Somehow, despite all odds, she ends up in bed with Lucanis. Naked. Relaxed. Spent. With nowhere to go or to be except here, in a soft bed. Naked and relaxed and happy.
Sometimes, it works out being the hero.
Asarla's been smiling for what feels like hours. Even in the burst of love making she was smiling. She smiled against his lips. Smiled when he kissed her neck and down her body. She smiled as he brought her to the peak of pleasure. She smiled as they both calmed. Now, she smiles because...because of everything.
The day was saved. Solas and the Inquisitor were off in the Fade, the gods were dead, and the Blight was somehow receding from Minrathous.
And she is here with the man she loves.
Asarla rolls to her stomach, propping herself up to look down at Lucanis. His eyes are closed but he isn't sleeping. She knows this from the still present tension in his body and the slightly quirked eyebrow.
"Vhenan," she whispers, gently threading fingers into his hair. Beautiful brown eyes blink open.
"That is what Solas called the Inquisitor," Lucanis whispers. She continues to run her fingers through his hair because he truly has the most beautiful hair.
"He did. It means 'heart'." She reaches down to his hand and guides it to her chest, fingers splayed over a soft beating. "You are my heart, Lucanis. Ma Vhenan, Ar lath ma bellanaris." She leans down and kisses him slowly, deeply. He breathes her in then pulls back just enough to cup her face as his eyes soften and lips smile.
"Mi amor, te quiero." They fall back into each other. Smiling and naked and happy.
Daggers, check. Boots, check. Leathers, check. Everything was in order, but where was his coat? He hung it in its spot as always just yesterday - so where had it gotten itself to?
His answer arrived when he walked into the library to his Rook perched on a sofa, shrouded in his coat with the feathers pulled close to their head. He smiled. He could go without that coat today.
The Milkovich house is a disaster. Actually, disaster is an understatement. Ian always knew how the Milkoviches lived, shit he'd lived that that too for a bit. But it hits different when you're one of two people now tasked with sorting through everything.
Most of it is trash. Some of it, though, is meaningful. An even smaller portion of it is pure treasure.
Ian pulls out a picture, clearly taken years and years ago. It shows two young children, more like toddlers really, dressed up in matching costumes. A Mickey and Minnie Mouse.
"Holy shit," Ian breathes as he stares at the picture. He knows it's his husband but he has to be sure. He flips the picture over and in neat, blue ink reads "Mickey and Mandy, Halloween 1997". He can barely process it. Little Mickey. Little Mickey dressed as Mickey Mouse. He flips the picture over again to stare at how adorable his best friend and husband were when they were little. Mickey is smiling in the photo, a big open mouthed smile, maybe even mid laugh. Adorable. Precious.
"Hey, whatcha got there?" Mickey's voice cuts through Ian's thoughts. Oh no, Mickey shouldn't see this. But also....
"Just a picture of you and Mandy." He tries to deflect, but Mickey's quick. He darts to Ian's side and snags a peak of the picture before Ian can hide it.
He expects curses, eye rolls, maybe a hand to snatch it from Ian. What he did not expect is how Mickey goes still then looks away.
"Throw it away."
"Mick-
"Throw it away! My...my mom took that. Before she...look, just throw that shit away." Mickey picks up a beyond-repair shirt and stuffs it into a 'throw away' trash bag. He stomps off into the house, leaving Ian alone with the picture.
He looks down at little smiling Mickey and Mandy. He can't throw this away, he can't just toss whatever evidence that some parts of Mickey's childhood weren't all bad. He tucks the picture into his coat and continues to sort through the mess.
__
Much, much later, they're home. They shower together for quickness and it really is quick (okay, there is some groping) before falling into bed together. Fuck clothes, they're married and at this point, everyone in the house has seen them.
Ian turns to Mickey and tentatively places his hand over his husband's. Mickey accepts it, a finger worries at Ian's wedding band.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Shit, Ian, when do I ever want to talk about it?"
There's a long pause before Mickey presses his free hand to his eyes. "I dunno, man, it's just...I'm a fucking orphan. Terry was fucked up and terrible and I wanted to kill him, should have killed him, but he was...fuck. I dunno. I dunno all this feeling shit is just fucked."
Ian doesn't respond verbally right away, instead he scoots over and gently coaxes Mickey into his arms. Mickey allows it, his head coming to rest on Ian's pec while Ian holds his hand.
"I fucking hate him. He taught me how to shoot, how to hotwire a car. I hate him and he's gone. He...he hurt you."
"This isn't about me," Ian whispers, giving Mickey a squeeze.
"It is cuz I'd be...I'd be in jail right now because I'd have killed that stupid fucking nun by now if it wasn't because of your stupid ginger ass."
