Work Text:
“Oh, hel-lo, big fellow.” Lavellan let out a low whistle, hands on her lips and delicate brows high in surprise as she examined the beast in front of her. When Dennet had mentioned that he had some more exotic mounts available for purchase, she hadn't quite been imagining...this. But here she was, face to face with a dracolisk. There was a first time for everything, she supposed.
Well, face to chest, really—the creature was massive, at least compared to her slight frame, and it towered over her, peering down at her through slitted yellow eyes. Lavellan swallowed and tipped her head back, meeting its harsh gaze. There was a cold intelligence in its eyes, the faintest spark of awareness; it let out a sharp, hot huff and took a step closer. They examined each other for a silent moment before Lavellan spoke again, eager to fill the tense silence.
“So, you're a Sharp-Tail, eh? To be honest, I'm not sure what that means. Maybe it's your name. I get handed a lot of papers that I forget to read.” She cleared her throat and smiled, the nervous smile that always accompanied her trademark nervous babbling. “Handsome fellow. Nice, er...giant vicious claws.”
Truly, it—or he, she supposed—was a handsome beast, at least for a dracolisk. He would make a good mount: Slim, strong legs, a broad spiked chest, and teeth and horns that ought to fuel the nightmares of half the Inquisition. He was a mottled green and red, too bold to be camouflage; everything about him was a challenge to anyone stupid enough to accept it. Really, Lavellan thought, he was perfect. Slightly more imposing than the rather sickly horse she'd been dragging all over Thedas, anyway. This was a real mount, a creature just as wild as the land he once called home, just as wild as the deep, dark woods of her own homeland. This was a creature that was exultantly alive.
She extended one hesitant hand and he leaned down to meet her, pressing his nose against her palm. His skin was rough, leathery instead of scaly like she'd imagined, and his breath was hot against her hand. Carefully, she stroked his snout, feeling her way along every ridge and spike that marked his misshapen face. When he straightened up again, she found herself straining on her tiptoes to still reach his head; she'd swear he almost looked amused. She let her hand slide further down, gently rubbing the softer, paler skin of his neck before reaching out to feel the imposing musculature of his legs. “You're a smart boy, yeah? Not the big scary monster Dennet warned me about. You're not going to kill me, are you?” she asked.
He pinned her with an indignant, piercing glare. And then he pulled away with a haughty toss of his head and let out a keening shriek that shook the stable roof. For a moment, her blood ran cold as ice—and then he leaned down to bump his nose against her shoulder again, like a dog eager for another scratch.
“Ah,” she said and grinned. “You'll only kill me if I keep asking stupid questions, is that it?”
He snorted and nuzzled against her shoulder. Her grin widened. Yes, he'd do nicely.
*
“Uh, Boss, I don't know if you noticed, but you forgot your saddle.”
“Hm? What?” Lavellan looked up at the sudden interruption, jolted out of idle thoughts. They'd been riding for hours now in the middle of nowhere (lost, but not lost enough for anyone to admit it yet), and she'd stopped listening to her companions' chatter hours ago...right about the time it had turned into incessant bickering. A typical afternoon.
“I said, you forgot your saddle.” Bull was watching her with a crooked grin and furrowed brow, looking halfway between bewildered and amused. He shifted on his own horse—a massive charger that still visibly strained to carry his weight, saddle and all—and shrugged. "I figured I should probably point that out."
“Oh, no. Hah. Funny you should ask. I didn't forget, Anaris is just a stubborn dung-brained cur who refuses to wear a saddle.” Lavellan grinned cheerfully, even as the dracolisk beneath her let out an angry hiss that managed to make even Bull look nervous. Her words were warm with affection, epithet and all, and the dracolisk knew it as well as she did. She rubbed his muscled neck. “Luckily he's a very thoughtful dung-brained cur, so he hasn't tossed me off yet.”
A strangled choking sound erupted from behind them; Solas rode up on her left on his slender hart, looking as flustered as she'd ever seen him. “Did you just say that you named your...your beast Anaris? That is perhaps the most—”
“I thought about naming him Fen'Harel, but then I figured if I was going to be sacrilegious, I ought to just go all the way, y'know?”
Solas buried his face in his hands and let out a feeble groan. He looked like he was about to either faint or lecture her on the moral implications about naming a dracolisk after a Forgotten One; it had the potential to be one of his more interesting lectures, really. She was nearly interested in hearing it.
“Oi, you lot!” Sera interrupted them, popping up on Lavellan's right. “If you're done being boring, we should probably make camp, yeah? It'll be dark soon and Bull's scared of the dark.”
Lavellan grinned, ignoring Bull's loud grunt of objection, and shook her head. “I think we can all manage a bit further today. Come on, let's see if we can make it to the foothills tonight.”
Ignoring everyone's immediate grumbling, she dug her heels into the dracolisk's sides. He sped up with a sharp cry, and before long, his breakneck pace had pushed them far past their companions. Everything else seemed to fade away. The sun was low in the sky, orange light spilling out over the plains, and the world was silent but for the sounds of footsteps and quiet breathing. They were familiar with each other by now, each of them accustomed to what the other wanted after so many long months spent together—and more often than not, they were completely absorbed by each other. The dracolisk had no interest in the beasts the others rode, just as Lavellan's interest in her companions' company seemed to be waning with every day. Lately the dracolisk commanded more and more of her attention.
With every stride and every bump, Lavellan's breathing grew shallower, more strained. Her hands slid down from his horns until she was half-consciously stroking the soft skin of his neck, rubbing the hard muscles of his shoulders. Her eyes fluttered closed and she tightened her legs around him. Another sharp bump. This time, she moaned—a low, filthy sound—and gripped him tighter.
Alright, so maybe she hadn't been completely honest with Bull. It was true that Anaris refused to wear a saddle—he'd eaten three in the past month alone, much to Dennet's dismay. But she had, admittedly, left out the part where the ridge of his back ground up against her in all the right ways.
“Good boy,” she murmured, her voice faint. “Good boy. A bit faster now.”
The dracolisk keened softly in response, seemingly-aware of her desire, and increased his pace. Every step sent an electric, pulsing shock coursing through her veins and a slick wetness pooling between her legs. The pressure was building with every second, and her lust was spiraling into a blind daze. Her slow grinding back-and-forth shifted into something desperate, a reckless canting of her hips, and her head fell back with one ragged gasp. His leaping stride was more unsteady now, less controlled; he tossed his head, sniffing wildly, and let out a raw shriek that managed to draw her out of her fog of pleasure.
“Careful,” Lavellan gasped, grabbing at his horns, “careful, careful—”
The next thing she knew, she was on the ground with a pounding head, a sore ass, and hopelessly blurry vision. She had gone too far, she thought, mind racing as she tried to push herself back off the ground. Shame, guilt, and throbbing pain all washed over her, even before she had time to catch her breath. She had let herself get carried away and she'd pay for it with a miserable bruise tomorrow and—
And then she felt something cold and wet against her. Her vision returned with a jolt. Anaris had his head between her legs, his snout pressed against the crotch of her trousers, as he investigated the scent of her arousal. His breath was hot against her and he was grunting wildly, more worked up than she had ever seen him. He could smell her, she realized. He wanted to mate with her, as if she were a female in heat.
Well, then. That was...something. But she didn't have time to waste considering the details; her lust was quickly pushing aside every last trace of shame. The warmth of his breath made her shiver and the rough scratch of his scaly snout earned the softest of moans. He was gentle but insistent, pressing his snout against her, searching for some sort of opportunity to bypass her thick leather trousers. She arched her sore back almost unconsciously, pressing forward to meet him. What would it feel like, the rough plane of his tongue between her legs—the thick length of his cock pressing into her? She let out another wanton moan and let her hands drift down to her belt, moments away from undoing it.
And then she heard hoofbeats in the distance, a faint reminder of the obstacles that still remained between her and her pleasure. Yet she wavered for an instant. It would be so easy to give in, to let him finish what he had started—
No. She couldn't. Not now. (Being the Inquisitor was hard enough without a massive scandal on her hands, after all.) And so she pushed his head away and clambered to her feet, swaying unsteadily for just one moment before she hoisted herself up on his back. The dracolisk turned to look at her with an inquisitive whine, that familiar glimmer of intelligence in his yellow eyes. His chest was heaving; he was visibly struggling to restrain himself, caught between the base animal instinct that had sent her plummeting to the ground and the higher sentience that made him such a valuable asset. At last, he let out a huff and resumed his steady walk towards the distant foothills.
This time, the latter half of his being had won out. Part of her wondered what might have happened if he hadn't been able to stop himself. But that was a question for another day.
"Not yet," she breathed, reaching out to gently stroke the dracolisk's cheek. Her voice caught—with hesitant affection or with something else, some dark anticipation, she wasn't quite sure. "Not yet."
*
Lavellan paused for a single moment before she entered the stable, one hand idly lingering on the splintered wooden door as she tried to collect herself. It was late at night, long past the hour when anyone would be awake but for the guards far away on the ramparts. She was all alone. All alone but for the beast that waited on the other side of the door, that is. Yet even though she hesitated, she didn't bother doubting her decision. This was what she had been waiting for and there was no point in waiting any longer, not when she was so certain of what she wanted. At last, she stepped through the doorway and let the door swing shut behind her.
It was too dark to see, but she could feel the dracolisk's presence, could reach out and touch every inch of him. At first they just stood there, both of them breathing heavily in the darkness—her hands on his shoulders, his breath hot and heavy on her face. She drew a deep breath and smiled. It might be too late to turn back now, but that was just how she liked it.
He moved to nose at her fingers, investigating the not-quite-familiar smell, and then he let out a guttural grunt. She had never heard him make a noise like that, never heard a sound quite so...wild. So raw. She laughed, faint and nervous, and sent up a silent prayer to any god that might be listening that she would end up living through the night. That would be quite the dramatic end to the Inquisition.
“You can smell what I've been doing, can't you? Yeah?” She rubbed his snout, watching in the dim light as he arched his head to try and sniff her fingers again. She cleared her throat, took a deep breath, and gave up any last pretenses of shame as her voice dropped to a low whisper. “My hand's not bad, but I've been imagining your cock inside me the whole time. Mounting me, fucking me, filling me.”
He grunted again. His head dropped, following the scent to sniff between her legs. And then he pushed his head forward, forceful enough to send Lavellan taking a stumbling step backwards, pushing her until she bumped into the stable wall.
“Okay, okay,” she gasped. “Hold on. Be patient.” With shaky hands, she eased her trousers down, over her hips, until at last she could cast them aside. They landed in a crumpled heap, followed by her smallclothes; he waited for only a second before he pushed forward again, shoving his nose up against her crotch and sniffing. She could sense his arousal—he was clearly worked up just by her scent, pawing at the dirt of the stall and growling impatiently, rough stuttering grunts and whines. There was still a bit of wildness in him, something she hadn't managed to tame. The thought was enough to send sparks down her spine and goosebumps up her arms. All she could do was hope that he wouldn't be wild enough to break her.
Anaris was tired of waiting. He took another aggressive stride forward, butting his head against her chest. This time it was enough to knock her to the ground. She hit the dirt with a sharp gasp and desperately tried to steady herself, somehow managing to stay sitting up, her back against the wall. He pressed his nose between her legs, rubbing against her, and she let out a moan. She had still been slick from earlier, but now she was positively soaking with lust, and she was desperate for his touch. His tongue flickered out, testing, tasting—he lapped between her legs, the rough skin of his thick tongue scraping over her in a blinding burst of pleasure and pain.
“Yes, yes,” she moaned, canting her hips up against him, willing to do anything for more of that delicious, delirious friction—
And then, before she even realized what had happened, she was flat on her stomach in the dirt, the breath knocked from her lungs. She gasped, sucking in air as she pushed herself up to her knees, and then she felt his heavy claws on her back. He pushed her down, hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to break the skin, and it hit her: He had flipped her over, her light frame no match for his strength, and he was about to—
Oh.
On cue, that was when she felt his cock. He pressed it against her, between her thighs, as if he wasn't entirely sure what to do with her unfamiliar body. She couldn't see anything, not with her face an inch from the ground, but his cock must be as thick as her arm, maybe thicker; she swallowed hard at the thought of how long it must be, and without thinking, she ground back against him, grinding her ass against the hard length of his cock. His fumbling haste managed to arouse her even more: They were two beasts rutting in the dirt, two animals, wild and simple.
"Come on," she babbled, the incoherent stammerings of a woman who had been dreaming this moment for a long, long time, a woman who had been fucking herself on three fingers all night long with his name on her lips. "Come on, Anaris, you can manage it, come on."
His instincts kicked in. With one heavy thrust, all of his weight came crashing forward to bury the tip of his monstrous cock inside of her. He pushed forward with a sharp cry, slipping yet another inch into her, but she was small and tight despite her earlier efforts and he was monstrously large. She was dripping with need, slick and eager, but even that wasn't enough; his cock was huge compared to her, big enough to break her, and he was impatient. He's too big, she thought, panic suddenly closing in on her. He'll never fit—he'll rip me in two—
But with another thrust, harder than the others, he forced himself into her, impaling her slender frame on his massive shaft. She let out a cry as his weight pushed her harder down into the dirt. The pain was exquisite, transcendental, the highest form of pleasure and utterly agonizing nonetheless—a dry sob shook her body as she spasmed in the dirt, gasping his name and shaking wildly with every slow centimeter. He held still, buried deep within her, and slowly the initial piercing burn faded into a gentle, throbbing ache.
She drew a shaky breath and managed to open her eyes. At last, her racing heart slowed, and she could focus on something other than the splitting agony through her core. She had never felt so...so filled, so utterly satisfied. Somehow she managed to support herself on one elbow, her free hand reaching for her belly. She moaned, tracing the distended bulge of his cock within her, fingers moving with an almost-reverent horror across the unfamiliar swell. All logic and reason suggested that she shouldn't be able to fit him inside of her, and yet—here she was, still alive, pleasure shooting through her in jolting waves.
"Good boy," she mumbled, barely managing to get out the words with her cheek pressed into the dirt. "Good boy. You can keep going. I'm alright."
The dracolisk reacted as if he understood her words. His pace was slow at first, long thrusts that left her moaning incoherently into the ground. She could barely move, too small and too dazed from lust to even push back against him, and only his claw on her back kept him from dragging her through the dirt with every heavy jerk. She might have marveled at the experience, had she been able to form a single thought. She couldn't speak, couldn't keep track of the passing minutes, could barely remember her own name. It was all too much. His weight above her, the obscene bulge of her stomach, the jolts of giddy pain with every drag of his cock—she had never been so over-stimulated, every nerve on fire and unconscious tears drying on her cheeks, and she could feel a familiar pressure building between her legs as he brought her to the brink.
At last, Anaris pulled back, leaving her almost empty, begging for his cock, babbling—and then he slammed back into her in one single thrust. She came with a sob as he filled her once again, her ragged shout drowned out by his wild shrieks of pleasure. The aftershocks coursed through her like lightning, one electric burst after another; she forgot how to breathe until she felt her lungs burning, desperate for air, and only then did she find the strength to draw a shaking, gasping inhalation.
He followed after her only a moment later, coming with one more thrust and another howl that shook the stable. He emptied himself into her in long shuddering bursts, a torrential flood, and she came again with a weak whimper at the way the dracolisk's warm seed filled her even further and stretched her more than ever before. Every time she thought he must be empty, his cock twitched within her with one more spurt, and once again she lost all concept of time as she focused on the raw, primal sensation of her mate filling her with his seed.
And then, as if he wasn't already impossibly large, as if she wasn't already impossibly overwhelmed, she could feel his cock swelling inside of her, huge and thick beyond reason. With a strangled gasp, she tried to reach for her distended stomach again, but she couldn't manage to lift her hand. He kept swelling, growing thicker without stopping, and somehow—unbelievably—she felt herself stretching to fit the dracolisk's incredible girth. The soft sounds spilling past her lips were ecstatic, disbelieving. When she finally managed to focus long enough to form a thought, she realized that his cock had locked within her; he was sealing his seed deep inside of her as if she truly was his mate, just another beast to be bred. The thought left her moaning again, just as wet and eager as she had been when she entered the stable. If she had felt full before, then this...this was otherworldly. Better than anything she had ever felt, everything she had ever craved—
Something cold bumped against the small of her back; a slight bump of his snout, surprisingly tender. The touch, gentle and steadying, brought her back to earth. That was it, then. He had finished with his duty. She let out the breath she didn't know she was holding, a soft oh that drained the tension from her body. With a heavy swallow, Lavellan cleared her throat and tried to find her words.
"I suppose we're stuck like this for a while, then."
His quiet grunt sounded like agreement. She drew a deep breath. Here she was, face down in the dirt of the stable, her dracolisk's cock buried deep within her, and her only regret was that she wished it had lasted longer. Turns out she wasn't quite the person she thought she was. Turns out she was perfectly fine with that.
"Well, that's alright," she said, her voice slow and cracking from exhaustion, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "I suppose there's always time for another round afterwards."
Maybe she was just delirious, but this time, she could've sworn his grunt was meant to be a chuckle.