Samahlen

Drakes and Discoveries

Alistair slumped against a wall, his hair matted with sweat despite the snow gathered in the corners of the ruined chamber.  Blood mixed with the sweat at one temple, and Alistair swiped it away with the back of his hand impatiently.  "Raising dragonlings in a ruined cathedral on the top of a mountain is one thing.  Believing Andraste has returned from the dead is another thing, and not exactly an improvement.  But I really could have done without the drakes.  Ouch!"   Alistair turned to glare at Wynne, who was manipulating his shoulder.

"Oh, hush," Wynne said sharply.  "Nothing appears broken.  If you don't mind, I have wounded to tend to."

"Right, sorry to trouble you.  That's only my sword arm that I can't lift," Alistair retorted.

"Do stop fussing," Morrigan snapped.  She handed Wraith a flask filled with a viscous green liquid.  "Since he is your particular interest, you may wish to use this.  'Tis an embrocation of my own devising and should ease his discomfort."

"I'm sure," Alistair said.  "It's probably poison." 

"I leave the poisons to our assassin."  Morrigan replied coolly before walking away.

Wraith watched as Wynne bent over Zevran, using her magic to heal the gaping wounds that ran along his side where a drake had scored him.  The Antivan elf was quiet, his nostrils pinched and white as he sucked in a harsh breath.  Wynne looked up long enough to catch Wraith's eye and nod reassurance.

Wraith looked over at Alistair, his sword arm cradled against his waist.  "Come on, emma lath.  Let's get some of this on you."

"I'm not sure I want to put anything Morrigan brewed anywhere near my body."  Alistair's protest was given the lie by how meekly he followed Wraith into an empty chamber.

"Let's get that armor off and see how bad this is."  Wraith kept his voice brisk, but his hands were gentle as he opened the fastenings to Alistair's armor, easing the heavy plate and gambeson away.  Alistair's shoulder was already purple, the bruise running from his neck across his shoulder and shoulder blade and halfway down his upper arm.  Wraith winced, glad that he was behind his lover so that Alistair could not see his expression.

"So?  How bad is it?" Alistair asked after a moment.

"Move your shoulder for me."  Wraith watched as Alistair managed to rotate his shoulder slightly.  "That's good.  I'm going to put some of Morrigan's liniment on."

"Just in case I suddenly die, I love you."  Alistair did not turn around, but Wraith watched the red creep from Alistair's cheeks to his ears.

Wraith froze for a moment, the flask in one hand, poised to pour some of the thick contents onto the fingers of his other hand.  Three small words.  Alistair had said as much before, but Wraith realized he had never said those words himself, not exactly like that.

"You're not going to die," Wraith said, tipping out the liquid and dabbing it onto the livid bruise.  "Ma'arlath, I love you," he added softly.  Wraith worked quickly, spreading the surprisingly pleasant smelling liquid over the purple skin, and  Alistair bent his head forward with a sigh of relief. Wraith found himself mesmerized by the pale nape that was revealed, leaning in to feather a kiss, and Alistair's sigh turned into a soft groan.

"There's another place that hurts," Alistair murmured.  Wraith's eyes widened as Alistair turned, a small and very wicked grin on his face.  "Close the door?"

Wraith moved with alacrity, turning back to see Alistair opening the leather breeches he wore under his armor.  "Oh, Creators," Wraith whispered, the sight of Alistair's erect cock making him harden. 

Wraith reached under the leather strips of his kilt and pulled off his breechcloth, crossing back to Alistair in a few quick strides.  He straddled his lover, his lips seeking Alistair's lips, ignoring the discomfort of the plate under his thighs.  "Fast and quiet," Wraith cautioned, his fingers already slicking his puckered opening with Morrigan's liniment.

Wraith lowered himself onto Alistair's cock, hissing a little as it breached his ass, but one look in Alistair's green-gold eyes had Wraith forgetting the burn altogether as he rose and fell, impaling himself over and over on his lover.  Not even Tamlen had looked at Wraith as though no one else but Wraith existed.  Wraith's breath hitched, and he cupped Alistair's face between his hands, searching his eyes for a reason why, for something to explain Alistair's feelings, even as he wondered why he was questioning this.  This was what Wraith had wanted, this feeling of belonging, and he could not understand why it was so hard to just accept it.

Alistair made a small sound beneath him, eyes darkening with his impending release, and Wraith reached for his own cock, his strokes ragged, his other hand scrabbling for his discarded breechcloth.  It was Alistair who came first, grunting as Wraith ground down on his cock, Alistair's cum hot as it spurted inside Wraith.  Wraith sucked in a breath as his balls jumped, and he smothered the head of his cock in the breechcloth.  Alistair's back arched as Wraith's ass tightened, wringing the last drops of cum from Alistair.

Wraith slumped forward, panting, and leaned into Alistair's arms until he had caught his breath again.  Letting Alistair's flaccid cock slide free, Wraith stood and grabbed his pack, rummaging for a clean breechcloth and shoving the soiled one down deep.  Alistair was pulling his gambeson over his head, his shoulder moving easier, and he laughed as he caught Wraith's eye.

"Just don't let Wynne do your wash," Alistair teased as he reached for his armor.  "Now, let's go find a few more drakes."

Wraith went cold inside as he realized he could no longer bear to lose Alistair, not after those three small words.  But that was not a choice that was his to make and so, heartsore, he followed his lover into whatever awaited atop the mountain.

Prompt word: Embrocation

Reviews are cuddled, and replied to at: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php/topic/21690-bronxwenchs-review-replies/