Ian pauses, listens to Mickey's breath hitch, feels wetness not from their shower on his chest.
"Do you want to kill her?" Ian asks softly after a while.
"No."
Oh so gently, Ian cups Mickey's jaw and tilts his reddened, tear streaked face up.
"I'm sorry you're hurting, baby, and I am not sorry he's gone. He hurt you and he can't do that anymore." Ian presses a kiss to Mickey's forehead.
Mickey doesn't say much more, either from exhaustion or not wanting to talk about it anymore. Either way, Ian holds him and he doesn't pull away.
"That picture you found was the best day of my life before you. Mom dressed Mandy and I up, we went trick'or'treating, ate so much fucking candy. Then she had to fucking die." Mickey sniffles and Ian holds him closer.
"So stupid, dressed up as that damn mouse."
"You were cute," Ian cuts in because he can't help himself, "you're still cute."
"Sap." Mickey pushes Ian without any real force, making them both smile.
"Yeah, I...have a confession, Mick."
"Fuck, what?"
"I didn't throw the pic away."
Mickey doesn't respond right away, just runs a finger along Ian's chest, fidgeting with some of his chest hair.
"Good."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
__
They're back at the house the next day. More trash. More hateful messages and books and shit that Ian would like to forget.
In the end, it's Mickey who finds it. He walks out of one of the smaller bedrooms holding a short, black book. He's staring at it like it's some foreign object or a bomb about to go off. Ian is by his side in a moment.
The book's label is written in that same neat script as the picture - "Mickey and Mandy Growing Up".
"It's a photo album," Ian whispers.
"Yep." Mickey's eyes don't move away from it. His body is still.
Ian places a hand on Mickey's shoulder, "You don't have to open it here, or even today or tomorrow. Let's pack it and when you're ready, we can look at it. Together." Finally Mickey moves. He nods his head and gives the album to Ian.
"Keep it with the picture."
Ian takes the album then leans forward to press a kiss to his brave, emotional, incredible husband. His husband who has the chance to be as happy as the little boy in the picture.
Also not edited because I didn't feel like it. I'm amazed I wrote at all.
-
“Wait! Shit!” Claudia swore as she ran after the trolley. Her interview was soon and she was not going to be late. She had had enough of the hellhouse that was her current employer’s. What better place to replace it than his direct competitor? The only thing was that the Marzelle estate was not exactly within walking distance from her home close to the town square. The Viscountess was notorious for being a stickler for appearances and so Claudia had worked at her curls and iron pressed her clothes before realizing that if she didn’t hurry, she’d miss the trolley that would get her within walking distance of the estate.
So there she was, running after the trolley as her heeled shoes dug into the cobblestone street.
“Oy! Whatcha doing running, Ms. Claudia?” A neighbor, Alfonz, shouted from his spot on the end of the trolley.
“Help me!” She gasped out as she stuck out her hand. Her neighbor cursed but stuck out his hand. Reaching…reaching - There! She clasped his hand, he leaned back as she leapt…and landed on the edge of the platform, her free arm windmilling backwards before Alfonz hauled her forward. It was all they could do to catch themselves before toppling into a heap of arms and legs.
They were both breathing hard but she thanked him profusely before heading into the trolley to take a seat. She passed a coin to the ticket-miser before plopping down into a seat beside a mother and child. She unpinned her hat and fanned herself.
“Mercy, it is hot as hells out there.” She commented. The mother just sniffed and directed her child to look out the window. Claudia rolled her eyes before settling back into her seat. The interview had to go better than catching the trolley.
The stops passed, people got off, some got on, but more and more it became evident that they were entering a more pastoral area as greenery overtook the grays of stone. There was a rumor that the Viscountess had paid for the trolley to specifically pass the outskirts of her estate, for what purpose, Claudia didn’t know, but if it was true, bless the woman for not requiring the renting of a carriage of all things to get here. Or walking.
The trolley groaned to a stop and the bell rang before the conductor announced her long-awaited stop. She grabbed her bag, placed her hat back atop her head and departed the vehicle onto a gravel covered stop. The trolley doors shut behind her and the whirr of electricity was her only warning before it resumed its trek along its wire-determined path. She stumbled forward, clutching her bag in reflex.
“Claudia Aezra?”
Her head snapped up at the mention of her name to see a finely dressed elven man leaning against a tree. He was…terribly familiar yet not in the way that exceptionally plain people were. Not that he was ugly! Simply…unremarkable and her mind couldn’t seem to pick out a distinguishable feature upon him other than the fine make of his clothes.
“That’s me.” She answered softly, still clutching her bag.
“Excellent, I am to be your escort to Villa Marzelle. Follow me.” He gestured for her to follow then turned to begin the trek to the large manor on the hill overlooking the trolley stop. Well, she supposed there had to be some downside here. Taking a deep breath, Claudia began to follow the non-descript man.
