My Love

by Sabrina Zbasnik

  Her hands knotted into his curls, practically pinning the man to her breast as he swirled his tongue with her nipple. The two were performing some magical dance that had her teeth sparking and her bottom squirming for joy. Not about to leave another out, Gavin switched sides, taking his time to cause Myra to whimper in so much exquisite torture it was a wonder she could still breathe.

  "My..." he coughed a moment, his voice thick with lust, "Myra, may I?" Gavin gestured towards her own in the way trousers. Blighted hell, why was his adorable asking such a turn on? He was all but blushing as if she wasn't half naked already, his body trembling in anticipation.

  Grabbing onto the waistband, Myra yanked her damn pants off in one quick go. Her boots plopped off her feet while she waved her cursed long legs about. Shifting and scrunching up, she tried to paw at her ankle which wouldn't give up its hold on her trousers without a fight. "Damn things are too long," she muttered, when brown fingers caught above hers.

  Slowly, Gavin curled his hand against her ankle and like those princes in fairytales about shoes, he helped to guide her trousers off her feet. She'd definitely have paid more attention if the stories involved the prince yanking off the fair maiden's trousers. Fully naked, Myra sat her bare ass on her blanket, her feet planting firmly into the ground while she watched her knees knocking into each other.

  Are you really going to do this?

  There was no regret. At all. In everything in Myra's life this was probably one of the least trepidatious choices ever. Up there with always getting a large order of cinnamon rolls instead of only one.

  But it seemed impossible. Five years, she'd moved away, he became this great hero knight savior, her love life wasn't liable to kickstart any fantasies, and he...blighted hell, look at him!

  The him in that equation tugged off the last of his trousers as well, leaving them both as naked as the Maker intended. She tried to hone in on his biceps, or the thighs, but her eyes kept skipping right down to that penis wafting back and forth as he moved. Sweet Andraste, she wanted that thing.

  Not like in a jar or anything. That'd be morbid and weird.

  Just to borrow for a few bone melting minutes.

  And Gavin was trying to kill the awkward time by folding up their clothing. He must be terrified of how to start what comes next. Sliding around, Myra scooped her legs around his middle. The socks of all things slipped from his fingers as her straining thighs tugged him closer. On the walk over, Gavin's hands caressed up her hip, trailed the barely there divot of her waist, and landed right beside her shoulder.

  Sitting up, Myra curled both her arms around the back of his neck and pulled his forehead against hers. "I really, really want you," she breathed. To plow me into next Sunday, preferably, but baby steps and all.

  Gavin's heartbreaking smile, the one that she wished she could preserve in a locket over her heart, beamed over his entire handsome face. "And I you."

  Cupping his cheek, Myra kissed him slowly, sweetly. As Gavin began to melt in her grip, her hand traveled down his taut body. The back muscles were so tight it was a wonder they didn't snap at her invasion. Sliding her hand under, Myra traced along his stomach -- which was fluttering. Was she his first since...?

  Maker's breath, My, you know you are. This is Gavin.

  Tenderly, she reached between his legs, her fingers skirting up and down the shaft of his cock. Those amber eyes opened a moment as he stared hard into hers. When he nodded his head, Myra opened up her thighs and guided him into her. The pressure of his cock bumping up into her lips made her bite down in anticipation, but Gavin seemed to be waiting.

  She let her hand fall away and curled both around his back. Her eyes darted around a moment to try and get her bearings, when she looked deep into his. Five years, five hair pulling years while she kept falling into horrible or boring guy's beds and he...he kept on. It was a long time to fantasize, a long time to...

  "Sweet merciful Maker!" Myra cried. Gavin thrust in, filling her faster than she ever anticipated. He didn't move quick, and he was thicker than she expected, but blessed Andraste it was wonderful.

  "Are you...?" he whispered, his eyes closed as if he too was hanging upon this moment.

  Myra dug her nails into his back, hoisted her head closer, and whispered in his ear, "Do it again."

  The smile was instantaneous and Gavin did as commanded. The thrusts were shallow at first, Myra savoring every time he filled her, but when the man grunted from deep in his chest she lifted her legs higher. His cock slid so far in, Myra shrieked in giddy delight.

