wardenbrosca | AU: Inquisitor Alistair and Warden-Commander Brosca, sittin' in a tree...

AU: Inquisitor Alistair and Warden-Commander Brosca, sittin' in a tree...

Started here see the post for Alistair details.

While in Orzammar, instead of calling the Shaper a bunch of names and storming out of the Shaperate, she called the Shaper a bunch of names and then belligerently stayed there for weeks, researching Grey Wardens. She learned that for some reason, the Warden who slays an archdemon seems to always die. The Memories don't state that outright, but she does notice the pattern, and can add 2 plus 2 and get 4. So she knows that killing the Archdemon is going to involve some death.

Once Riordan shows up, she begins to think they have a shot at survival. She and Alistair decide against putting him on the throne, because they want to be together. Having to break up wouldn't be worth it. During the Landsmeet, Riordan suggests recruiting Loghain, and Zora sees it as a chance to have extra meat shields against the Archdemon. Stuff Loghain down an Archdemon's throat, make his stupid worthless life count for something, and save Brosca and Alistair to live and love another day. That was her plan- use Loghain as their fall guy, so she and Alistair can grow old together.

Alistair did not see it that way. He lost his shit, and since Brosca couldn't explain herself properly in front of the Landsmeet, everything fell apart. Brosca realized he was willing to leave her over his stupid pride, and was so hurt that she got caught up in the craziness of the moment. She knew that killing Loghain also probably meant that one of them would ultimately have to die- she wasn't willing to do that. She hoped Alistair would back down. He didn't. When Anora wanted Alistair executed, Zora freaked out and talked Anora down to exile to spare Alistair's life.

After that, Zora's brief flirtation with trying to actually have a happy ending was over. She was back to her single-minded purpose; the duty that cannot be forsworn. She had Loghain do the Dark Ritual, because if the Wardens were to be her life, they would need all their people alive. They survived the fight with the Archdemon, but she lived in regret forever at ruining Alistair's life. However, her regret was always dwarfed by her anger that Alistair abandoned her, abandoned the order, and didn't trust in her or love her enough to stand by her.

Fast forward ten years: Alistair is the Inquisitor and Brosca visited Skyhold with information about Corypheus and the Architect. She almost got eaten by the Nightmare demon in the Fade. Upon waking from her coma, she and Alistair reconcile, hug it out, and feel all their feelings.

This post is for miscellaneous threads set in that AU. Also, for random alternate scenarios OF the AU. Because sometimes you need to AU your AUs.

Also, there will be a thread list.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Zora yanked her hand away from her nethers and scrambled back on the table like she'd been burned.

"Alistair! What- shit. Fuck." She stared at him as if hypnotized; the only moving thing in the room, it seemed there was no where else she could look. The person she'd just been thinking about, the person she'd been lusting after for weeks, the person she'd been trying to get over for years.

Too awkward. Their clothes were in a pile on the floor, strewn about randomly, and she had honestly no idea where her own shirt was. So stayed as she was, lying there, staring at him and panting hard, still flushed, one hand closing reflexively around a tall peak of the Frostbacks. "No, it's- I'm- sorry."

Maker, even in the semi-darkness he looked like she remembered. All the little imperfections of Private What's-His-Name were gone: his eyes were the right shade of amber, perfectly crinkled with kindness and laughter; his hair was just so; voice that same buttery smooth that she always loved so much.

He held up a hand. "No apology needed. I'm almost certain the mark over Starkhaven is due to Cullen and Cassandra, so you and he most likely aren't even the first ones with the idea."

But he couldn't deny - to himself, not aloud, that it had... reminded him. Nights of bated breath in the camp, trying to stay quiet for the sake of the others. There was no such thing as a tent blocking noise, after all, and after he'd made his decision that she was it for him, they both had made the choice to indulge.

He'd had so much to learn. And he knew he still did, but the memories were...

He was doing his best not to think about them too much. About her and Mercier in the--

Wait. Was that a Warden tunic?

His eyes snagged on the shirt she was clinging to and began putting together the pieces. Mercier was someone they often sent in a different direction from where he was going, himself, to lead any spies in the wrong direction. And now, Zoralin and--

With a Warden tunic?