**
“You are to remain supervised this entire visit. Should you try to leave my side, I cannot guarantee you leave here at all, do I make myself clear?” The man spoke up after ten minutes of brisk walking in the summer heat. Claudia had taken out a handkerchief to dab at the sweat on her brow to maintain some sort of appearance. The threat of death was not unexpected, she knew this crowd well.
“I understand.”
“You come highly recommended by another staff member, which is why you were contacted specifically. Whatever you see here is not to be spoken to anyone, is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.” While she had not been trained to be a discrete person, she had found the talent arose after sticking her nose where it ought not to be too many times.
“You will be meeting with the Viscountess herself to determine if you meet the necessary…qualifications.” It would have been an eyebrow raising moment if her friend hadn’t already informed her that there might be a need for someone like her. And really, how many reasons could there be for a governess?
They had reached the manor and to her surprise they used the main entrance instead of a servant’s entrance. The large, intricately carved wooden doors opened to a brilliant view of a grand entrance, resplendent in marble and crystal and an enchanted piano that played by itself in the center of the room. Two identical staircases curved down from a catwalk on the second floor and a large crystal chandelier dangled above the piano…. Wait, was the chandelier…eskew? How did that happen? And the runner on the western staircase was decidedly a shade more purple than the one on the eastern staircase.
Claudia’s eyes dismissed the perfection of the room to scan for more signs. Small ones, of course, the maids and butlers were meticulous, but ah…there. A small carving into the wood of the railing of the eastern staircase. Scuff marks on the marble beneath a window. And - oh the man was leaving her behind. Claudia picked up the pace and hoped to continue her inspection another time.
The man led her to the eastern wing, his pace quick and decisive. It left her little time to perceive all the tiny marks and indicators upon the otherwise immaculate estate. Scuffs, scratches, slightly off center paintings, and the obvious lack of any decor that existed below waist level.
They were about to enter a room when -
CRASH!
“VERA!”
A child’s laughter echoed throughout the stone interior and the man sighed before grabbing Claudia’s arm and directing her into a room.
“What was -
“You heard nothing.” He said and his glare was not a dare but a warning to say anything to the contrary. She nodded. Nothing, she heard absolutely nothing.
The man’s hand remained on her arm as he guided her further into what Claudia realized was an office. Tall bookcases covered the walls and a great desk dominated the space. Opposite the desk were two dark leather chairs. She was unceremoniously directed to sit in the one farthest from the door while the man remained standing close to the door.
A moment passed.
Another.
Claudia fidgeted with her purse as she tried not to listen to the sounds of skittering feet above her or the haunting laughter that seemed to permeate the air, undermining what she knew was a serious situation. One of the books on the shelves was painted bright pink and there was a poorly made clay jar on the desk. There were picked wildflowers in a vase by the window and another scuff mark on the hardwood next to Claudia’s chair.
“It’s a beautiful home,” she commented off handedly to the man. He nodded. She sighed and continued to wait.
THUD!
The man looked up then shook his head but there was a tug at the corner of his mouth.
In a rush, the door to the room opened and a short, austere half-elven woman walked into the room. The man bowed his head in greeting and immediately went to her side.
Claudia bowed her head in immediate deference to who she presumed to be the Viscountess.
“Good day, good day. My apologies for the delay, this house is currently without…well, someone like you.” The Viscountess did not go sit in the chair at the desk. Instead, she leaned a hip against the desk itself. A deceptive sign of informality.
Viscountess Marzelle was beautiful, the rumors had told Claudia as much. Her dark, curling hair was pulled up into a beautiful yet restrained style, keeping even darker eyes clear of any flyaways. She was not a tall woman, but her very presence consumed the room, her dark red, floor length coat trailed her like a shadow. The glint of metal at her hip did not escape Claudia, nor did the thigh holster. Her lips were pulled into a tight, overly polite smile that did not reach her eyes. Bags hung heavy under her eyes but there were laugh lines at those same eyes and around her lips.
“The lady of a house is never late, everyone is merely early.” Claudia placated easily enough.
“Even so, a lady is busy and does not wish to keep her guests waiting. Claudia is your name, right?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“Wonderful. Do I need to state the obvious that if you breathe a word of your experience here, you will die a most painful death?”
“Oh, the gentleman already took care of that. I am sworn to secrecy.” She tried to laugh, but settled for a smile.
“Wonderful. I inquired after you after hearing you managed to help raise a child born with wild magic, tell me about that.”
Claudia nodded, fondly recalling the young man she had taken care of many many years ago. “Wild magic is a bit of an occurrence here, as you know, and this young man was truly causing his family a world of complications. He nearly burned down their clothing shop before hiring me.”
