. Lanny's eyes were screwed up tight, her chest bouncing from both the sex and her panting - which was also caused by the sex. All of it combined into knocking Alistair ass over end into coming.

  "Flames and other fiery things that we curse at," he cried, bucking his hips while losing himself to the ejaculate pumping out of him and into her. In retrospect, maybe his heart exploding would have made less of a mess.

  Lanny rolled her head back and forth, coming back from wherever she'd slipped off to in the excitement. He expected her to slide off him, but instead she smiled down at the man panting in total ecstasy. Sweat glistened off her skin, sweat she never broke into the entire time they sparred. Maker's breath, but she really did glow - that sienna skin dewey in the lantern light. Humming as if she'd eaten a great piece of pie, she swallowed a few times, then asked, "Hessarian?"

  Of course she'd remember. She'd know. She knew him better than he knew himself. Chuckling, Alistair struggled up to his elbows. "Mafarath actually."

  "Oh? What happened to Hessarian? That seemed to work a treat before," she ran those delicate fingers down his chest, tracing the muscles as if playing a game. Maybe she was.

  "It did, until they put a new Hessarian statue in the throne room and I realized it was a bit tricky to explain all the unexpected saluting in my trousers whenever I passed it."

  That got him a hearty laugh, Lanny curling at her stomach from the image, her hand flying to her mouth to catch herself. "I almost wish I'd been there for that Landsmeet."

  "Men fainting in the streets, women uncomfortably glowering. Total nightmare," Alistair threw his arms wide beside his head, smacking them against the wooden floor. "But you...When'd you go all yes ser, no ser in bed?"

  "I, uh, don't know," she shrugged. "Rigors of command." He caught the trace of shame riding up her stomach, but Alistair reached upward and cupped her cheek.

  "I liked it, but I like being bossed around in bed."

  She curled up into his hand pressing her skin tighter, "You like being bossed around everywhere."

  Eight years as king and he'd wish anything to have her ordering him around again. Even if they fought, even if she kept telling him to jump in a frozen lake, or smash his own hand, or eat his vegetables, he'd do it. More than that, he'd be happy to do it. He wanted to be free. "Lanny..."

  "Hm?"

  "Ready for round two?"

  She laughed, and wiggled above his deflating staff, "I rather doubt you are."

  "Psh," Alistair waved his hand at the logistics, "don't need that bit for what I had in mind." Her body trembled from his offer, and she rolled off of him onto her back, ready to let his tongue have its way with her. Just for fun, Alistair left her smallclothes on to work around.

  * * *

  Far in the back of the hold, the hammock swung haphazardly in the rocking waves, embedding that diamond pattern deeper into his naked skin. He should have been cold, but his own living blanket stretched across him. At some point Lanny wound up fully naked too, though it took them awhile to reach that stage. Alistair draped one hand across her beautiful ass as if guarding it, and the other kept pushing off the wall to rock the hammock more. She'd sigh with every shove, but didn't raise her head to tell him to stop.

  "You know," her lips mumbled beside that weird mole on the left side of his chest, "we're going to have to talk about this."

  "Nonsense," he gave another push on the wall, "what's talking ever solved? Nothing is what. The best approach is to not talk about anything, ever. And that will somehow fix everything."

  "Alistair..." her voice crackled in exhaustion. By the Maker, she should have passed out long ago but somehow the woman kept going. Lanny tried to lift her head by placing her weight on her elbows, but she couldn't get any traction from the flimsy hammock. "Was this, is it only a one time deal? No bullshit, okay. If it is, that's fine. Whoops on both our parts. We get up, dress, and drink until it's not awkward anymore."

  "Only took about three years last time," Alistair grumbled. His free arm gave one final shove against the wall. Satisfied with the rocking, he ran his fingers across Lanny's back. What did they call skin that soft? Taffeta? Seersucker? Some kind of fabric. Whatever it was, Lanny's was that and more, with this almost elegant curve to her lower back joining with her backside. Sometimes it reminded him of fancy table legs swooped out to help support the whole thing. Maybe that was why she was so steady on her feet.

  "I'm guessing by your silence that's a yes, then?" she interrupted.

  "What? No, it's..." Alistair dug his head deeper back into the hammock, his eyes tracing some misspelled graffiti carved into the wood above as he tried to think. "I love you. I know I'm not supposed to. Should have stopped years ago, but I couldn't. Even when we were being-"

  Her fingers smooshed up against his lips, the tip of one accidentally banging into his nose. "I love you too, you idiot," she sighed and a weight lifted off him. Not literally as she didn't move, but the metaphorical one. He wondered as they played friends and occasional confidants thrown together into the shitstorm that was politics if it was ever possible to be more again. To go from what they had to what they didn't and back again. Lanny pulled her hand off his mouth, trailing her fingers down his neck, "But that doesn't change anything."

  Why couldn't it? That was the whole point of this mission, to change things. To set right what somehow went wrong years ago, to leap back and put the right ass on the fancy chair. Alistair wasn't meant to be king, Cailan was. Whatever drove Maric to Antiva couldn't be valid once he learned his son, his real son, was killed. He'd be sure to rush to Ferelden to take all that responsibility off his bastard's shoulders.

  Alistair's fingers rose up her sides so he could wrap his arms over top of her, snuggle her tighter to him, and protect her. "Lanny, I probably should have asked this before all the pants flying off parts, but, is there someone else in your life?"

  She paused for a moment, just enough to make him wonder if he'd stepped onto a creaking bear pit and there'd be duels of honor waiting for him in Amaranthine, when she sighed in resignation, "No. And I don't need to bother asking you as I know the answer."

  "Yeah, that's a big scoop of complicated on top of a convoluted pie with some knotty chocolate shavings on the side. And now I am starving."

  Instead of leaping off him like any sane woman would after he went into dessert talk, she burrowed deeper into him laying her cheek flat against his sweaty chest. "Some things never change."

  But they had. Change was inevitable everyone kept saying, you couldn't fight it. Maybe that was the real problem. People kept giving up against change because they'd rather roll over than fight it. "Is there," he wrinkled up his nose and struggled to find the words to address a fog that'd been around her for some time, even since before they left Ferelden, "is something wrong? I mean aside from donning the velvet hat with an old lover who's trying to find his father to get anyone else but him to sit on the throne."

  "It's complicated," she said, not answering his question.

  "Lanny... if it's
about the wardens you can tell me. If it's about the chantry or mages you can tell me. If it's about me, could you wait until I put pants on?"

  That earned him a snicker, but she took her time to rouse her thoughts. With her finger fluffing up and then down his chest hair, she kept puffing up her cheeks then deflating them - either stalling for time, or terrified to dredge up her deepest concerns. "I know I have no right to complain, to even feel this but..."

  "Yes you do," Alistair interrupted. "After all the crap, day in and day out you get, I think you can yell at the world every once in awhile."

  "Maybe, but I keep coming back alive and whole... unlike the others."

  Ah shit. He knew this one, felt it himself at times but nowhere near as deep as she did. Lanny tried to explain it once, to give him a hint of how magic wasn't just a matter of knowing the right incantation or waving your fingers. Her skill set came about because of what was primarily inside her; the makeup of her soul was her way of putting it. She called it the darkness - a black fog that'd wrap through her thoughts, deaden her muscles, and drag her down with it. Because of it, she had some innate and nearly terrifying skill with all those entropy hexes - the ones involving horror and death in particular. But they themselves took a toll upon her, needing that darkness inside to work and almost feeding it back upon her with herself. Alistair barely understood then, and probably made some flippant joke after she told him. Now, he still couldn't wrap his mind around it fully, but he got that it was bad. Enveloping her deeper into his arms, he tried to burrow her safely into his chest.

  "You want to be free of it?" he asked while also telling. "I get that, I do. I really really do."

  Her head rolled up, her chin digging into his sternum so she could catch his eye, "You wanted to be a warden more than anything, Alistair."

  "Yeah, a warden, not the warden. Certainly not in charge of anything. Look at me now, got a whole kingdom that keeps asking for attention all the time. I thought that if I kept focused on that, did all those kindly king things one does - rescue chantry babies and kiss orphaned Sisters - that I'd, I don't know, find some peace. I keep looking for it, but all I find is more 'Your highness, you can't do that because it would enrage blah blah blah.' 'Your majesty, you must put our efforts into do de do or else something something end of the world.' I'm tired of being called your. I'm not a you. I'm an I, I think."