  "Faster," she ordered, trying to stagger her ass up in order to meet him. Grunting, Gavin increased his speed, every perfect thrust bringing more soul rocking reverberations through Myra. She matched him in kind, her thighs straining to pull herself onto him and he thrusted up into her. They moved as one, even their breath falling into the same pattern as together they merged into one fucking person.

  "Holy Maker!" Gavin cried, his hips stopping dead. And then she felt the tell tale sign of why warming and squishing up inside her. The spent man buried his face against Myra's neck, incomprehensible words dripping from his lips while he held her tight. She wrapped around him, his dripping cock still inside her. Myra's arms hugged him tight while he kept talking adorable gibberish.

  As he pulled back, Myra almost smacked her head into the ground in shock to find tears in his eyes. "Gavin?" she reached towards his cheeks, her heart compressed into an ice cube from the pain on his face.

  "It's..." he didn't shake her off, or stagger away, but remained close to her embrace. Myra tugged him on top of her, his head nestling near her breast. With one hand drawing up and down her arm he sighed, "This year has been awful." She pursed her lips but couldn't argue. "I feared that...that I was cursed and confessing to you the truth you'd, not this. I never dreamed this would..."

  He lifted his head to look right into her concerned eyes, "Thank you."

  Smiling at his damn sincerity, Myra cupped his cheeks in her hands and pulled him in for a kiss. She should get up, clean up, get dressed, cast a certain 'keep babies away' spell. But he was so warm, and tender. How could a man that looked like he could walk through a mountain be more tender than a basket of kittens?

  Gavin broke away a moment, his amber eyes burning in hers. "I, uh," he licked his lips, "I want you to...um, enjoy yourself too."

  "Oh, I did," Myra said with a knowing smile. Maker did she ever.

  "No, I mean...ya know. All the, um, wow parts."

  "Oh," she was speechless. It shouldn't be surprising he cared, but based upon her sampling of men when it came to that hard of work after they got theirs, it was. Big time.

  "I'm not, um, I haven't really got much experience in any of that, and..."

  Myra curled her hands with his, "Follow my lead."

  A smile lifted on his cheeks as he let her pull his strong fingers downward, "Always."

  She started him off slow, the tip of his forefinger swirling over the top of her clit. Myra bucked to match the rising swell, her tongue falling slack in her mouth while Gavin kept pressing petal soft kisses to her body. Unable to take anymore of the torture, Myra shifted his fingers down. The middle got right to the heart of the action while the first kept on its slow tease above.

  After all that amazing buildup with him, she was so close she wanted to scream and bite something. Her hand fell away, leaving Gavin fully in control. "Don't. Stop," Myra gasped, her breath lodging tight in her throat while he did exactly that. Not faster, no moving, just the absolute perfect swirl of fingers exactly where she needed them.

  Her body hung on that delicious cliff for what felt an eternity, Myra clinging to it with every clench inside of her. And when she released, the orgasm walloped her so hard, her ears popped. She gasped, not expecting that, nor how her body was curling in on itself to try and preserve every tremor of pleasure ratcheting through her.

  When breath was able to drip from her lips, she whispered a prayer of thanks to whoever was
listening. In this case Gavin, who was smiling widely at her reaction. Tears sprung up in Myra's eyes as well, small ones of joy, as she grabbed both of his cheeks. In her loudest voice, she shouted, "I love you," then tugged him to her lips for a kiss.

  Oh Maker.

  Myra.

  You did not just tell a man you loved him right after sex.

  Shit.

  Her eyes darted towards Gavin, the man curled up on his side from watching her writhe around in the pleasure he created. "So, uh..." she began, the warmth that threatened to burn her soul like the birth of a phoenix fading fast as she surveyed her big error. "I said that thing..."

  "You were excited," he laughed, "very excited. I understand."