"...But I do think," he finally said, "that there are some long-unresolved issues at work here."

Once there had been a time when Zora and Alistair knew each other better than anyone- or at least, they thought they did. So she could see him looking at her, could hear the strain in his words that usually meant he was distracted. She knew he was looking, and trying not to look, and then all of a sudden she saw him thinking.

Shit.

"Yeah," she answered, still breathing too hard, eyes still a little too wide, lips parted as she stared at him. Maker, even in the dark, even through his clothes she could see the lines of his body, of- she bit her lip to stop herself from actually gaping at him. "Just a little."

Alistair had never had the luxury of putting on weight. From his childhood until now, he couldn't remember not having some sort of work to do. Skyhold kept him walking up and down stairs. Thedas kept him fighting demons and darkspawn.

He was not a small man. He never had been. But here, with him silhouetted by what light came in - maybe that was a little more obvious than usual. In the comfort of Skyhold, when there were no dignitaries he had to impress, he dressed simply, in clothes that spoke of his heritage. A homespun shirt, soft leather pants he could strap armour over at a moment's notice. Formfitting to a point, but for the sake of practicality. Not showing off.

The way she looked at him, he felt like he was showing off. And he was finding he liked it.

"I... am a little unsure," he said, keeping his eyes safely on her face, "as to what I should do now. Having seen what I've seen."

He wasn't leaving. Normally walking in on somebody else involved interruptions, awkwardness, and then leaving the situation and pretending it never happened. Zora had made no attempt to cover herself, was still lying on the table with her legs spread and her chest heaving, and he was still looking at her.

Her mind started to race the same track she'd been thinking about before, after Mercier left: Alistair, crossing the room in a few long strides, covering her with his body, carding his hands through her hair. Alistair, grabbing a fistful of her hair and pulling tight enough to hurt, holding her down easily with his strength, taking her on this table until she screamed.

"Come here," she whispered, voice wavering.

Someday, he thought, he would either hate or love this moment, and he didn't know which. Because two words - two small words - were his undoing. He said, "I shouldn't." But he said that as he crossed the room, all thought of Pharamond's research gone in favour of going to her, of pulling himself up onto the table over her, and slanting his mouth over hers in a way that had only been in his dreams for years atop years.

Her skin was still so warm under his hands, with marks in all of the right places. The curve of her shoulder was still what he remembered, and her hair still felt like silk in his fingers. His heart ached with it, with the want and the need and the memory all coming together. All because of two little words.

She came alive under him immediately: hands in his hair, stroking his face, hips rocking in needy motions that undulated her whole body, legs spreading and hitching up around him.

Oh Maker, she was still so turned-on from before, that having him here, kissing her, touching her, was enough to make her moan and clutch at him, hand sliding under his shirt to seek out bare skin. And oh, he was just like she remembered, this is what she needed- the acid scar on his shoulder, the mole on the back of his neck, the way his kisses started out gentle but rapidly became deep, intense, sensual things. She kissed him back hard, gasping pleasure and heartache and want into his mouth.

"Alistair-" she gasped, not believing he was real.

"Maker's sight, Zora," he moaned against her mouth. He hated taking one hand away from her, even for a moment, but it was a needful thing, sweeping the markers from the table in favour of moving her up further, far enough that he could get his own knees onto the surface - and so he could loosen the laces of his pants, pushing things out of the way until, blunt and needful on his own, he could push inside of her and--

And moan a low, choked sound as he clutched her against him. Over the last years, now and then the need had struck and he had touched himself, but nothing had compared to this. Nothing had felt like being inside of her. He had to go still, shivering as he felt the waves of sensation go over him. Not an orgasm - and even if it had been, thanks to being a Warden, it wouldn't have mattered.

He knew then that no one would see him for the rest of the night. They would assume he'd gotten tired and gone to bed, and at least half of that statement would be true. Once, here, now, would not be enough.

It'd been obvious from the outset that Alistair had noticed her; even in the dim light she could tell, but Zora hadn't expected him to get straight to the point so immediately. The fact that he was that hard, that aroused by the sight of her, by barely a couple minutes of kissing, made her shudder.

