Chapter Text
The silence of the half-buried ruins was so heavy that it felt like a physical weight on Summer Cousland's eardrums. It felt unnatural, ancient—like the walls were listening, waiting to press in. And that wasn't even the worst part. Strange plants were everywhere—colorful blossoms and moss and fuzzy lichen—clinging to the walls, carpeting the floor, hanging from the ceiling. Her nose wrinkled as her boot brushed up against another mound of oddly glowing moss.
"Gross," she muttered, arms crossed tightly over her chest, shoulders hunched to keep a drooping vine from touching her. "Remind me why I ever wanted to leave Fort Drakon."
"Oh, you didn't. Have you forgotten? It's only your favorite thing to complain about." Alistair's voice was far too cheerful for the dank place, bouncing off the stone walls as he rummaged through the chest she'd just unlocked. "Duncan conscripted you against your will. You never even wanted to be a Warden. You would have rather rotted in prison for the rest of your days." He sifted through a pile of rusted silverware like a child digging in a toy box. "It’s all horribly unfair. You still get that tear in your eye when you mention your cellmate. What was her name again?"
“Belinda. She killed her husband and smelled like a pickle.”
“Right, good old smelly Belinda. Do you think she pickled her husband?” He tossed a dented gravy boat over his shoulder and it landed behind him with a clang.
Summer frowned. She had never considered the source of Belinda's stench before.
"Where did she find a jar big enough I wonder?" He picked up another gravy boat and examined it before tossing it too. "Do Tevinters really love gravy? Is that a thing?"
Summer's lip curled as she watched a clump of moss dislodge from the ceiling and float to the floor, its glow fading as it fell. "Maybe it's magic gravy.”
Alistair gave up on the chest and brushed off his pants as he stood. "For… blood magic sausages?" By the look on his face, he was giving the concept as much deliberation as he gave all food. "Is it bad to say I'd give it a shot?"
Summer scanned for traps as she led them deeper in. They had been sent on behalf of the Mages' Collective to hunt for some cache. Picking through a damp Tevinter ruin was the last thing she wanted to be doing on such a nice, sunny day, but they couldn't pass up the money. "What food won't you give a shot?"
"Oh, this again. You know I had no idea 'Denerim rabbit' was actually rat." His voice was defensive, but she knew he was only playing it up for her amusement.
Summer tried not to snort. She hated how easily he could wheedle a laugh out of her. "You asked for seconds after I told you."
"Because Zev ate all the pie that morning! I was desperate!" His armor rang as he threw a hand up dramatically, hitting the wall and sending an echo down the hall. “You can't judge a man’s choices when he’s faced with starvation and his only option is a skewer of seasoned—”
“Rat.”
“—meat! Perfectly good meat.”
The dim hall was lit only by the eerie plants and the weak sunlight seeping through the cracks in the stone above. A draft rustled the glowing moss covering the walls, its blue light flickering like candles. Alistair trailed her obediently as they searched the corridors, his armor clanging like pots and pans as he scuffed every corner. At least the place seemed to be abandoned. She'd gotten on him so many times for being loud, but he never seemed to be able to manage anything quieter than a racket. He was just too big for any enclosed space. The path was narrow and he followed close, the hulking size and heat of him at her back more than a bit distracting.
Ugh, that had become such a problem. He was so handsome and big and… there. Always there, right behind her or at her side, a warm presence she'd grown so used to that the thought of him not being there one day made her chest ache. She never knew if she'd rather shove him away or tackle him to the ground and—
"What’s that?" Alistair asked from behind her.
His arm stretched over her head and she looked to where he pointed. The hall ended in a round chamber, a long-dry tiered fountain dominating the center of the room. Heavy clusters of golden blossoms covered it, shining in a sunbeam and webbed together with green vines as delicate as spider silk. The air felt different here, warm and thick, and smelled strangely sweet.
"Huh," Alistair said. "Pretty."
"They're nice," she conceded. Summer was a city girl, a lifelong resident of Denerim, and rightfully suspicious of most flora. But even she could admit there was something eerily beautiful about the flowers. "As far as plants go." She crossed her arms and leaned forward just barely for a closer look.
"Grump," he grumbled good-naturedly. "You're no fun unless there's something to stab. Would it kill you to admit a flower is pretty?"
He poked her ribs in the way that always made her stomach flip infuriatingly as he stepped past her.
"Don't touch them, you ass," Summer snapped, but it was too late.
Alistair's boot scraped the ground and caught on the tangle of vines anchored to the stone floor. The whole network of flowers quivered and a cloud of sparkling pollen puffed into the air.
The smell hit her first. It was thick and cloying, like rotten fruit and burnt metal. The powder shimmered around them, a haze of glittery rose-gold in the weak light. They both coughed and waved their hands in front of their faces, but the pollen had already coated them completely.
"Ugh, it tastes like moldy peaches! And the smell of lyrium.” Alistair hacked, swinging his hand like he could punch the pollen from the air.
"It tastes like the wine Oghren fermented in Sten's boot," Summer rasped, pulling her cowl over her face. The fabric barely helped—she could already taste the pollen coating her tongue, settling warm into her lungs. "Let's go. Now."
Paths led from the center chamber like spokes of a wagon wheel. Summer picked one at random and stalked toward it, desperate to escape the glimmering cloud filling the room. By the time they'd reached the end of the corridor, she had a bad feeling. Her leathers felt far too tight and her cheeks were growing warm.
"Is it just me," Alistair said, his voice strained, "or is it getting incredibly hot in here?"
"Not just you." Sweat traced a slow path down her spine and she shivered. She ripped her cowl off and scowled. "See, this is why I don't trust plants!"
"It's not like I meant to make it explode all over us!" His voice cracked.
She turned to face him fully. His own cheeks were flushed, a ruddiness spreading down his neck and disappearing under his armor. Sweat beaded on his forehead and plastered his hair to his temples. He was breathing too hard as he shifted his weight and tugged at his collar.
She was close enough to smell him beneath the sweetness of the pollen and the leather and metal of his armor—clean male skin and fresh sweat. A sharp jolt raced down from the top of her belly, twisting until it struck low in her abdomen and her thighs pressed together involuntarily. She was twenty-four, definitely no stranger to arousal—especially around her fellow Warden—but the sudden force of it made no sense. Unless…
Her eyes went wide.
Oh, shit.
"Alistair," she managed, her voice strained and breathless.
He'd leaned against the wall with his hands braced on his knees, head bowed. When he looked up, there was a heat in his eyes she'd never seen before. His gaze dropped to trace the shape of her mouth. She bit down on her bottom lip and he followed the movement, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. Her knees nearly buckled.
"Summer," he said, his voice hoarse, his attention still locked on the lip between her teeth. "Do you feel… weird?"
"Something's wrong," she said. The cool air of the stone corridor suddenly felt thick and humid. She gathered her blonde hair in her fist to pull it off her sticky neck.
Alistair's eyes swept over the exposed skin of her throat and she saw his pupils dilate. Her core clenched in response, so hard she almost whined.
"Yeah, I feel all hot and almost… dizzy?" He pushed off the wall slightly, then seemed to think better of it and pressed his back to the stone again. His chest was heaving. "Like I just ran here from Redcliffe. And there's this feeling like I can’t stop—like I need to—" His eyes dropped down to where sweat gathered at her collar and she saw his hands clench at his sides, like he was physically stopping himself from reaching out.
She forced herself to look away, tightly fisting her leather pants to try and ground herself, to clear the fog clouding her mind. This had to be the pollen’s fault, but it wasn't hurting them, it was just making them… A sudden memory came to her, stories from her days as a thief in Denerim, rumors whispered in the seediest taverns about powders and potions used for…
"You've gotta be kidding me," she seethed.
"What, Summer? What is it?" Maker, hearing Alistair say her name was so—
He stood up straighter like he meant to take a step toward her and she shoved her back against the opposite wall, pressing her palms flat to the cool stone. He was too close, only three feet away maybe, and that was already more than she could handle.
"I know what this is," she forced out through gritted teeth.
"Oh, well that's—I mean, it's not deadly, is it? We've got the antidotes Zev made." He was babbling, the words tumbling out too fast. "Unless it's worse. Do I need to run for Wynne? Her and Leliana should be—"
"No." The word came out sharp. "We shouldn't be around anyone else right now."
"Why?" His confusion was giving way to panic. "What's happening?"
Just having his eyes on her felt like a caress, a physical weight trailing her skin that made her want to close the distance and—She curled her fingers into the rough wall and trained her eyes on a crack in the floor.
"I don’t know the name of the plant, but the powder—the pollen—it's called different things. Siren’s Spark or Pheromone Philter. Stuff like that. People use it for interrogations or—" She swallowed. "Certain kinds of parties. Makes sense we found it in a stupid Vint ruin."
"Parties? What parties? What is it for?"
"It's an aphrodisiac." She forced it out fast, like ripping off a bandage. "It makes you, y'know. Makes you feel…"
"Feel what?" The innocence of it—the genuine floundering confusion in his voice—made it so much worse. He didn't know. And the fact that he didn't made her want to show him, to press against the sweet boy and teach him exactly what it meant. She forced herself not to look at him.
"Horny," she said bluntly. “It makes you… desperate. Like you can't resist—" Her voice cracked. "—fucking anyone in sight."
Alistair's "oh" sounded gutted. The clang of his metal armor echoed down the hall as he fell back heavily against the opposite wall. She risked a glance and saw him running a hand through his hair before gripping it at the roots, making it stick up in sweaty clumps. "Well, that explains—" His voice was high and he cleared his throat. “So, we find Wynne, then? And uh, hope she can hit us with a spell to fix it before we—" He gestured vaguely between them. "Before we try to…?"
"No." Summer's mouth tightened into a grim line. "There's no cure, really. You just have to wait it out. It fades after a few hours."
"Hours?"
"We have to isolate ourselves now, find a room or a closet, somewhere we can barricade before anyone else shows up. It won’t kill us, it can just…”
Make us do things we’ll regret forever.
She peeled herself off the wall, legs unsteady as they both stumbled forward. The short walk was agony. Her leathers were clinging and damp now and her body screamed at her to tear them off. Every step sent a jolt through her, reminding her of how empty and aching she was between her legs. Behind her, Alistair radiated so much heat that it felt like she'd backed up to a furnace. He was so close that all she'd have to do was stop and he'd run right into her, press up against her. She forced herself to keep walking.
They found a side chamber, another round room, smaller than the one with the fountain, with only one heavy door. The light from above was watery and weak, leaving the room mostly lit by the blue glow of the moss blanketing the floor in spongy, pulsing piles. Alistair shouldered the ancient door shut behind them, the thud of the stone sounding like a death knell.
He stayed behind her, too close. The room was big enough for both of them, but his presence filled the whole thing—his warmth, his scent, the sound of his heavy breathing. He stepped forward to stand beside her and she turned her head to look at him.
Mistake.
The pale light caught the sweat on his face, the flush spreading down his throat, the way his pupils swallowed up the warm hazel of his eyes. A dark, hungry look had overtaken him and he was staring at her like he was seeing a woman for the very first time.
Her stomach flipped.
She couldn't be near him. Every nerve in her body was screaming, trying to force her to close the distance, to press up against his solid chest and fist his hair and finally find out what his mouth tasted like.
The pollen was bad enough, but it was made worse by the fact that she'd wanted this for so long, for months. She loved his stupid jokes, his bravery, the soft heart he could never entirely hide behind sarcasm. She had fallen in love with Alistair. She'd fought it tooth and nail, but she was head over heels, and it was one of the most inconvenient, terrifying things that had ever happened to her.
And she would rather die than let him know. Especially like this. He was her best friend, the person who brought her out of her grumpy shell despite her determination to hate him, who stood by her when she’d done everything she could to push him away. She couldn't ruin that with her stupid unreciprocated feelings, amplified by stupid Tevinter sex pollen.
"Summer," Alistair breathed, sounding lost and hopeful. He was looking at her mouth again.
Nope.
"Sit," she ordered, pointing a trembling finger to the far corner. "Over there. Now."
“What?” His gaze flicked guiltily to her eyes.
"You sit there and I sit here. We don't talk or look. We just wait. Do you understand?"
“Right, waiting.” He walked over to the wall she'd indicated and sat down. “I’m great at waiting. After I locked myself in that cage back in Redcliffe, I waited a whole day to be found. Did I tell you that?”
“No talking, just sitting,” she said, her voice tight. She removed her scabbard and daggers and tossed them aside, then slid down the wall until she was settled on the ground. She drew her knees up and hugged them tight, trying to contain the heat that threatened to send her limbs reaching for him.
Sweat escaped every pore, like her whole body was weeping. Every thump of her pounding heart sent an echoing pulse deep into her core, until all she could think about was Alistair pounding—
She shook her head and braved a look at him. His head was thrown back against the wall, his eyes squeezed shut, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. She imagined pressing her lips to his neck, feeling his heartbeat hammer against her mouth. A small, helpless sound escaped her, a sharp inhale that was barely more than a gasp.
Alistair’s eyes flew open and locked onto hers. The confusion was gone. There was only hunger, dark and heavy-lidded, and it was hotter than anything she'd ever imagined. A wave of heat washed over her, making her cunt clench hard with need. She grit her teeth to hold back any other embarrassing noises.
“Summer." The rough way he said her name made her want to launch herself onto his tongue.
She gripped her knees tighter. She was unraveling quickly, but how were you supposed to wait out a storm when it brewed under your skin?
“This is really bad," he said. She swore she could feel the rumble of his words all the way across the room, vibrating through the stone floor, up her legs, settling between her thighs.
“Yeah." It was barely a whisper. She wanted to cross the room more than she’d ever wanted anything. It was like there was a lodestone in the aching pit of her belly pulling her toward him.
Alistair sat up straighter, his movements jerky. “It’s like there’s this heat taking over my whole body and making me want to—to—” His hand came up to clutch his chest over his heart, then dragged through his hair, leaving it a disheveled mess. He was so cute, even through the haze of lust, that it felt like she was splintering open.
“I know,” was all she could manage, her voice cracking. “But we can fight it.” She pinned her hands between the crease of her knees to keep from reaching for him. But that only pressed the sensitive weight of her breasts against her thighs, made her more aware of the constant throbbing ache between her legs. She was already slick with want and all they’d done was sit in the same room together for five minutes. She snuck another look at him.
Ugh, he's so big.
It wasn't like she was just noticing. It was impossible to meet Alistair and not be immediately aware of the sheer scale of him. A whole foot taller than her, shoulders broad enough to block out the sun in a narrow alley, upper arms thick with so much muscle that they were nearly as big around as her thighs. She wasn’t even small—maybe a couple inches shorter than average, a perfectly regular weight. But Alistair was broad and stocky and so hugely male that it made her tiny in comparison.
Once, in a moment of celebration after their hard-won battle with Flemeth, he'd scooped her up in a one-armed hug and swung her around like she was no bigger than a child and the ease of it sent a dizzying jolt through her that landed right between her legs. She'd scowled and kicked and demanded he put her down, but it was all she'd thought about that night in her tent.
And his Maker damned hands. They were huge. Not just the hands of a warrior, but a stonemason—calloused and strong, each finger nearly as thick as two of her own. She'd imagined those too. How rough they'd feel skimming over the softest parts of her, how easily they could span her waist, how three of them could fill her up more than any cock she'd ever taken. The contrast of his size and strength with his gentle clumsiness fueled fantasies that kept her up at night.
Alistair caught her looking and his eyes darkened, the hunger in them hitting her like a physical blow. She tried to look away, to hold onto the last shreds of her control, but she felt trapped.
Summer wanted him. So badly she felt faint.
His own control was visibly fraying. “I can’t just sit here. I feel like I’m crawling out of my skin. And you’re just there and you—" He let out a low, pained groan that shouldn't have been so erotic. “It’s getting worse.” He tore off his gauntlets and tossed them aside with a clatter before his fingers went to his chest plate, fumbling with the clasps. “I can’t even breathe in this.”
“Don’t,” Summer snapped, even as her hands twitched toward her own leathers. “Just leave it on.”
“Why?” He lifted off his chest piece and threw it to the floor. His undershirt was damp with sweat, plastered to the hard planes of his chest and the softness of his stomach. It was impossible to ignore the flexing of his biceps as he tore at his shoelaces and threw his boots to the side. Summer forced her eyes away and bit back a groan.
“Because it’s a terrible idea.” But her own fingers were already moving. With a growl of frustration, she shucked off her own cuirass and spiked it to the floor, quickly followed by her shoes and socks.
The cool air on her sweat-soaked undershirt was a relief for a single, blessed second before the heat roared back, worse than before.
Now that Alistair was out of his armor, she could smell him—clean skin and sweat and the warm male scent that was uniquely his. It settled into her lungs, made her want to press her face into his neck and drown in it. She clenched her thighs together hard and dug her nails into her legs, trying to use the pain to keep herself focused.
But he was staring. His eyes were black pools of want, tracing the neckline of her shirt where sweat gathered between her breasts, the way the damp fabric clung to every curve.
He let out an agonized sound. "Maker, Summer, you look—"
“Stop. We can wait it out." She meant for it to sound commanding, but her voice was breathless and pleading. She was trying to convince herself even more than him, trying desperately to keep the lid on before everything boiled over and burned them both.
“Can we?” His own voice was wrecked. “Because it feels like I’m full of—of hot coals. And lightning. And you’re all the way over there but I can hear you breathing and Summer—" The look in his eyes was a mix of shame and wonder as they locked onto her. "Maker's breath, I can smell you.”
She squeezed her eyes shut, but the image of him, sweat-damp and desperate, burned behind her eyelids. “Alistair, don’t.”
“Don’t what?” He sounded almost hysterical, an echo of his usual humor breaking through. “Don’t admit the obvious? Don’t admit that I kicked up some magical mildew and now all I can think about is coming over there and—"
“Exactly!” she shot back. “It’s just the stupid pollen, it’s not you! So just stay over there, don’t let it—“
“You think I’m not trying?” She couldn’t tell if the sound that escaped him was a sob or a laugh. “I’m trying so hard.”
A brutal surge of arousal tore through her and she whimpered helplessly, her eyes flying open without her permission and locking on his mouth. She needed to cross the room now, needed to get her lips on him, needed to take his hands and suck his thick fingers into her mouth before shoving them into her—
“It’s killing me,” he said, “to see you looking at me like that and not be able to do anything about it.”
"Alistair." She meant it as a warning but it came out as little more than a seductive gasp.
"Don't," he pleaded. His eyes dropped, unable to hold hers. "Don't say my name. Not now. Not like that."
With her last bout of strength, she grabbed her cuirass and hurled it at him. It flew across the distance and bounced off his chest.
“Hey!” he yelped, briefly snapping out his haze. Her plan immediately backfired as he picked it up and clutched it in both hands. “Oh no, why?” With a pained moan he buried his face in the leather and breathed her in. “Maker, it smells like you…”
“Stop that!” she snarled.
His voice was muffled as he babbled. “I thought this would be—I don’t know, thoughtless. I thought we’d be in here like rabid beasts, pawing and drooling all over each other, but it’s more like I’m totally focused. Like the Blight and the darkspawn and the whole world have fallen away and all that's left is—” Alistair looked up, his honey-brown eyes nearly swallowed up by the black of his blown-out pupils, his voice raw and wondering. “You.”
A full-body shudder wracked her, the ache in her cunt cresting so sharply she barely kept herself from crying out. Maker, how many times had she dreamed of him saying something like that to her?
“Cut it out!” she whined, rubbing her thighs together desperately. She needed to take her pants off. The leather of her breeches was soaked through, clinging wetly to her cunt, and she felt like she was suffocating. "Stop looking at me like that! Just stop!"
He shifted, stretching his leg out and lowering his knee and—oh.
Fuck.
He just had to be big everywhere, didn't he?
Alistair's cock was so hard that it looked ready to split his breeches. The outline strained against the fabric, long and thick, big enough to stretch her open exactly the way she needed in this moment. If she could only—
Summer grit her teeth and screwed her eyes shut, grinding desperately against the ground to prevent herself from—from… crawling over there and ripping his laces open, having his cock fall out heavy and leaking and slap down onto her waiting tongue so that she could taste—
"Stop that!" Alistair barked and she jerked back to herself.
"What?" she managed, dazed.
"Stop rocking around like that!" His eyes were fierce and accusing when she looked over at him, even though he still had his lower face buried in her leathers. He had the heel of his hand pressed hard against his straining bulge and she couldn’t tell if it was to provide relief or hide it. "And how can you tell me not to look when you're looking at me like that?"
"Like what?"
"Like you want me to come over there and—"
"Me?" she tried to snap, but it came out strained and breathy. She wished she had more things to throw at him, but she didn't think she could handle him sniffing her boots too. "You're the one smelling me!"
"Maker, I can't." With a whine of pure torment, Alistair ripped his shirt off and threw it aside.
The sight of his bare skin hit her like his shield to her chest. He was all hard muscle, with the exception of the softness of his lower belly, somehow looking even bigger without his clothing masking his physique. Scars were scattered across his body—nicks from blades, a shiny burn on his side from Flemeth. Beneath his bellybutton, a trail of hair disappeared down into his breeches and she felt drool pool under her tongue with the need to follow it.
The fire in her belly roared to an inferno, her thighs trembling with the effort of keeping her knees locked tight together. She heard the whisper of laces and her eyes flew to his hands. He was untying his breeches.
She wanted to spit curses at him. "Alistair, I swear to the Maker if you take those off!"
He paused. His eyes glinted in the moss glow, a sudden clarity cutting through the haze. "What?” he asked, a new edge to his voice. A dare. “What will you do?"
Summer glared. Her own skin screamed for release from her damp, clinging clothes, but if she stripped, she knew she'd be shedding the final barrier of her sanity with them. "I'll do it too.”
He looked away for a moment of consideration. Then his eyes locked back onto hers, blazing. "Do it," he breathed.
He shoved off his pants.
With a desperate whine that was more surrender than defiance, Summer grabbed the hem of her tunic and yanked it over her head. The relief of the cool air on her sweat-soaked skin lasted only a moment. Then she felt his gaze scorching greedily across her bare stomach, up to the curve of her breasts spilling over the top of her breastband, and her blood returned to a rolling boil.
She couldn't look away from him. His cock strained against his small clothes and even in the dim light, she could see the flushed head pressing against the cotton, how his precum had soaked through, turning the fabric wet and translucent around the tip. A distressed whimper escaped her as she started on her own pants. She struggled to peel them down her sticky legs, turning them inside out until she was free of them.
Her small clothes were a sloppy, ruined mess suctioned to her folds. She could feel her wetness seeping through, how swollen and desperate she was. She was dying for something—anything—to satisfy the aching void of her cunt.
"Summer," Alistair said, a broken sound escaping him. "Look what you're doing to me." He gestured helplessly at his straining cock. His hands came up, not to cover himself, but to drag through his hair, pulling like he wanted to tear at his own skin.
"I'm not doing anything," she gasped, but her body betrayed her. She arched her back unconsciously in invitation and a tormented noise ripped deep from his chest.
“You are, and you don’t even have to try.” His eyes raked over her, devouring the rapid rise and fall of her chest, the way her cleavage wobbled. “You're just there and I'm falling apart.” He cut off with a sound that was almost a sob, his eyes squeezing shut. "Every time you breathe, it's like… like you're pulling the air from my lungs. And I can't stay over here any longer."
He lurched forward until he was on his knees, then braced himself back against the wall, pulling into a low crouch. "Maker, it's like I can taste you from here."
The distance between them seemed to shrink. Something was pulling, a physical force trying to draw them together, and she could feel her own body leaning toward him in response.
The weight of his gaze skirted along the edge of her breastband and it felt like he was burning through the cloth. She clutched her tits with her hands, squeezing hard and groaning at the slight relief. But it wasn't enough. The stiff fabric was too rough, scraping against her sensitive nipples and she began to tear at the laces. When her breasts came free, she moaned as the weight of them bounced heavily from their confines.
Alistair made a sound like he'd been punched. She looked up and only then did she realize how close he'd gotten.
He'd been moving as she undressed and now he was near enough to touch, coiled and trembling, so much bigger than her even crouched low to the ground.
"We shouldn't," he rasped.
"You're the one who crawled over here." She pressed her cunt down needily against the floor.
"I know, but I couldn't—it hurt, to watch you and not—” His gaze dropped to her breasts, to her hands still cupping them, and the words died in his throat.
She reached up to pinch her nipples with a pathetic whine, grinding harder down against the stone, desperate for anything to ease the ache.
“Don't.” His voice was raw. “Don't touch yourself. Let me.” He was begging now, his fingers pressing into the ground, fighting to stay where they were. "I need to be the one to do it."
The throbbing in her core intensified, a sharp pang that made her hips jerk forward. Her legs fell open, a clear offering thrown in his direction.