“Yes, yes, and how exactly did you help?” Bluntness then, very well.
Claudia sat straighter, “My sister was born with the wild magic too, and I helped her growing up. We figured it out together. Magic is an interesting thing for a child to manage, tough and so particular. For my charge, we developed ways for him to express himself without the magic, ways to calm, ways to express happiness. Then of course a magical tutor had to be hired. A multidisciplinary approach is truly the best way to handle such a thing. I instituted structure in his life, the tutor instituted structure within the magic…well as much structure could be used with wild magic, I suppose.”
“Could it be done without the magic tutor?”
Claudia blinked, considered, “For that particular instance? I don’t believe so…but perhaps for a child who is less affected by the magic, though I would still highly recommend a magical tutor if that is what is happening -
“It’s not. What’s happening, that is. This…is unique.”
Claudia restrained herself from frowning. Unique could be a euphemism for “my child who has the same thing as other children is just not like them” or it could be…something else as the Viscountess was suggesting.
“What do you know of the Fey?”
“The Fey? As in…faeries?”
“Fey, as in those from the Feywild.”
Claudia opened her mouth, shut it, then replied in a tone as measured as possible, “As much as the average person, I suppose. I know they seek to trick mortals, that they can be as terrible as they are beautiful…” the more she spoke the more the man scowled.
The Viscountess sighed, “The Fey are just like people…good, bad, beautiful, ugly. It depends on the person. Their magic is unique to them as the Feywild is brimming with that wild magic. Sorcerous children are gifted with magic, Fey children…from what I can see are magic.”
Claudia did not know what to make of that…unless…
“Is there a Fey child in this home?” She asked softly. The man glared but the Viscountess smiled and this time the smile did reach her eyes.
“My daughter is very special, and she needs a governess. I could interview you for days and not know if she would deign to approve you. She…can be quite fickle in her nature.”
“A Fey child….” Claudia had never heard of such a thing. What would such a creature look like? Would it have wings? Be abnormally small? Would it try to steal her soul? Her fingers dug into her purse and she stopped a shiver. She never thought she’d wish for an errant fireball over…over whatever awaited her here.
“I will introduce you…just…if she asks if she can have your name, say no. She reads one book…” The Viscountess shook her head but with the fondness of a besotted parent. She rose from her leaning position and gestured for Claudia to follow her.
Claudia steadied herself. She could do this. She could! A child was a child, Fey or not. So she rose from her chair and followed the Viscountess out of the office. They headed back down the hall to the staircases. The Viscountess jogged up them and Claudia followed as quickly as she could. The Man Whose Name She Still Did Not Know followed behind her. This time they headed toward the west wing.
“My daughter is seven years old and incredibly smart. She has the best tutors and is learning Sylvan. She finished her Violin lesson just before you arrived. Her dance lesson is later today.”
“That is quite the education!”
The Viscountess nodded, “She will have everything, anything. What is the point of my wealth if I cannot buy her the world?” A wonderful sentiment that sent a chill down Claudia’s spine.
Leave!
Go!
Whispers inside her head warned.
Whispers? What?
Danger!
“You’re silly, Lord Lollipop, there’s no danger here! Now drink your tea before it goes cold!” A child’s voice echoed down the hallway, seemingly replying to a word Claudia thought? Fey magic indeed.
“Hello, Lady Whisper-Court! May I interest you in a scone?”
They rounded a corner to a door decorated in paint and ribbon. The Viscountess knocked and then gently called,
“Excuse me, Vera dear, I have a guest I would like you to meet!”
“Oh a guest! Excuse me gentlefolk!”
“Mask, dear!”
“Mamaaa, I don’t want to!”
“It is imperative, dear.”
“It’s always imperative! This is my house!”
Before the Viscountess could respond the door opened to reveal a seven year old girl that…no, no that was no girl.
“What is that.” Claudia breathed as she took in the too pale yet shifting skin, the deathly white hair, the too big, black eyes, the sharp toothed smile.
“What yourself,” the man growled behind her. Claudia shook her head and took a step back.
“That is not a child.”
“Of course I’m a child! I have pig-tails!” As if to mock children she shook her head, the colorful ribbons bouncing around her head in a sick display. Another step back.
“Vera, close the door.”
“Who are you? Can I have your name?” It wanted her name! It wanted to steal her soul.
“Vera!”
“Fine - may I know your name? Mama says that’s more polite.”
“Close. The. Door.”
“You look sick, I have tea - do you need tea?”
“A monster,” Claudia breathed and it was the last thing she knew before the world went black.
**
Vera stared down at the unconscious woman, Deskerr stood over her body with a dagger in hand. There was no blood, she knew the woman was just knocked out. Deskerr had been training her on how to do just that to someone.
“A monster?” She whispered. She looked at her hands, at the rainbows moving along them and thought them pretty.
Mama was pinching the bridge of her nose, “I told you to put on the Mask and then I told you to close the door.”
“Luenna, this is hardly the girl’s fault,” Deskerr said. Mama sighed and nodded.
“You’re right, of course. Vera, I am so sorry you had to see that.”
No more danger, Lord Lollipop whispered and she sighed. He wasn’t being silly after all.
“The tea is getting cold,” she said before turning to return to her party.
Raspberry, whispered Lady Whisper-Court and Vera nodded. Yes, raspberry tea would be very nice.
Eat, young one, encouraged Courtier Night-Star. Vera did as the doll asked and picked up a scone to nibble on as Deskerr hauled the unconscious woman away from her play-room. Another one gone, another one horrified to see her.
“Am I scary?” She asked to her room full of dolls.
Beautiful.
Perfect!
Precious.
Fierce!
Her friends resounded. She wanted them to be right.
Rook walks into the small building Bellara had claimed. An Eluvian in the Crossroads was acting funny and -
"Lucanis? What -
"Shhh," he shushes Rook quickly with a finger to his mouth then points at a soundly sleeping Bellara.
"Oh, we should go," Rook whispers but Lucanis shakes his head.
"I put on a full pot of coffee forty five minutes ago and it is nearly gone," he points to a mug beside Bellara with suspicious coffee marks on the rim, "she drank it."
"Wait, no, all of it? But...she's asleep!"
"I am checking to see if she is poisoned. Crows have knowledge of these things."
"Of course! Should I get Emmrich?"
"Hold onto that for a moment." Lucanis inches forward, kneels, gently takes Bellara's hand in his. His fingers touch her wrist, then he touches her forehead with the back of his hand. He takes out a small mirror, holds it up to her mouth - it clouds over with breath.
Suddenly, Bellara gives a great sort and rolls over. Lucanis rises and scratches his head.
"I don't think she's poisoned....just asleep."
"I thought coffee keeps you awake," Rook whispers as they stare at Bellara in equal parts shock and worry. "Maybe all that time in Arlathan has altered Bellara somehow."
Extremely NSFW little dream time for Vera, my Changeling rogue in a Rime of the Frost Maiden game run by @theladypirate, also featuring her boy (or at least a dream version), Archer. (Also, use of Strange in the title is just cuz my other little Vera fics had "strange" in the title and I like continuity).
Happy smut Sunday
--
Princess?
Dissolution of the court.
They’re turned to stone.
The King of the Changeling Court disappeared three thousand years ago.
How fortunate it is we found you.
I was bound by a blood oath to not reveal parentage.
Pieces of conversation crowded Vera’s mind. She was accustomed to the background of constant whispers in her head by now, but the memory of realization of who she could potentially be…all new. All loud and terribly inconvenient when she needed to sleep. Who knew when they would get another chance to sleep in this gods-forsaken tomb of a city? The thoughts kept her restless. Who was she? Xerophon bowed so low to her - why?
You know, Lady Whispercourt murmured gently.
Quiet! Please, I need quiet! She whined into the ballroom of her mind. She felt a soft worry flurry about her whispers. This was absurd, she hated this. They would be quiet. She slammed the metaphorical door on the ballroom with all the whispers inside of it. There was some protest - groans, scolds, defeated sighs, and one ‘yes! Protect your peace!’
Quiet.
Cold she could no longer feel.
And no more comfortable than she was.
Damn it all.
Vera turned to her side and returned to her mind. She pictured herself leaning against the great wooden doors to the ballroom of her mind. She placed herself in a castle she had built for her fantasies, for her pleasure. Masturbation and sex had always helped calm her mind and nerves, ease her into sleep - but it wasn’t like she could just masturbate with her friends around and Archer had made it clear he Wasn’t Ready (not that there was a suitable place to fuck anyways). (Also not like she Wasn’t Ready either because it wouldn’t just be fucking).
Too many fucking thoughts!
Well. Real Archer wasn’t ready.
But Fantasy Dream Archer? Always ready. Also…not real (so Vera didn’t have to address that she Wasn’t Ready either.)
The castle solidified in her mind and her form changed to completely unmasked. Her white hair grew long and curled down to her waist, her armor morphed into a sheer gauzy gown with silvery stitching and beading. With her silvery rainbow skin, her dress gave only the barest hint of her body but enough to insinuate sex.
She was on a balcony, leaning against the doors to a bedroom now and the crescent moon hung high in the indigo sky. A lavender fog hung in the air (she was NOT thinking about the meaning of lavender). A light breeze caressed her, moving the gauze of the dress across her breasts. She sighed and leaned into physical sensation - just because she was in her mind didn’t mean she couldn’t just focus on the pleasure of it all. Her nipples were sensitive, her sex ached to be touched, licked, filled.
“You test even the most patient of people,” a familiar voice whispered. She grinned. Hello, dream lover.
“I don’t know what you mean. I’m just standing here.” She batted her eyes at the shadows before leaving the door. She walked slowly to the railing on the balcony, cocking her hip to exaggerate the curves of her body.
The fog coalesced behind her into hands upon her hips, lips at the nape of her neck.
“I have wanted you since the moment I saw you.”
“My mask is rather beguiling,” she replied. Fingers dug into her hip, contrasting to the soft lips pressing a gentle kiss to her neck.
“Not your mask, you, as you are.”
“Even with the sharp teeth? And the eyes?” She whispered. And sure, it was her own mind validating her but dammit, she was allowed to dream!
He nipped her neck, “Every. Part.” He pressed his body along her back, letting her feel the contours of his chest and legs and mm, cock.
Wait. Did he have a cock? She…didn’t know. Hmm. Was there an appropriate time to ask him if he had a cock? Either way was wonderful to her. She filed the question away to Things to Find Out.
Well. In her dream right now, she wanted to be fucked by a cock, though that could change. Quite frankly, sex was exceptionally variable in terms of desire and form when she could literally have any kind of body part she wanted (though she generally found she preferred having a vagina and vulva, waving a dick was fun).
There was also the question of what Archer preferred. Of course Dream Archer would agree with anything she wanted, but what of real Archer? Did he prefer his partner to have a cock or vulva?
“It’s your choice,” his words flitted through her mind and she hummed in pleasure. It was her choice on how to change her body, but she still wondered at his. The other thing about being able to change her body was to see beauty in all shapes and sizes. He was a slimmer man, fast moving and lithe with muscle, but that didn’t mean his stomach wasn’t soft, or there were dimples on his thighs.
Dream Archer licked up her neck and she moaned. Yes, yes, she wanted to fuck, she wanted to be filled and loved and desired and seen. Even if it was all fantasy.
“Every time you shoot that rifle, I think how you’d handle me,” he whispered.
Her hand traveled behind her to cup his cock through his pants.
“I’ve imagined how you’d fill my hand.”
“And anything else?”
“Perhaps.”
“Cheeky girl.” He spun her around and slanted his mouth of hers. Now this she knew how to imagine. Archer’s mouth was warm and clever and gentle. So much more gentle than what she was accustomed to. She kissed him back and opened her mouth to brush her tongue against his. Fuck, she loved snogging. She loved to suck and lick and kiss until her mouth was sore.
Vera placed her hands on his chest and ugh. She imagined him in his leathers, that’d take forever to take off…in the real world. With a thought, the leathers were gone and she was touching smooth, dark skin. She squeezed his pecs and traced imagined scars, rolled his nipples and dragged nails down his stomach. He groaned into her mouth and arched his pelvis against her. His erection pressed against her and she moaned, arching back and letting him lean her over the railing.
“I want you naked,” she gasped.
“I need you naked,” he replied before pushing the top of her dress off her shoulders and down to her waist, baring her chest to him. She in general didn’t enjoy wearing large breasts in daily activities, but in sex? They always seemed to just…get a little bigger. Dream Archer hummed his approval before sealing his lips around a nipple.
“Yes.” Fuck, she loved having her nipples sucked and pinched. He grabbed her ass too because Dream Archer knew instinctively what she liked. His teeth were sharp but his lips were soft, his tongue warm. He trailed his mouth back up her neck and to her mouth for another searing kiss.
“You make it too easy to like you,” she murmured.
He scoffed, “If you say so.”
“I do, oh, fuck, Archer, I do.” His pants were gone and he was grinding that deliciously hard cock against her through the thin fabric of her dress. She waved a hand and the dress disappeared. He groaned as his cock came into direct contact with her hot, wet sex.
“Don’t know what you want with someone like me,” he whispered.
“Everything, I want everything.” She dragged her fingernails down his back, leaving trails of pleasured pain. His muscles bunched and flexed under her hands as he slipped his cock along her cunt.
“Then have it,” he whispered before shifting himself to push is cock inside her. Inch by inch, thrust by thrust, stretching her, filling her.
Vera’s head fell back and her legs came up to wrap around his hips. The physics of the banister and their meeting hardly mattered in the dream space as his cock slipped in and out of her, spreading her wetness. Archer maneuvered his hand between them to press firm, calloused fingers against her clit.
“Archer!”
He moved his fingers in time with his thrusts - fuck, circle, fuck, circle and press, fuck deep and hard, circle faster.
It was good, so fucking good. She wanted more.
Vera pushed him off her, his cock slipping out of her and leaving her wanting. She grinned before taking him in hand and quite literally led him by the cock to the chaise lounge behind the double doors.
“Lay down,” she directed and he grinned.
“As the princess wishes.”
“Don’t you start!” This was her dream! He didn’t get to sass her (except she loved it when it did so of course he did it).
Despite the sass, he did as she commanded and she took a moment to just admire her dream concocted Archer. All that delightful dark skin, the musculature, the dark hair framing is cock and haloing his head. She blinked and there was now a gold hoop piercing one of his nipples. Oh now she would just be disappointed if he didn’t have that!
She was going to ride him until he screamed.
Vera moved a leg over him, facing away from him, straddling his pelvis before she reached down to direct him inside her. His hands were on her hips and once she was fully settled atop him, she braced her hands on the chaise lounge to leverage herself up…then down.
“Vera, you wicked thing,” he moaned.
She fucked him hard with her pussy. He groaned, gasped, leg twitched. A hand left her ass and fisted his hair, pulling her head back.
“Uh!” She cried as a rush of pleasure crashed through her.
“Touch yourself, cum on me.” He practically growled and yes, yes, she wanted to do that. Did that. Fingers circling, hips fucking, cock filling.
More, more - the fingers digging into the soft skin of her hip, the cock stretching her, the fingers playing with her clit, the hand tugging her hair -
Her cunt seized around the cock, her thighs pressing together as she cried out. The hand in her hand let go to let her fall forward onto her forearms. Archer moved, cock out of her only to push in again as Archer moved to fuck her from behind instead of below.
Vera gripped the fabric of the chaise as Archer began to move fast and hard. It was too much, it was perfect, it was not enough. His fingers dug into her hips hard enough to bruise and she hissed in pleasured pain. So good, so good -
“Vera, fuck, Vera,” he groaned and she felt him thrust once, twice, filling her cunt with his spend. She hummed in approval, wiggling her hips around him. Archer slapped her ass appreciatively before pulling out and back.
The thing about dreams was that refractory periods and things like “sense” didn’t matter. Didn’t exist if she didn’t want it to.
Vera ran a tongue over a sharp canine and felt a carnal hunger. She turned around to see Archer was laying back, and the cock was gone, replaced by a glistening cunt.
Everybody could be a Changeling in her dream.
“Look at you, needing a mouth on you, hmm?” She purred before stalking forward on all fours to and over him. He grinned before she kissed his mouth with unabashed hunger. She let him feel the sharpness of her teeth on his tongue before moving her mouth down to his chin. To his neck, peppering with kisses and nips. To his chest where she laved attention to that pierced nipple - tugging with a pointed tooth to gently lick away the sting. The hands in her hair this time were soft, and the gasps coming from him were quieter. She’d think ‘reverent’ but that was entirely too close to the name of a friend whom she did NOT want to picture right now.
Vera kissed down his chest and stomach, dipping a tongue into a belly button before delving even further downwards. Fuck, he smelled good. She pushed her nose into the dark hair, nuzzling and breathing him in.
“Shouldn’t be surprised you’re a bit of a freak,” Archer chuckled.
“Don’t pretend to not enjoy it,” she purred before trailing a flat tongue up the center of his cunt to then press against his large clit cock.
“Vera -!”
She sucked the clit cock into her mouth, her saliva pooling to slick and suck it. She pushed a finger inside of him, stretching him slowly. She added another finger and pressed a sharp tooth against the sensitive bulge of nerves. His hips jerked, her fingers curled and pumped.
“Dammit, sit on my face,” he growled. A moment later and his mouth was on her cunt and her mouth was on his. She rode his face and he pressed against her tongue. Fingers, his and hers, curled and thrusted, pushed and stretched. His cum from earlier still spilled from her and it didn’t stop him. Fuck that was hot. Fuck, fuck, fuck it was all hot.
Thighs trembling she came again against his mouth and he obliged her to cum on hers as well. She lapped at his pleasure and kissed his thighs in praise.
Beautiful, sexy, delightful man. She wanted him for real. She wanted him here in her bed (or chaise lounge) and beyond that. She wanted and wanted and wanted…
The lavender fog drifted into the non-descript room and her body felt lax. Her breathing slowed, her muscles relaxed as her mind drifted into blissful sleep at long last.
Counterfeit in the Thread Market wasn't exactly unheard of. Shit, Rook would be more surprised to find something genuine. What she wasn't expecting was for her favorite little stone singing friend to stop and squint at a jewelry display.
"Beautiful DIAMONDS! Sapphires! RUBIES! Buy a pretty for your pretty!" The seller called out.
Lace tilted her head, still focused on the display.
"Hello? Harding? You there?"