Then he was inside her and she let her head fall back with a helpless, high-pitched keening noise that sounded desperate and intense even to her own ears. Andraste's ass, she'd dreamed about this for years, and all the emotionless sex in the world (regardless of the skill involved) couldn't compare to the feeling of being joined with him. She could feel him shuddering and gasping above him, lost in his own shivering need, and felt connected for the first time in a decade.

Maker, it was so good, but not enough skin. She wanted to see all of him, and started pulling his shirt up insistently, determined to feel as much of his skin against hers as she could. Zora wrapped her legs around his waist and squeezed, as if trying to drive him deeper inside her.

His shirt was easily discarded, snagging a marker from the table when he hurried to toss it away, but he paid no mind. There was the glory of skin on skin instead, old scars and new scars exposed for hands to touch, the comfort of warmth and contact after too long without.

Shirt gone, Alistair could touch her again, and did. His hands skimmed her sides, holding at her hips so he could brace himself there and push in as deep as she wanted - but one hand slid in, toward where their bodies met. "I remember," he murmured. "I remember how we fit together, Zora. Mh, Maker, let me move, please--"

No Orlesian accent. Fereldan, low and heavy and thick with want. But he couldn't give either of them what they really wanted if she didn't let him move.

For a moment, it seemed as if Zora didn't understand; she trembled and shook, even more desperate and wanting than he, arms and legs both clutching at him tight.

Then, finally, she relaxed, keeping her legs hitched up at his waist, wrapped around him loosely.

"Yes."

He sighed the word and burying his face against her neck, kissing her skin, he matched intent to action. He was slow at first, making certain of his own ability before he started to really build his rhythm, finding the harmony between what both of them wanted. She was farther along than he, but it took so little for him to need her.

His mouth was open on her neck, kissing, grazing with his teeth, tongue soothing every little bite. The taste of her skin was exactly as he remembered, leaving him moaning her name.

She tangled a hand in his hair, gripping tight as he mouthed at her neck, and moved with him. His rhythm left her gasping, turning her head to moan breathlessly in his ear and kiss any bit of skin she could reach.

As the rhythm built her hips rose up to meet him, eagerly seeking that deep, intense feeling of being filled. It was perfect, it was better, it left her helpless to do anything but whimper as he kissed her neck. But that moan- oh, when he said her name like that she threw her head back and let out a deep, low, hungry sound and clutched at him, nails digging into his shoulder, fisting a hand in his hair and dragging him up to crash their mouths together fiercely.

How. How had he gone so long without her, without this, without feeling like this. He'd forgotten desire, and want, and how right this felt.

He kissed her, and it was a needful thing, breath ragged when he could breathe at all. She knew exactly how to move and how to touch him to sate him and make him want even more. "You drive me mad," he murmured against her mouth, fingers working into her hair and holding there.

Time went by the wayside. How long it was before he moved a hand to the small of her back, there was no way to know, but when he lifted her hips just so, it made every stroke bury him deep, and made his heart pound. "F- Fuck, Zora, I--"

He could feel it starting. However long it had took, however long they'd moved with one another, his body was telling him the time had come.

As ragged and needful as he was, she was worse, her composure unraveled by his absolute, wanton lust for her. She was drunk on the way he shuddered, the way he moaned and held her and pounded into her like he needed her. Zora held him just as tightly, moved under him, drew in a breath when he spoke those words and pulled her hair.

"I know," she said, biting at his lip and kissing a hard line up his jaw, catching his earlobe in her teeth.

Zora had no idea how long they were together like that, Alistair pounding into her, caressing her, skin on skin hot and smooth and addictive. It could have gone on forever and it never would have stopped feeling right: how he held her, how small she felt pinned under him, strong arms on either side of her to cage her in, his broad form looming over her, hands touching her big enough to cover her whole face. She gripped his arms for something to ground her, so she could get lost in him, in hooking a leg around his waist and moaning her helpless, high-pitched moans into the air trapped between them.

He lifted her hips and her breath stuttered in her throat. Zora was starting to lose it; her hands roamed from his arms to gripping his shoulder to clawing his back to holding his face for a fierce kiss. A red flush crept down her chest, sweat glistening in the moonlight, lips parted to meet his, to kiss him quiet when he groaned out shaky pleasure.