His breath caught, his eyes wide. With a cry of pure despair, he surged forward. His hand shot up, slamming flat against the wall beside her head with a loud thud, his body vibrating with the strain. His face was so close she could feel the heat of his breath on her lips, see the wild want in his eyes as they searched hers.
"Tell me to stop," he breathed. His palm trembled on the wall. "Tell me to go and I will. I'll break every bone in my body if I have to, but I won't touch you unless you say yes."
"Alistair.” His name came out a sob. "Yes. Please."
With a groan that was equal parts pain and relief, he fisted his hand into the mess of her blonde hair and pulled her mouth to his.
The kiss was desperate and starving. She met him with her own ferocity, gripping the hair at his temples tight, desperate to pull him closer. Their teeth clacked as they worked their mouths together in a frenzied slide, Summer licking into him to twine her tongue around his. A distant part of her realized that this might be Alistair’s first kiss—that she was teaching him badly, that he might think this was how it was always supposed to be. But she couldn't find it in her to care. She wanted him so badly that even being inside his mouth wasn't close enough.
His hands were frantic as they explored her body—kneading her swollen breasts, skimming down her waist and hips until he was gripping her ass. He squeezed tight before lifting her and lurched to his feet. Her legs locked around him and finally—finally—she felt him against her core. The contact ripped a sob from her throat and she immediately rocked against him.
His cock was trapped between them, the wet heat of her cunt pressing against the thin barrier of his small clothes. The friction was maddening, not nearly enough, driving her wild with need. Their fevered skin was slippery with sweat and slid easily together in rabid glides. The feeling of his hard muscles against the softness of her breasts and the coarseness of his chest hair scraping against her nipples overwhelmed her senses and she rutted against him even harder.
A smaller man would have stumbled under her thrashing, but Alistair merely moaned, deep and guttural, and tightened his hold as he began walking them over to the spongy pile of moss in the center of the room.
It was springy and damp when Alistair lowered her onto it and, under any other circumstances, Summer would have been disgusted. But now she simply registered it as a perfect bed for Alistair to fuck her through. She reached for him, tried to pull him down on top of her, but he held himself up on trembling arms, keeping a few agonizing inches of space between them. She bucked up, desperate to feel his weight, but he simply pressed her hip down with one hand, holding her in place. The effortless strength of it made her cunt clench so hard she nearly wept.
"Maker, this is so much worse," he whimpered. "Better. Worse? I don't know."
Her hands were everywhere—tugging his hair, skimming his jaw, scoring the slick muscles of his chest with her short black nails, raking down his stomach, reaching for his cock—until he caught her wrist and pinned it beside her head. She mewled pitifully.
"Please." She was far beyond shame. "Alistair please, fuck me already."
"Oh, Summer." He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes squeezed shut. "I feel like I'll die if I don't."
She needed him so badly, needed more of his skin against hers, needed to close the distance between them more than she needed to breathe. She wriggled pathetically, tried again to rock upward, to lock her legs around him and drag him against her aching, empty cunt.
His hips made a small, involuntary jerk in response, and they both cried out at the contact. But instead of sinking into the feeling, Alistair recoiled as if burned. His muscles locked tight above her, a strangled sound escaping his throat.
“I can't get close enough,” he whispered, his hand tightening on her hip. “I need to be in you, but I—"
“Please.” She was squirming under his hands, her words raw sobs. “Now, please. I need you so bad. It hurts.”
“I know, I know it does." His voice cracked. "Summer, I’m sorry, I—“
“Fuck me, Alistair, or l swear to the Maker I'll do it myself and make you watch."
The crude threat hit him like a slap, his eyes flying open. "Don't say that," he pleaded, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He pressed his forehead more firmly against hers, but kept his body fixed above her, muscles shaking. "Don't. I can't think when you talk like that."
Through the haze of lust, she finally noticed his face. His eyes were squeezed shut again, jaw clenched. There was something else there beneath the desperation, a genuine anguish that had nothing to do with the pollen.
"Alistair." She made her voice steady. She brought her free hand up to frame his jaw, forcing him to look at her. When his eyes opened, they were shining. "What's wrong?"
"I don't know how," he admitted in a small, shattered voice. "I don't know how to do this and I'll… I'm going to ruin everything."
"Ruin what?" She closed her eyes tight, tried to ground herself with the scrape of his stubble under her thumb.
