Samahlen

Haven

"A fine thank you," Morrigan grumbled.  "I braved the Fade and slew the demon, and yet we are sent on another fool's mission."

Wraith arched a brow at the witch.  "You don't believe we will find Andraste's ashes?"

"What I believe is apparently largely irrelevant," Morrigan retorted.  "We are here, on the road to a place that is barely on a map at all, to seek out the trail of a missing Chantry scholar in the hopes of finding an urn containing the remains of an immolated prophetess.  'Tis no odder than any of our other quests."

Wraith was surprised when Alistair began to chuckle.  He turned to look at his lover, quirking a grin when Alistair shrugged.

"She's got a point.  I mean, I was raised in the Chantry, but no one believes the Urn of Sacred Ashes will ever be found."  Alistair shrugged again.  "And even if we did find them, who's to say they'll cure Eamon?"  Alistair caught Wraith's expression and colored faintly.  "What?  I do actually think about things sometimes."

"You think about things a lot," Wraith countered, still grinning.  "Sometimes too much."

"Oh, really?  Since you're so smart, what am I thinking about now?"  Alistair fought to hide his own grin.

Wraith chuckled.  "You're thinking that with any luck, everyone will be so excited about the Ashes that they'll forget about trying to make you King."

"Ouch!" Alistair laughed.  "Maker's breath, you're good."  He ignored Morrigan's snort of derision.  "That would be nice, though.  If that happened, I mean."

"A lot of things would be nice," Zevran grumbled.  "A decent meal would be nice.  Not climbing every mountain we find would be nice.  Not winding up covered in other people's blood every day would be nice."

"You're an assassin," Wraith retorted.  "I thought being covered in other people's blood was your job."  He ignored Zevran's glare.  "I wish it would be that easy, emma lath."

"I know," Alistair sighed.  "Ever since we got embroidered, no, that's not the word.  What was it Irving said?  Embargoed?"

"Embrangled," Morrigan said wearily.  "Ever since we got embrangled in this fiasco, it has been one disaster after another and will likely culminate in your becoming King of Ferelden, no doubt in time to see us all succumb to the hordes of darkspawn ravaging the land as we speak."

"Is that even a word?" Alistair asked.  "No, don't answer that.  I don't need another lecture about my lack of intelligence, thank you.  And I'm well aware of the need to deal with the darkspawn.  I can feel them, in case you'd forgotten."

"Could we just make camp?" Zevran interjected.  "My feet are killing me.  All this climbing..."

"Do you think those Antivan leather boots you found will actually shut Zevran up?"  Alistair was grinning as he stretched out on the bedroll, watching as Wraith finished undressing.

"Do you?" Wraith countered, chuckling.  "For someone whose feet were killing him, he was pretty light on them when the locals decided to try and kill us.  Do you know anything about this cult?"

"Not a thing," Alistair admitted, his face growing serious.  "I've never heard of a Cult of Andraste before, but I'll tell you, a revered father?  The Grand Cleric's head would explode if she heard that."  Alistair shook his head.  "Hurry up, would you?  It's cold!"

Wraith tried not to smile.  "So, that's all I am to you, is it?  A bed warmer?"

"Hardly," Alistair retorted.  "If you were, you'd have warmer feet."  He started to laugh as Wraith got into the bedroll beside him.  "You see?  Your feet are like ice!"

Wraith pulled Alistair into a kiss, looking into his lover's green-gold eyes and wondering how he could ever have thought of Alistair as just some shem he was burdened with as a companion.  Alistair made him laugh, lightened the burden of  trying to deal with both darkspawn and a brewing civil war at the same time.  But more than that, Alistair was home, or as close to home as Wraith would ever know again.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Alistair asked, smiling as he brushed Wraith's hair out of his eyes.  "You need a haircut."

"Are you volunteering to cut my hair?"  Wraith nipped at Alistair's lower lip, and then licked where he had nipped.

"You'd be better off asking Wynne."  Alistair sighed as Wraith moved on top of him, straddling his hips and grinding down on Alistair's cock.  "And no more talking, right?"

"Right," Wraith agreed, and leaned forward to plunder Alistair's mouth greedily.  Wraith's eyes were still fixed on Alistair's eyes, and he wanted to fall into those green-gold depths and never come up.  

Wraith reached down to grasp Alistair's cock and guide it to his ass, the head pressing against his tight pucker.  He sucked in a deep breath and pressed himself down, Alistair's cock breaching his ass, and Wraith hissed, the initial burn fading so quickly into bliss as Alistair's cock found his prostate.  Wraith let his eyes flutter closed, his back arching as the pleasure raced up his spine, grinding himself down against his lover's groin.

Wraith lost track of time, knowing only the feeling of Alistair's cock moving within him, his prostate under relentless assault, small moans escaping him almost non-stop.  Heat coiled in his belly, and Alistair's sword-rough hand closed around Wraith's cock, his thumb rubbing the cleft beneath the head.  Wraith mewled, feeling his sac tighten and then the heat in his belly exploded outward and Wraith spilled on both their bellies as Alistair's breath hitched and he emptied himself into Wraith's ass.

Wraith shivered, and Alistair pulled him forward, the elf's face buried in his neck.

"Emma lath," Wraith managed, his breathing ragged.

"I know," Alistair murmured as he pulled up the covers against the chill of the mountain air.  "I know, love."  He snorted a laugh.  "Being embrangled with you makes it better, though, cold feet and all."

Prompt word: Embrangled

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