Lace blinked then looked at Rook with a sheepish smile, "The diamonds aren't real. None of them are."
"I could have told you that," Neve said.
"Well, yes, but I mean...they don't call out like the stone does. But that," and Lace gestured to a ring on a shopper's hand, "is a real stone. I feel it."
"What do diamonds feel like?" Rook asked, "Hard, right?"
"Yes but also...heavy, not just in weight but in feeling." Harding turned her attention to another passerby - a man with a rather dazzling earring catching the light.
"Alright, is that one the real thing?"
"Alexandrite! I like that one! It feels nice."
Rook made a note to pick up some more rocks on the next outing.
Learning about my Rook through banter. Just a little self-indulgent writing.
-
Bellara: So...you're Dalish, right?
Rook: Yep.
Bellara: But...you don't have Vallaslin.
Rook: I don't.
Bellara: Did you leave before you could get it?
Rook: No. My father isn't Dalish, and I was born in a city - I joined my mother's clan later. Didn't feel like the Vallaslin would suit me at the time.
Bellara: Oh.
-
Lucanis: Rook, what foods would you like prepared?
Rook: Anything really. Dalish, Free Marches, Tevinter, any kind of sea food.
Lucanis: Good to know.
-
Rook: You know, Taash, you don't have to choose to be Qunari or Rivaini.
Taash: What, you think I don't know that?
Rook: Hold your dragons. I'm saying - I'm Dalish and from a city. I respect the Vhenadahl and the halla. I sang prayers to Andraste and to the creators...before, you know, we knew shit.
Taash: Okay.
Rook: It's all important, and...you're all of it, put together into a unique experience of yourself.
Taash: I'll think about it.
-
Neve: Alright, your accent is not Tevinter, Antivan, Fereldan, or Orlesian. You're a Marcher.
Rook: She's found me out!
Neve: Now to figure out where.
Rook: Do you want me to tell you or is it more fun for you to put the clues together?
Neve: Don't tell me.
-
Rook: Fucking Venatori!
Harding: You really hate them.
Rook: Assholes kill people and use my gods as a fucking excuse.
Harding: You made that one explode.
Rook: Yeah, well, sometimes we deal with personal shit by exploding an evil shithead.
-
Neve: I've got it.
Rook: Oh do tell!
Neve: Kirkwall - Varric recruited you, told you to keep where you're from a secret.
Rook: Good thought but nope. Not from Kirkwall, and thank goodness for that.
Neve: Dammit.
-
Lucanis: You're quite good with that blade Rook. Who taught you?
Rook: My mother. She's a very skilled swordswoman. All of her kids are mages but she insisted we all learn how to defend ourselves with weaponry against Templars.
Lucanis: Smart woman. You have siblings?
Rook: Yeah, two older brothers.
Lucanis: Why am I not surprised you're the baby?
Rook: Because I am baby.
-
Bellara: I don't understand. Why not get the Vallaslin?
Rook: My clan was informed of its true meaning. My keeper started offering everyone a choice.
Bellara: True meaning?
Rook: Slave markings, apparently. Makes sense now with what we know of the gods.
Bellara: That's horrible!
Rook: My brother decided to get his despite that. He said "Whatever they were, they are now how we find each other. How we take pride in who we are." I didn't feel ready. I don't know if I will ever feel ready.
Bellara: That...makes a lot of sense, actually. Thank you.
-
Davrin: You saw the Inquisitor, right?
Rook: Yeah. For someone who has been fighting for so long, she looked great.
Davrin: She's like you - Dalish but no Vallaslin.
Rook: There's a few of us out there.
Davrin: I wonder how she got rid of it.
Rook: Ah. Don't like Ghilan'nain's design upon you?
Davrin: Most days it doesn't bother me, but some days...it makes my skin crawl.
Rook: I'll try to ask her next time I see her.
-
Neve: Alright. You don't have Vallaslin because your clan found out information about them from ancient times. You showed an odd familiarity with the inquisitor. You said you are both Dalish and from a city. You hate the Venatori. You're from Wycome.
Rook: Huzzah! You discovered it!
Neve: You were there when the Venatori tried to take over.
Rook: They poisoned our wells. Blamed the elves in the alienage. They killed so many.
Neve: That means your mother was from clan Lavellan - the same clan the Inquisitor was from.
Rook: That would be my clan.
Neve: No wonder Varric gave you a code name and made it so hard to find anything out about you.
Rook: I was twelve when Miriel, I mean, the Inquisitor, left the clan. We were so proud of her, and so worried for her. When she came back...without her Vallaslin...there was a lot of heartbreak that day.
-
Solas: You knew the Inquisitor.
Rook: I did. And you broke her heart.
Solas: I didn't have a choice.
Rook: From what she's said - you did. You just chose wrong.