"Alistair," she whined, unable to breathe without moaning. She'd always loved this part, when he started to lose his mind, when he started to curse and lose his caution. It drove a spike of lust down her spine; she bucked her hips and snaked a hand between them to touch herself in quick light strokes that made her cry out. "Yes," she moaned, biting her lip and meeting his eyes desperately. "Yes, yes- Alistair- come, come in me."

It was stupid, senseless babble that trailed into a keening noise as she arched, holding him tight enough for her nails to scratch long red lines down his back, coming hard around him with a curse and a cry of his name.

Her nails down his back went through him like lightning, making breath and voice catch in his throat. His movements became hurried, staccato, and then, groaning on each thrust, he pushed in deep, once, again, again, muscles straining as he left his seed inside of her. His breath became panting, arms finding a way to brace on either side of her as he had to regain his strength.

Nothing had felt like that since--

Since.

And now he had to wonder if anything ever would. Every part of him felt made for her. He responded to her in ways even his imagination couldn't match. But in that moment, he didn't want to think about what that meant. Not when he could still feel her warmth near him and her skin on his. Not when he could lean down and press a kiss against her shoulder. Not when years of tension had finally let him go.

Zora hummed her approval and squeezed around his cock, knowing how short his recovery really was. Now that they had both gotten the absolute, driving madness out of the way she was free to run her hands up and down his chest, fingers recalling the old scars and cataloging the new, lingering a bit at his nipples with a gentle caress.

There were so many things she could say, but she feared that if they spoke this night would go sideways fast, so she kept touching him, kept exploring him with her hands, kept squeezing around him every so often and stroking the back of his thigh with her foot. She kept touching him, to keep them from needing to speak.

As always, even the lightest touch to his nipples made him gasp and kept him hard, as if that was about to flag. His nerves were still singing, heart still beating hard. She really did know every inch of him, even now.

Her little touches encouraged his, his hands sweeping up her sides until his thumbs were following the low curve of her breasts, skimming upward until they circled her nipples and he could give them a warm squeeze.

Easier not to think. So much easier to feel. And easier still to follow his wants, his head ducking down until his mouth could fasten over one of those nipples, tongue swirling around the peak.

Zora tipped her head back and moaned out loud, her fingers winding into his hair to hold him there. He remembered how sensitive she was there, how easily that could make her unravel.

"Oh," she sighed, rocking her hips against his. "Alistair, that's-"

She trailed off. Better not to speak too much, except to moan his name. Better to keep running her hands up and down his back, scraping lightly with her nails, tracing the edge of that old acid scar. Better to reach down and grab his ass with both hands, massaging and squeezing and digging in her nails.

Sucking, nibbling, he paid each breast attention, and pushed deep inside her, thrust by rocking thrust. The movements were slow and short without a single full length press, but he was never very far out of her with any move.

It was the sort of rhythm that would last as he kissed his way up, up from her breasts to her collarbone to her mouth. Those nails were setting his blood on fire again, and he murmured against her lips. "Damn it, Zora..."

But his resistance was melting by the moment.

She wound her hands into his hair again and caught those lips in a searing kiss: deep, slow, tongues stroking together intimately, biting at his lip, dragging him closer to feel him even deeper. Maker, she wanted him- she had him, and yet she still wanted him with a need that burned under her skin like a blacksmith's fire.

"Al," she gasped, lust undoing her higher thoughts, making her senseless to resist the intimacy and memories of the pet name. "Please, I need-"

You.

"Yes."

One word, but it held so much meaning. Breath uneven, he started to move, thrusting against her now in long, thorough strokes, mouth affixed to hers needfully. No time to think or wonder. There was only time to move and want, give and take with the two of them so starved for touch--

He had always been mouthy in more ways than one, and now his traveled over all of her he could reach. Her neck, shoulder, collarbone. He sucked on the lobe of her ear, let his teeth graze her throat, hips moving all the while. And when she touched him with her nails, it drew out all sorts of moans and gasps and incomprehensible growls, thrusts changing from deep and slow to quick and hard and back again, following whatever his body demanded moment to moment.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

AU: Inquisitor Alistair and Warden-Commander Brosca, sittin' in a tree...

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject