Chapter Text
The ale didn’t taste right. Alistair glanced over at Cullen, who was glaring suspiciously down into his half-emptied flagon. The blond Commander looked up sharply, casting his eyes around the tavern, searching for a figure he seemed not to find.
“Where did that blasted elf go?” he grumbled.
“Sera?” Alistair turned and took his own survey of the room. She’d originally come from the second level of the tavern, where she always seemed to be, but he hadn’t seen her ascend the stairs again. He’d only been in Skyhold for a week, but already he was used to the girl’s loud laughter and peculiar speech as just a regular part of the tavern atmosphere. He still could hardly make out a word she was saying half the time, but Cullen seemed to have learned to decipher it, at least based upon the conversation they’d had when she’d dropped off the pints. Alistair stilled himself, listening for her distinctive brand of noise. If she’d retreated up to her little nest on the second floor, she was being uncharacteristically quiet there.
“I don’t hear her,” Alistair shrugged. He took another sip of his ale, holding the cool liquid against his palate and trying again to pinpoint that odd flavor. It tasted… green, almost like hay. It actually mixed quite well with the ale, and certainly didn’t taste deadly. In fact, it was familiar somehow, like something he’d had once a long time ago, but he couldn’t quite place when, or why.
Cullen slid his flagon away and folded his arms over his chest. “I knew we shouldn’t have accepted these blighted pints. She’s always pulling these little stunts, even though she knows well enough that I do not find them amusing.”
Alistair shrugged again. Over a decade of sating his ravenous Warden appetite on whatever he could salvage had given him an iron stomach. The fact that he was certain he’d had whatever she’d added to their ale before, and was still alive to talk about it, was also enough to ease any concern. What kind of a fool would poison the Commander of the Inquisition and a Grey Warden anyway.
“You know that’s probably why she does it, right? Don’t give her the satisfaction of a reaction,” Alistair sighed.
In truth, he’d been thinking he could use a distraction. Ale wasn’t always enough to quiet that blighted demon song in his mind, the one that was driving the other Wardens to dangerous ends. The hard liquor helped some of the time, but only made the song louder at other times. Drugs though? Herbal “stunts”?
He shrugged again. As long he wasn’t stuck on the chamber pot for hours and his life wasn’t in danger, maybe something fun might come from it. A little mental trip perhaps. Maybe sleep. There was that one herb that Morrigan had… the one that made you hallucinate. Maybe that’s why this tasted so familiar. Perhaps he’d merely go on a little psychedelic trip for an hour or two and then pass out. He laughed to himself as he thought of Cullen’s reaction, suddenly seeing things that weren’t there. That would be a pretty funny prank.
His laughter died quickly. No, Cullen probably wouldn’t respond well to that at all, not after things he’d endured in his past.
Alistair swallowed heavily and sat up. He was tempted to keep drinking the ale anyway, just to see what would happen, but thought the better of it. If it was that herb of Morrigan’s, Cullen would probably need considerable help getting through it, and that wouldn’t be easy to do if he was too caught up in it himself. He pushed the flagon away and sat quietly across from Cullen.
They’d been chatting for a time about the chantry, the Order. Alistair still had a vivid memory of the first time he’d ever seen Cullen, crouched and strung out in that strange magical orb in Kinloch Hold. He’d been impressed at the man’s apparent fortitude then, his determination not to be broken despite the unspeakable horrors inflicted upon him. And seeing him now, serving proudly as the Commander of one of the youngest, yet strongest armies in the land, and Alistair was finding himself a little bit in awe. Even more surprising was Cullen’s apparent humility about it all.
He didn’t seem particularly happy though. Mostly his face was a mask of neutrality, except for when he was scowling. Alistair supposed a life that revolved mostly around duty and hardship would do that to a man. Just as it had Alistair.
“Whatever it is…” Alistair began, searching his memory once again. “I’m fairly certain I’ve had it before.”
Cullen raised an eyebrow, waiting for Alistair to continue.
“It might be this herb that I had once during the blight. It makes you see things for a while. Nothing I saw was frightening exactly. Just… things turning colors, changing shapes, lights in the sky…”
“For what purpose?” Cullen asked, his frown deepening.
“Escape mostly,” Alistair answered. “We got up to all sorts of things to take our minds off the hordes of darkspawn and all the death. I could be wrong, but…”
Alistair reached for his flagon, wanting to take one last sip, see if tasting it again would jog his memory. The hallucinogen could have been it, but still there existed the twinge of doubt.
The flagon was halfway to his lips when Cullen grabbed it out of his hand in a single swift motion
“Well if you’re not bloody sure…” Cullen admonished, slamming the flagon back down. A wave of ale sloshed over the rim, splattering onto the tabletop. “Maker’s breath!” the Commander sighed, his fingertips squeezing at the bridge of his nose.
“No, this is going too far,” said Cullen resolutely. He sat up straight and collected the two flagons in one hand, before pushing his chair back and standing. He continued to growl, but it seemed he was speaking more to himself than to Alistair. “Drugging the Commander of the Inquisition is a serious offense…”
He turned and stalked back toward the bar. Alistair watched as he barked a few words to Cabot and handed off the flagons, then turned to stomp back toward the front door of the tavern, muttering to himself along the way. Alistair heard the words “disciplinary action” as he passed by.
“Commander!” Alistair called behind him. “I’m in the northwest tower if you need… well, if you start seeing things.”
Alistair stepped out onto the rooftop patio adjacent to his quarters. It had been almost an hour since he’d had the ale, but felt nothing yet to indicate what it was he’d consumed. The glass of rum in his hand was helping warm his belly, and this at least he knew was without mysterious additions. He’d almost wished he’d followed Cullen to go find Sera, so he could see the tongue lashing he was going to give the girl, see her explanation and if she admitted what it was. At the very least she’d certainly she’d have a whole arsenal of colorful retorts prepared. Alistair might even have learned some new curse words.
With a sigh he settled onto the chair he’d positioned at the edge of the rooftop, the one he’d been sitting in to watch the sun set for nearly seven evenings now. The view was actually spectacular. The courtyard below was always bustling with interesting, strangely outfitted people. Birds of every color flitted from tree to tree, and once the sun began to sink behind the Skyhold walls, the sky exploded into a breathtaking tapestry of hues. Throw a possible hallucinogen into the mix, and he was sure he’d be in for a quite a show.
Alistair took a deep breath as he waited. One sip and then another of his rum, savoring the burning tingle as the liquid scorched down his throat. In the courtyard below he heard a chorus of girlish giggling, and his eyes landed upon a group of women standing in a small cluster on the far side of the lawn. They’d collected there for the last few nights, and at times he thought it seemed they were looking up at him.
He laughed the thought away. The few people who knew who he was seemed to be doing a bang up job of keeping his identity secret, making it impossible that these women actually cared about some random man sitting atop a tower roof. There was no way they could even see him that well. But again and again their faces turned his direction, followed by more giggles. Alistair sighed, figuring there must be something behind him that they were looking at instead. Perhaps one of the guards who did occasional patrols of the battlements.
The doors to the Great Hall flew open with great force, drawing his attention away from the women. Even with the distance there was no mistaking the figure who emerged, blond haired and dressed in a regal outfit of red and black. Cullen always looked bigger than he was just from the confidence in his posture. But his anger was clear in every step he took, in the stiff way he held his arms as he descended the stairs, in the firm set of his jaw that was unmistakable even from across the courtyard. Heads turned as he made his way down toward the passage that would lead to the lower courtyard. Alistair snorted at the women who’d all frozen into place, their attention fixed firmly on the Commander now as he disappeared from sight. Murmurs erupted from the group as the women resumed a hushed conversation, but no one turned to look up at Alistair again.
It was then that he felt the first stirring in his lap. It happened that way sometimes, that one’s manly equipment just seemed to come to attention for no discernible reason. It was just one of the things you just got used to as a man. Since the calling had begun, and his mind was filled with a whole host of new fears and worries, Alistair’s own equipment had practically seemed to go into hibernation. But the stirring was only growing in intensity, reminding Alistair just how long it had been since he’d taken matters into his own hands.
Or, for that matter, had a woman. Weeks? Months? Time on the run often blurred into a long, unbroken line, and all those days and nights holed up in Crestwood had been no exception. In fact, it probably made it worse, since the sky had been constantly hidden by that unending blanket of storm clouds, which seemed to trap that whole landscape in one long twilight. The deprivation of natural cycles of day and night had wreaked havoc on his mind then, making his time there feel like an eternity.
Alistair threw back the last of his rum, figuring he might as well relieve himself before the herb kicked in. Masturbating and hallucinating at the same time might not make for the most pleasant of orgasms. Besides, once it began there was a good chance Cullen might come to find him, seeking information and reassurance about what was happening. Alistair would have to do his best in making the experience less frightening for the man, which might end up a chore.
He crept back up into his tower, and locked the door behind him. His hand went to his crotch, adjusting the rigid member into a more comfortable position before beginning to unlace his breeches.
“Maker’s breath,” he laughed as he shook his head. His cock had gone from comatose to urgently aroused in what felt like mere seconds. He couldn’t help the moan that escaped his throat when he squeezed at it, reacquainting himself with his own touch. It made him wonder why he always waited so long between wanks. It was like he forgot that he could make himself feel that way. When he was a teen he’d relieve himself sometimes multiple times per day, or whenever he could manage to get privacy from the chantry sisters. But he was no longer that young man. He had a mind full of constant worries, and that clock ticking over his head… eleven years were gone from the thirty that Duncan said he had left, and already he was hearing the calling. They were all hearing the calling. It didn’t make any sense.
Alistair shook the thoughts away. It wasn’t difficult to do, with the sensations swarming his body as his hand finally touched his bare cock. He bucked into his palm, his hips filling with a sweet warmth that traveled deep into his belly. Maker, he couldn’t remember the last time it had felt so instantly, intensely good. Padding across the room to his bed, he dropped down onto his back, one hand remaining on his cock while the other reached for the bedside table. He had a small bottle of oil tucked inside the drawer, one that he usually used to aid such matters, but it hadn’t been opened in longer than he could remember. He was pleased to discover that the bottle was full. He must have refilled it after his last use, and simply forgotten.
He poured a thin coating over his fingers, which he immediately brought to his throbbing cock. He groaned as he spread the oil over his length, his palms and fingers gliding over the taut skin and pressing into the rigid rod beneath, reaching down to cup his tightened balls. The sensations coursing through him were overwhelmingly good, blotting out the quiet song in the back of his mind, erasing his worries from his awareness. Every cell in his body seemed concentrated on the sensations coursing out from his hips, and it was disappointingly quickly that he felt himself rising, swelling up the crest of a shuddering orgasm.
Alistair heard sounds from his throat as it happened. It seemed only a minute from the time he’d found his bottle of oil until he was crashing against a wave of bodily pleasure, but he welcomed it, giving himself over to the wave entirely and riding it into oblivion. His room fell away as the energies within him converged, tingling up the walls of his chest until he was curled and quivering, warm liquid spilling out of him and disappearing somewhere up onto his tunic. He realized as the storm began to subside that the distant creaking he’d heard were his own hips on his bed, bucking into his hand. It was enough to make him laugh.
Maker’s breath, it usually never happened like that. So intense, and so fast? It must have been much longer than he thought since the last time he’d come.
He fisted his cockhead gently as he waited for his cock to go soft. It still felt so good, as though a thread of his orgasm was still vibrating inside his body. He shrugged and took a deep breath, letting his hand drift up and down in slow strokes, teasing out shivers of sweetness that made his hair stand on end. The hypersensitivity that usually occurred shortly after an orgasm didn’t even seem to be developing. He was sure it would happen soon, and then it would grow uncomfortable to keep touching himself. At least until the requisite rest period had passed. But, Maker, not only had it been quick, it had been unusually intense. And his touch now, though languorous and light, still only felt good. Good enough that it almost seemed as though he might be able to come again.
He shook his head, peering down toward the member protruding proudly from his belly. It was still as erect as it could be, with no detectable softening. He tested it with a more firm touch, and found only a new peal of pleasure shooting up his belly. He threw his head back and closed his eyes. Could he possibly get two out of this session? And in the space of only a couple minutes?
With a firmer grip he began stroking again, long and cautious, a little surprised that he was registering no discomfort. Instead his hips instinctively began to move, building into a new, slow rhythm. He groaned, a low rumble inside a heavy breath that seemed to originate from somewhere deep inside him. He squeezed a little harder, drawing his hand tightly up from the base of his shaft, until the ridge of his head disappeared into his fist. No, still no discomfort.
Well, he thought to himself, might as well take advantage while it lasts.
For the second time around, he deliberately took his time. With that initial urgency satiated, he was able to focus beyond the demands of just his cock and savor each wave of sweetness, letting the warmth bloom out to the furthest reaches of his body while his mind wandered. He conjured up a fantasy of a woman — the same fantasy he always had in his private moments. His dream woman wasn’t faceless exactly, but she wasn’t someone he knew yet, and she was certainly more than just bountiful breasts and warm, welcoming thighs. She was also deep, lingering kisses and a tenderness born of a soul-level connection. Like all men he regularly desired a pure, lusty fuck , but the thought of something more than just an empty, physical romp was infinitely more enticing. It was the dream that helped to lull him to sleep once his head hit his pillow at night.
She would be beautiful and kind, funny and affectionate. But mostly, she would love him.
His mind wandered to the activities he’d indulge in with her, whenever it was in his nebulous future that they found each other. He’d kiss her until she begged for more, and then bury his face between her pillowy breasts, paying special attention to her nipples, alternating between firm pinches, and caresses so light it would make her shudder. He would suckle every inch of her skin from her breasts to her hips, and then spend every possible moment between her legs, exploring her mysteries with his lips, his tongue, drinking in every drop of her nectar until she writhed and squirmed beneath him.
“Mmmmm,” he moaned as he felt himself close to coming again. It was always at that point that he lost control of himself, when he was buried deep between the thighs of his imaginary love, tasting her, pushing his tongue deep inside her, suckling on her pearl until she began to cry out. He’d always hoped she’d be a screamer. There was little in this life that sounded better than a beautiful lover crying out in pleasure.
A second orgasm jolted through him, stiffening his back and making him groan with an unexpected force. He followed the urging of his body and increased his speed, his fist pounding against his cock as he gasped and panted, keeping the vision held fast in his mind of a luscious female body, arched and lost to the throes of sex while he suckled at her satiny folds.
“ Fuck…” he gasped helplessly. The waves of pleasure just kept coming, each more powerful than the last, until he was practically sitting upright, his toes curled, his hand working furiously on his shaft while the other squeezed and pulled at his bollocks. A new spurt of warm spend sprayed up onto his tunic, but he was too lost to care. He obeyed the needs of his body, giving the orgasm what it demanded of him until finally it seemed to be beginning to subside.
He fell back onto the bed to catch his breath. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d come so hard. It was as though his cock had a mind of its own. As he waited, his heart pounding in his ears, his body continued to sing with stimulation. The arousal seemed to stretch beyond the bounds of his cock, extending out to infect every cell. He flopped onto his stomach and buried his head in his pillow, thinking again of his dream woman. If only she were real, if only she were here, he’d be losing himself in her arms, digging his face into her neck, filling his mouth with her bosom, with her delicious softness. Maker, he needed to be touched. His flesh felt inflamed, burning with the need for another body against him.
And his cock… it still seemed to be going. Alistair humped forward into his bed, grinding himself against his blanket and feeling only the need for more…
Alistair froze as his mind connected to something deep in his memory, a thread of knowledge that sent a cold chill over his back. He rolled over and sat up, heart still blaring mercilessly in his ears.
The herb, that familiar flavor in the ale. He knew it what it was. Shit, and that meant Cullen…
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Urgent and forceful, it waited only a moment before coming a second time. Alistair stood, his hand wrapping around his insistent cock. It stood out like a beacon from the flaps of his breeches, feeling the need still pulsing there, thrumming unignorably, beckoning him to continue to stroke, to seek that third orgasm that was promised by the fire in his blood.
Yes, this was precisely what it was. An herb he’d taken once, not at the offering of Morrigan, but one that Zevran had said would deliver an unforgettable night at the brothel. He’d experienced this very thing, this… unnatural desire coupled with a ceaseless endurance, but then at least he knew to expect it. Zevran had been urging him to enjoy himself with the ladies at the Denerim brothel, but Alistair couldn’t bring himself to do it. Zevran had sent one to his room, and Alistair refused to open the door. He’d stayed holed up alone in his room at the Pearl until he rubbed himself raw. And then, unable to touch himself further, but still rigid and aching, he drank until he passed out.
He’d nearly punched Zev in the face the next morning. He and Aeden came down from their shared quarters with purple bags under their eyes and a smirk on their faces that didn’t leave the entire day. Clearly they had enjoyed their strange aphrodisiac. Of course they would. Maker, to know this with a real lover, another person who truly wanted you back, and not just wanting your money and to do a job…
Alistair had lied about letting the prostitute into his room, pretending that he’d had just as good as night as they. He didn’t need the embarrassment that the truth would bring. In reality he’d rubbed himself so raw that his cock sported a nasty blister, and he could hardly touch himself for a week.
And here he was, drugged again by another sneaky little elf.
Alistair pressed his engorged shaft back against his belly, closing the flaps of his breeches around it. He was two steps from the rattling door when his mind finally registered the spray of seed scattered over his tunic. He eyed it with shock, questioning quietly how he could possibly have produced such a large quantity. Too much to simply be wiped off.
Cullen continued to bang hard at the door, and Alistair heard his name being called on the other side. Cullen still sounded angry.
Not knowing what else to do, he pulled the tunic over his head and tossed it hastily into a corner before flipping the latch and pulling the door open.
Cullen’s eyes traveled over Alistair’s exposed torso for only heartbeat before the man was brushing past him, letting himself into Alistair’s quarters without waiting for an invitation.
“What is happening to me!?” Cullen demanded, his cheeks flushed a deep shade of pink. Alistair closed the door behind him and turned to face Cullen fully. The man was pacing, his hands reaching toward the impressively large bulge in his own breeches, but twitching as though it was taking every ounce of self-control not to actually make contact. Alistair could sympathize. He could hardly clear his head to answer the question. A new song was playing in his mind now, and it was not one that belonged to some otherworldly demon, but one that belonged to a piece of his own body.
Cullen’s eyes were black, darting around the room, landing for a long moment on Alistair’s chest again before breaking away with a wince.
“It’s the herb,” Alistair answered. Maker, he could still feel the pleasure coursing through him, the siren call of another orgasm that was demanding his focus.
“It’s…” he stopped a moment, bracing himself on his table with one hand. It required considerable strength not to touch the aching organ that was straining against his breeches. “It’s an aphrodisiac. Zevra— er, an old friend who was raised in a brothel had it. It was…” he had to stop again. For some reason is eyes were following Cullen’s buttocks as he circled the room like a beast locked in a cage. The room seemed to quickly be warming up. Even with his tunic gone, he felt a sheen of sweat collecting along his spine.
“They used it on the wealthy customers at the brothel to… to make them stay as long as possible. Increase profits. But this must have been a very high dose…”
Cullen snorted and rubbed at the back of his neck.
“How do we stop it?” he demanded. There was a throaty note to his voice as it rose. He seemed precariously close to losing control. Alistair had to turn away from Cullen for a moment, and press his palm against his cock. The low moan he let out was involuntary. Maker, he needed to fuck.
It seemed absurd. Surreal, even. To have gone from yet another boring day to… this.
“ I don’t know,” Alistair answered as he turned around, finding Cullen’s eyes flitting away nervously, as though he’d just been caught. But Cullen couldn’t help it of course. It seemed the affect of the herb was getting stronger, only growing worse the longer he went without seeking more release.
“You don’t know!?” Cullen cried, incredulous.
Alistair shook his head sheepishly, and tried to think.
“Is there a… an herbalist here? We could go…” he stopped and turned around again, letting his hand grab and squeeze at his crotch before continuing. It relieved nothing, only made him want more. “… see if there is an antidote?”
“Herbalist?” repeated Cullen. Alistair turned to see him bent over the bed, his own hand pressed against his erection. Alistair couldn’t help but notice how tight his pants were. His cock twitched at the graceful curve of Cullen’s buttocks. He’d never looked at a man’s ass like that before. Alistair squeezed his eyes shut, blocking out the thought. No, this wasn’t going to do. Cullen either needed to leave so Alistair could take care of himself again, or they needed an antidote immediately.
Cullen turned and stumbled toward the door, pushing a palm against the wooden frame and resting there for a moment. He clamped his other hand between his thighs. It was hardly a dignified position to be stuck in. After another breath he staggered upright and put his hand upon the latch, but then stopped. Alistair waited, his skin blazing. He was running his hands up in his arms, scraping over his shoulders and squeezing at the back of his neck.
Fuck, it was his own hands, but being touched felt so good.
“I don’t think I can go out there,” Cullen gasped. “I almost tackled three different women on my way here… I’m… this is… this is not the kind of man I am.”
Alistair nodded. “Do you know where the herbalist might be right now? If we can find her quickly…”
He shook his head.
“No idea,” Cullen lowered his head, and pushed off the door. He began walking in circles again. Alistair couldn’t help but notice how positively feline his movements were.
“Alistair,” he said quietly, the desperation in his voice audible, “ I don’t trust myself to go out there. What if we can’t find her? I can’t wander around Skyhold like this. What if when we do find her, I can’t keep this under control? I’m hardly… I can barely… ”
Cullen let out what sounded like a growl and turned away from Alistair. Alistair averted his eyes. Cullen’s breathing changed for a moment, and he let out a long hiss. Alistair’s cock twitched again at the sound. He couldn’t help himself. Sliding his hand down the waist of his breeches, he grasped his own cock. It was throbbing, weeping fluid. He gasped at the lightning bolt of pleasure that shot up him at the contact. Alistair leaned into it for a moment, sighing at the sting of sweetness that came over him. He pulled away and cast his eyes over his shoulder. Cullen still had his back turned, his hands in front of him. Alistair looked away quickly again. Well if Cullen was going to…
He kept a tight grip on his cock, feeling the need aching under his skin. He stroked himself, long, firm strokes, trying to keep the cries that wanted to escape his throat quiet, tried to keep his breathing steady. But Cullen… Cullen ‘s breaths were jagged, sharp. Alistair tried not to listen. Tried not to think of another body pressed up against his, of warm hands dragging over his bare skin. Did it really matter to whom they belonged just then?
No, he couldn’t think of such a thing. But his still slick cock was responding to his touch, and certainly didn’t seem to mind the thoughts creeping into his mind. He shook away the image of Cullen’s shapely ass and tried to conjure up his woman again. Her skin bare and smooth, soft and eager under his touch, her lips parted, hungry….
A cry from Alistair’s throat broke the fantasy. Maker, what must Cullen be thinking? Just because he was turned away didn’t mean he was over there, full on pleasuring himself, was he?
But if he was feeling the same things Alistair was feeling… and surely he was…
Alistair sighed, pulling his hand out of his breeches. He could feel his racing heartbeat pulsing into his cock. It was so full it felt like it could burst on its own. Just another touch or two, or maybe pressing it into something… a quick hump or two…
The effort it was taking not to kick his breeches to the floor was agonizing.
“Why would Sera do this?” Alistair asked, keeping his back turned. A drop of sweat crawled down his back.
“She…” Cullen gasped and then cleared his throat. Alistair heard his weight shift and and then go still. “She told me last week she thought I needed a shag. That it might help remove the stick from my…”
He paused, and Alistair heard him resume his pacing. Turning tentatively he positioned his hand over the long ridge in the crotch of his breeches, attempting to sheild Cullen from the sight of the small drop of wetness was collecting at the tip. He tried not to look at Cullen’s bulge, but it was cut so sharply out of those black pants. It took only a split second to register its immense thickness, to see the well defined ridge at its head. He’d certainly adjusted it, but it didn’t appear as though he’d opened his breeches. Alistair shook his head as he waited for Cullen to continue. He shouldn’t be thinking about such a thing. Maker, was the need this strong back at the brothel? Zevran had only given him a pinch then. This Sera clearly used more than that.
“She went on about…” he continued then paused, stopping to turn his back to Alistair again. Alistair closed his eyes to stop them from wandering down Cullen’s body.
“Is it…?” Cullen gasped. “It’s so bloody hot in here.”
Alistair was quiet, concentrating on keeping his hand out of his breeches. If only he could come again, it seemed. Perhaps just one more might relieve him. And it wouldn’t take long. He should just turn around and…
Cullen looked up at him quickly. “Actually she mentioned you too. Something about a following we have… women who…” Cullen growled as his steps got more forceful, continuing their loop around the room. Cullen’s brow was shiny, the pink in his cheeks having spread down his neck. “Women who needed to be put out of their misery…”
Alistair almost moaned at the thought. A woman, soft, supple and voluptuous. It didn’t have to be his dream woman did it? Did it matter who it was at all?
Alistair shivered at the thought. Skin against his skin. A mouth… hands, soft thighs…. He let out a long breath. He would accept nearly any woman in his state. He supposed that maybe wouldn’t be so bad if that woman wanted it too…
“Well, maybe we should go find a few of them?” Alistair asked tentatively.
“No!” Cullen barked. “Well, you do whatever you please. But I will not take advantage of someone like that,” he said. “And just think of the mess. The next day you’ll have to break her heart… and people will talk… I'll never hear the end of it. You might be able to get away when you all rush off to the Western Approach in a few days, but I have to live here.”
Cullen sighed and wiped the sweat from his brow. He slipped off his pauldron, dropping it in a heap beside the bed.
“If you want to go take your chances out there, fine. But that is a headache that I don’t need,” Cullen said, pulling at the throat of his metal chest plate.
“So, you’ve had this stuff before then?” he asked, his eyes meeting Alistair’s for what felt like the first time since he’d entered. Alistair felt heat rising up his own cheeks, and that heat seemed to be directly connected to his cock. He nodded.
“How long did it last? Did you have someone to… help you?”
Alistair shrugged and stepped into the middle of the floor. Pacing did seem to do something… it at least moved his thighs together, helped his breeches to rub against… he stopped, and grimaced at the insistence of the member in his pants. He blinked hard and tried to collect his thoughts again.
“I don’t know. I… took care of myself until I couldn’t anymore and then drank myself into a stupor.”
Cullen glanced around the room, his eyes landing on the small collection of liquor bottles on the bureau.
“Maybe at least if we… do that, and wait. It might get easier. Maybe… in a little while it’ll be safe…”
Cullen looked around while Alistair eyed the width of the man’s shoulders, his eyes somehow finding themselves back at the perfectly lined bulge. He almost laughed at himself. This was absurd. He didn’t like men!
But then, he realized, a dog on the verge of starving to death isn’t going to turn up his nose at a ham steak, just because he normally prefers beef.
“You don’t have a washroom I can go into? A closet?”
Alistair shook his head. He hadn’t chosen where the Inquisition was going to set up his quarters. There was a shared washroom in the next tower over, though he had a basin and water cask and pretty much everything else he needed in this one small room.
“Fuck,” Cullen gasped, the pinkness of his cheeks deepening. “I”m sorry, I can’t…” he said as he turned, his hand flying to the buttons above his crotch. “I can’t…”
Alistair didn’t need to let him finish. He turned around too, walking back to his own little corner of the room and pulled his breeches open with shaky fingers. His cock, surging with need, pushed its way out even before he was done with the laces. He grasped it like a lifeline, Cullen’s suggestion quickly falling away. They didn’t have a choice in the matter really. Cullen had come hoping for a solution, and this unnatural arousal was spreading like an infection, only getting stronger with each passing minute. Alistair couldn’t wait either, he needed to come. With one hand he got to work on his cock, pulling and stroking, a slave to the needs of his body. The other hand pressed against his belly and dragged up his chest. If there was no one else who would touch him, then damned right he was going to touch himself. Hopefully Cullen wasn’t watching, wasn’t seeing his free hand roam as though he were being caressed by a lover.
But no, he couldn’t be watching. There were sounds behind him, sounds of heavy fabric, and then metal dropping to the floor, sounds of a whimpering, of frantic movement, a desperate, muffled gasping that Alistair tried to block out. But, fuck, it sounded like sex . It sounded like pleasure. He couldn’t help it, that irresistible, orgasmic sweetness was crawling up his body again, warming his belly and pushing him to the brink of sensation. Mixed with the sounds behind him, the sounds of another person feeling what he was feeling... it was only propelling him closer to the edge. He heard grunts, heard his own moans, drawn desperate and high. And then the sweetness blossomed again, filling his body with an agonizing lightness, pouring out from his cock and sending him soaring on a wave of sensation. He cried out as he pumped spurt after spurt of seed from his cock, not caring where it landed, his voice joined by another, their desperate keening filling the room. It was electric, the most powerful orgasm yet, doubled in the knowledge that it was happening in tandem with another, another body as urgently in need as he was.
It was over quickly, and the room only felt hotter than ever.
The sudden silence in the room was deafening, punctuated only by the rise and fall of heavy breathing. Alistair felt better for a moment, his mind cleared though he knew it would only be a brief window of lucidity. He shoved his still hard cock into his breeches again and held them closed, while he turned around and walked quickly to the bureau. With one hand containing his manhood, he reached out for the bottle of rum, pulling the stopper loose and bringing the whole bottle to his mouth for a deep swig. One long drink, and then another, but the burning was barely a distraction for the need that still thrummed inside him.
“It’s… it’s still not going down,” Cullen gasped. “At all.”
“Nope,” Alistair confirmed as the warmth in his belly spread up to his head, making him feel lighter, looser. “And it’s not going to. Not for while.”
Keeping his eyes averted while he had the self-control to do so, he approached Cullen and reached around him to offer him the bottle. Cullen took it with a nod, and downed a long swig.