  "Yeah," Myra dug into her neck and sighed, "About that. Well...um." Closing her eyes, she took in a deep breath, "I love you. I love you a lot. I mean, you always love someone a lot otherwise it's not love. And I wanted to say it somewhere special instead of...then. But I didn't because I'm stupid and--"

  Gavin kissed the tip of her nose, then her slack lips. "Myra, I love you, and you telling me while your naked body was pressed against mine will be far more memorable than you painting it on a wall."

  "I was thinking of getting a bunch of turtles together and spelling it out. Though, the turtles might start to walk away and then it'd spell something like I levy you. Then we're stuck looking for a dam to save face, and it's a big old mess."

  He didn't sigh, didn't tell her to shut up or that she was being stupid. Gavin snickered at her babbling and kissed her again. "It's the little moments," he said.

  "Hm?"

  "Those are what I want most with you," he curled on his back and pulled her onto his chest. The warmth between them was greater than her spell, greater than the round of sex they shared. She could feel it practically seeping out of the fade, as if something wanted them to remain like this. A spirit of love?

  Myra snickered, trying to shake away her cheesy thoughts, "After that performance, I hope you want some big moments too, because...that bears a repeat."

  Smiling, Gavin pressed a loving kiss to her forehead, "I'm glad, because...I happen to agree with you."

  "Seven years bad luck anytime someone says that," Myra said, unable to stop the laughter jangling about in her chest. She was so stupidly happy, happier than she thought she could be. "Though, I have to say, I never thought our first time would be on a roof in winter."

  Gavin peered out over the slumbering city, barely anything save a few puffs of grey smoke breaking through the night's cloak. "I don't know, Denerim's rather beautiful up here."

  "Yes," Myra nodded, staring only at his perfect face, "it is."

  A great sigh raised up Gavin's chest as he cuddled Myra tighter to him. His fingers began to playfully dart up and down her nose and across her cheeks as they listened to each other's heartbeats. He wanted her. She wanted him. They were a thing. More than a thing, they were in love. They were...

  By the void, what came next?

  "Hm," he mused, breaking Myra from her turn, "your freckles are not as obvious as I remember."

  "Oh yeah, they tend to vanish when I'm trapped inside all the time staring at runes and reading tomes thicker than your head," she laughed it off, not thinking much of her fields of freckles.

  But Gavin dotted the tip of his pinkie upon her cheeks and he sighed, "Do you think they might return?"

  If she stepped away from the college, if she returned to running about in the sunlight her face would look like someone splattered her in brown paint once again. If she found a good reason to stay in Denerim, to set up a shop of her own, to finally do something with her one day plans.

  Gripping onto Gavin's hand and willing a beat of her warmth to him, Myra smiled, "Count on it."

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Wedding Bells

  He loved weddings. For starters, they were the one formal occasion guaranteed that he wasn't the center of attention. Sure, people still bowed to their King, let him cut in line at the buffet and all. But he could be a spectator for once instead of the pretend master of ceremonies while a dozen other people behind the scenes pulled levers.

  There was also all the amazing food often drifting just behind the scenes. Most of the chefs were more than happy to have a King pop into their kitchens to give a little looksee over the wedding feast before the big day. He didn't take much, just a few nibbles here and there. And he knew better than to touch the cake.

  "Your Majesty," a blush of women grabbed onto their dresses and curtsied. There were gobs of them all over the chantry, some in the official garb of playing as witness, others in similar but not quite right gowns. Something about tradition and blah blah, he stopped listening the second Karelle pulled out her second scroll.

  "Big day, huh?" Alistair smiled at the girls who were futzing with the flowers in their hair. A couple giggled as if they were the next down the aisle. Shit. Maybe they were. Bang 'em all out lightning fast. No reason to not do it all in one go.

  "Any of you fine ladies know where I can find the groom?"

  A gloved hand pointed towards a door down the back of the chantry and Alistair tipped his head in thanks. He felt rather fine in his outfit, though a few rolled their eyes at the tails upon his overcoat. Outdated, perhaps, but this wasn't Orlais. It seemed unlikely anyone would challenge him to a duel for wearing something out of season. Plus, they were fun. Kids in particular loved grabbing onto the King's tails and hanging on tight while he dashed about on slick floors.

