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The Joining
folder
+A through F › Dragon Age (all)
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
7,306
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
+A through F › Dragon Age (all)
Rating:
Adult
Chapters:
1
Views:
7,306
Reviews:
1
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Dragon Age and make no money from these stories.
The Joining
“Don’t tell me you’re going to sleep on me. Was I really that bad? That boring? Rosaline? Rose?”
In spite of the heavy contentment I felt spreading through my limbs, I couldn’t help but grin goofily and crack a sleepy eye at my new (and far from boring) lover.
“And now you’re laughing at me. Wonderful. At this rate, I’ll go down in history as Alistair the Impotent, the last and most pathetic of the Grey Wardens.”
“I’m smiling at you because I love that silly nickname. It’s such a human thing to do, to shorten someone’s name as a form of endearment. You know, elves never do that. I get butterflies in my stomach every time you call me Rose. It makes me feel like we’re in our own secret world. And as far as your performance being boring or laughable – well, I’d show you again exactly how enthusiastic I am about you if I wasn’t so… spent.” My eyes were closing again in drowsy contentment.
“Hey – hey! Where are you going? What’s this sleepy obsession with sleeping? We have all night together. You don’t even want to know what I had to do to make Zev agree to cover both of our watches tonight.”
My eyes snapped open again. “You… planned this? You told Zevran?”
“Relax – I told Zev we’d both become ill from his lousy cooking and that Wynne was looking green, too. It helped that Wynne had already collapsed from the exhaustion of the day. It also helped that Zevran is actually a dreadful cook. I mean, I know he has this weird leather fetish, but does he have to make his food smell and taste like it, too?”
“Still, I can’t believe you planned this. That was awfully cocky of you. What if I’d turned you down?”
“Oh, I don’t know – I took the 15 previous invitations you’d given me to join you in your tent as a pretty good sign.”
“I always thought the 16th time would be the charm.”
“Can you believe what an idiot I was to wait so long to be ‘ready’? We could have done this 15 more times already!”
“I guess we’ll have to make up for lost time, then.”
“I like the sound of that.” Alistair traced a finger down my cheek and across my lips. “Rose,” he whispered. “My beautiful Rose.”
We locked eyes and the look he gave me simultaneously filled me up and broke me down. It was pure devotion. His love and faith and trust in me was flowing out of him in waves, and for the first time I understood what, exactly, he had needed to be ready for. The Alistair I love – my Alistair – was incapable of committing to anything halfway, least of all love. I loved him, and dear Maker I wanted him, but I was unequal to this. Wynne in her wisdom had understood what I had not. I could walk away from this tent and although I would feel pain I would also recover. Alistair would not. I could destroy him more completely than the Archdemon could.
“Rose? Don’t slip away again. We were just fulfilling another long-held fantasy of mine: pillow talk. Because I love pillows, and I love talking, so it stands to reason that –“
“I love you,” I said suddenly. It came out more fiercely than I had intended. I heard Alistair’s sharp intake of breath and saw his eyes widen. “I love you,” I whispered again.
And then we were reaching for each other, our bodies fitting together more easily than I would have believed for new lovers. Our first time had been a substantiation of desire, with all its trembling anticipation, fumbling advances, and delicious over-indulgence. Our second time was the purest form of need. Without his lips I could not breathe. Without my arms he could not feel. Until we were joined we would be unformed, half-people crying out for completion. We drank deeply of each other’s eyes. We took nourishment from each other’s skin. “I love you,” he breathed out as he moved within me. “I love you,” I breathed in as I arched around him. Our hearts pulsed only to the rhythm of our movement. The murmured repetitions of “I love you” passed between us like a new Chant until it merged into a wordless chord of adulation. As he gave himself to me for the second time, I truly gave myself to him for the first. I blossomed in his light, open at last.
Alistair rested his head on my chest in the quiet aftermath. “I survived the Joining for the Grey Wardens,” he said, “but I’m not sure I’ll survive this one. My heart may burst.” I tightened my arms around him and we drifted off to sleep, together.
In spite of the heavy contentment I felt spreading through my limbs, I couldn’t help but grin goofily and crack a sleepy eye at my new (and far from boring) lover.
“And now you’re laughing at me. Wonderful. At this rate, I’ll go down in history as Alistair the Impotent, the last and most pathetic of the Grey Wardens.”
“I’m smiling at you because I love that silly nickname. It’s such a human thing to do, to shorten someone’s name as a form of endearment. You know, elves never do that. I get butterflies in my stomach every time you call me Rose. It makes me feel like we’re in our own secret world. And as far as your performance being boring or laughable – well, I’d show you again exactly how enthusiastic I am about you if I wasn’t so… spent.” My eyes were closing again in drowsy contentment.
“Hey – hey! Where are you going? What’s this sleepy obsession with sleeping? We have all night together. You don’t even want to know what I had to do to make Zev agree to cover both of our watches tonight.”
My eyes snapped open again. “You… planned this? You told Zevran?”
“Relax – I told Zev we’d both become ill from his lousy cooking and that Wynne was looking green, too. It helped that Wynne had already collapsed from the exhaustion of the day. It also helped that Zevran is actually a dreadful cook. I mean, I know he has this weird leather fetish, but does he have to make his food smell and taste like it, too?”
“Still, I can’t believe you planned this. That was awfully cocky of you. What if I’d turned you down?”
“Oh, I don’t know – I took the 15 previous invitations you’d given me to join you in your tent as a pretty good sign.”
“I always thought the 16th time would be the charm.”
“Can you believe what an idiot I was to wait so long to be ‘ready’? We could have done this 15 more times already!”
“I guess we’ll have to make up for lost time, then.”
“I like the sound of that.” Alistair traced a finger down my cheek and across my lips. “Rose,” he whispered. “My beautiful Rose.”
We locked eyes and the look he gave me simultaneously filled me up and broke me down. It was pure devotion. His love and faith and trust in me was flowing out of him in waves, and for the first time I understood what, exactly, he had needed to be ready for. The Alistair I love – my Alistair – was incapable of committing to anything halfway, least of all love. I loved him, and dear Maker I wanted him, but I was unequal to this. Wynne in her wisdom had understood what I had not. I could walk away from this tent and although I would feel pain I would also recover. Alistair would not. I could destroy him more completely than the Archdemon could.
“Rose? Don’t slip away again. We were just fulfilling another long-held fantasy of mine: pillow talk. Because I love pillows, and I love talking, so it stands to reason that –“
“I love you,” I said suddenly. It came out more fiercely than I had intended. I heard Alistair’s sharp intake of breath and saw his eyes widen. “I love you,” I whispered again.
And then we were reaching for each other, our bodies fitting together more easily than I would have believed for new lovers. Our first time had been a substantiation of desire, with all its trembling anticipation, fumbling advances, and delicious over-indulgence. Our second time was the purest form of need. Without his lips I could not breathe. Without my arms he could not feel. Until we were joined we would be unformed, half-people crying out for completion. We drank deeply of each other’s eyes. We took nourishment from each other’s skin. “I love you,” he breathed out as he moved within me. “I love you,” I breathed in as I arched around him. Our hearts pulsed only to the rhythm of our movement. The murmured repetitions of “I love you” passed between us like a new Chant until it merged into a wordless chord of adulation. As he gave himself to me for the second time, I truly gave myself to him for the first. I blossomed in his light, open at last.
Alistair rested his head on my chest in the quiet aftermath. “I survived the Joining for the Grey Wardens,” he said, “but I’m not sure I’ll survive this one. My heart may burst.” I tightened my arms around him and we drifted off to sleep, together.