"This," he choked out. His whole body quaked with the effort of holding himself back. "You. Us. I don't know what I'm doing."
"You're doing me," she growled, her patience for his chivalry gone.
"Summer, you know I've never…"
His stammering cut through the haze like a blade and she remembered.
He was a virgin.
Oh, Alistair.
Summer's whole body ached for him. Her cunt clenched around nothing, empty and desperate, and she could feel the heat of his cock near where she needed him most, knew if she tilted her hips again, he’d be powerless to resist this time and she could finally have him inside her, finally satisfy the frantic, clawing need.
But she forced herself still. Under the burn of the pollen, a new heaviness settled into her heart. He’d been saving it. He had told her so. It was one of the only things he’d ever gotten to choose for himself. This was supposed to be his, supposed to mean something. But the choice was being stolen from him by some stupid Tevinter sex pollen.
“We don't have to," she made herself say, as her body screamed the opposite. A frustrated tear leaked into her lashes and she blinked it away furiously. "We can just—"
"I need you." His voice was raw. She felt his hands tremble where he had her pinned, his breath hot and ragged on her lips. "But I didn't want it to be like this. I didn't want to just—just shove myself in. I wanted it to be right."
Right. The word gutted her. He wanted romance and candlelight and a real bed. He wanted to be in love.
He didn’t want her.
But the pollen was relentless. The ache between her thighs was a pounding demand and she could feel herself shaking from the effort of holding still, of not breaking free of his grasp and guiding him inside her.
"I don't need right." Hope and guilt tangled into a knot in her chest. "Your body will know what to do. But I need it now. Just—get inside me, Alistair.” She was begging now, shameless and desperate for this one chance to have him. “Please. Let me show you."
He surrendered with a tiny, jerky nod and released her wrist. His eyes closed as she dragged her nails down his quivering belly and hooked her fingers into his small clothes and tugged. The heavy weight of his cock fell free and slapped down against her still-clothed cunt—a quick, maddening tease—before bobbing back up toward him. She cried out as if struck, the brief contact making her want to weep. Alistair turned his head with his teeth gritted, as if ashamed she was even seeing him.
When Summer finally wrapped her hand around his thick length, the feel—like hot silken steel—made her vision blur and her toes curl into the mossy bed below. She reached down with her other hand to pull her small clothes aside, but he moved faster, tearing them away with a brutal rip that made her breath catch.
With a shaking hand, she guided him to her entrance, the blunt head of his cock parting her slick, swollen folds. He made a sound like a wounded animal when he finally felt the wet heat of her for the first time and all resistance fled. With a broken cry of her name, Alistair surged forward with the whole weight of his body. There was no gentle breach, just a deep, brutal stroke that buried him to the hilt all at once.
“Sorry,” he grunted hot against her lips as he fell into her, a mess of shaking muscle, then crashed his mouth to hers in a clash of teeth and tongue.
The stretch was blinding. He was thicker than she'd let herself fantasize about and he filled her so completely she couldn't breathe. Her back arched, a guttural moan ripping from her throat and vibrating around his tongue. He gasped into her mouth, his body going rigid, eyes squeezed shut.
He didn't wait—couldn't wait—for her to adjust. He withdrew and slammed back into her, setting a frantic, punishing rhythm. It was clumsy, too fast, the angle all wrong—and it was perfect. The pollen had stripped him to instinct, reduced him to a wildly rutting animal, and she clung to him, head thrown back, each hard thrust punching a sharp cry from her lungs. His pubic bone slammed against her clit with every drive of his hips, sending her sliding farther up the mossy bed.
He only lasted six strokes, each one backed up by the full weight of his body, and when he came, it was with a raw, broken shout. His body bowed as he pulsed deep inside her and she swore she could feel each hot jet of his release. And, thanks to the pollen, that was all she needed.
Summer had never come so hard that it hurt before. But when her orgasm crashed over her, her vision whited out completely. She actually screamed, her fingers clawing at Alistair's skin, her cunt clamping down so hard around his cock she felt his whole body shudder. It was pleasure so intense it felt like pain, like she was being ripped from her own body.
Alistair collapsed on top of her, heavy and shaking, his face buried in her hair, his breaths ragged sobs against her neck. The frantic energy was banked, just for the moment. All there was left to do was remember how to breathe.