  Seeing as this was a wedding, there were fewer of the free-wheeling children around and both them and Alistair had to be on their best behaviors. Some were probably being stuffed into all the tulle in thedas so only a growling face demanding a lolly could be seen, but the rest were elsewhere. Running a finger along the top hat he also had to get creative about sneaking into his wardrobe, Alistair knocked on the door.

  "Yeah?" a voice called from inside. He wasn't really certain what to expect from him; either total nervous breakdown with plans to escape, or a cold acceptance of reality. Maybe both.

  As Alistair cracked open the door, he peered inside the Mother's office. The bride was off in the Grand Cleric's room being perfumed and primped within an inch of her life. He anticipated a few more of the groom's friends to be hanging about getting him psyched up and a little drunk, but it was empty save the lone body staring at a full length mirror. Tugging on the end of a knot wrapped around his neck, the golden insignia kept shifting from slightly on the left, to the right, and back.

  "Blighted thing. How does it...?"

  "Here," Alistair let the door close behind as he stepped inside. "I know a thing or two about those damn knots. Forty years in, you'd hope so."

  He laughed to himself while struggling to undo whatever random square knot someone put in on the shoulder. "Let's see, this goes under here. This does a loop with that. Lift your arm, and...there!" Alistair stepped back from his work to find the golden rope weaved perfectly around to give the illusion of a royal thing. In his mind it looked like a cat's cradle that got out of control and pinned to your chest, but it was important.

  "I'm surprised you had trouble," Alistair smiled as he clapped the groom on the shoulder.

  Cailan's blue eyes darted around the room while he fiddled with one of the prince pins jammed onto his chest. "Mine is...normally not so intricate. But, mother insisted for today that I wear this monstrosity."

  "So that's where it went. Here I thought a mabari finally ripped it to shreds. Well, maybe after the wedding," Alistair chuckled while eyeing up his son. He tried to not feel too old, even when he'd have to ooze out of bed until someone cracked his back, or limit his cheese intake dramatically lest his chest burn with fire later. But watching his kids one by one walk down the aisle was the Maker's way of saying 'You're an old fart now. Accept it. Get big into pudding, telling people to get off your lawn, and complaining in front of the King about how things are different now.'

  "How ya doing?" he asked.


  Cailan scratched the back of his ear and tipped up and down on his toes. "Good, I think. We have all the people in place. My bride is getting dressed. Right?" He turned towards Alistair, the first sign of panic cracking through his shell.

  "Yup, saw our Comtess Dynesia dashing about with half her hair down and a thousand women chasing after -- all armed with brushes and hairpins. This should be an interesting wedding."

  His son took in a deep breath, then darted back to the mirror. For this momentous occasion, he'd cut his hair shorter than usual, the black locks parted on the side instead of straight down the middle. He'd also finally shaved away that smattering of stubble that kept bugging Bea every time she spotted it. Wearing a doublet in much the same style as his father's, Cailan's was as icy blue as his eyes. There'd probably been long discussions on how it had to match perfectly.

  "Dad?" The reflection of Cailan's eyes darted up to the old man standing in the back of the mirror. "When you married, were you at all nervous?"

  Alistair snickered, "I was pretty good, but that may have been due to the gallons of alcohol washing about inside my gut." His son laughed a moment at the truth; both of them walked right into an arranged marriage because of the color of their blood.

  "Oh, is this when I should give you some advice on being married?" He tugged up on the front of his hair, easily messing up what the groomers spent hours on. "Let's see...listen."

  When nothing else came, Cailan turned to his dad, "Listen? Is that all you've acquired so far?"

  "I've found that if you can manage that, the rest sort of falls into place. But listening's a lot harder than you think. That," he knocked into Cailan's forehead, "and that," now he gently jabbed at his cinched in stomach, "can get in the way a lot."

  "Understood," the boy who...no, he's a man. He'd been a man for a few years. Twenty five and there was no denying it now, even if sometimes Alistair tipped his head and saw a pig tailed girl and a toddler in short pants running around in his study.