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masserectSummary: Morrigan is fascinated by a new book. The Warden sets out to prove that he's more interesting than a dusty old tome.
Length: 1400 words
Rating: Somewhere in the R - M range for explicit fondling.
Notes: Original prompt: Male or Female Warden plays with Morrigan's breasts beneath the top of her default robes. Established relationship preferred.
Also: Holy shit has it been long since I touched anything DA-related.
The pages whisper as she turns them. The scratch of the quill seems disturbingly loud as she makes the occasional note. It is past midnight and the fire has long burned out, leaving only a single lamp to illuminate the tome on the table. It is old, and quite fascinating. She is not supposed to have it, but that makes it all the more enjoyable.
The floorboards creak. She recognizes the steps; doesn't look up.
He stops behind her. She feels warmth against her back as he bends over her, looks down at what she's doing. Then his hands, warmer still, settle on her shoulders, fingers curling down around them, thumbs stroking the back of her neck and she smiles despite herself.
"Planning to finish it all in one go?"
"Yes," she says, and makes another note, feeling the weight of his hand shift as her arm moves. "What better way to spend my time? 'Tis the most interesting thing in the house."
Some men would be terribly offended, being told they are less interesting than a dusty old tome, but he chuckles.
"Bet I can change your mind."
"Perhaps," she has to admit, because he is good at that. She puts the quill down and turns another page. The fingers around her shoulders tighten briefly, and she hears another sound, clothes rustling as he sinks down, kneeling behind her. His hands glide down to her elbows, callused palms rough on her skin. Down off her arms and onto her hips, and his fingers curl around her hipbones, pulling her backwards on the bench, until her back is pressed against his chest. That's warm, too, and hard.
She bites her lip to suppress a shiver when he starts to move his hands, fingers exploring the strip of bare skin around her hips, painting slow, circular patterns over her stomach. She fumbles with the quill as she picks it up and copies down another symbol from the yellowed pages.
He hums behind her, the sound echoing in his chest, against her back. But she keeps her hand steady when she lays the quill down once more. The fingers on her belly slowly spiral out towards her hips, caressing the little valleys inside the hipbones. It... tickles. Her shoulders tighten, just for a moment, and she frowns, angry with herself for the lack of control. He doesn't call her out on it. Just continues to stroke her, hands slowly moving back around her hips, until he gets to the part where she's pressed against his body and has to stop.
She almost makes a noise of complaint when he leans back, depriving her of the warmth behind her back. But then his hands brush up past her robe where it's looped around her waist, and up to the bare skin above, fingers splayed, as if trying to cover as much of her as possible. He runs them up and down a few times, gently massaging, before he begins to slide them out and around her once more. Over her ribs and under her arms, those rough, warm hands glide over skin even more sensitive than her hips, and this time not even biting her lip can suppress a tremor, a shiver through her entire body. Her hand slips a little, smudging her latest note, staining her finger. She barely even cares.
His fingertips toy with the cord keeping her brassiere in place, but he leaves it in place as his fingers dip in under the front of her robe, slowly creeping up the outer slopes of her breasts. Light and slow, just like before. Her robe flutters where it drapes over her stomach and her toes curl at the sensation of those hands slowly covering her breasts. The tips of his fingers make it up to the black silk and the sensation changes. She finds herself wishing she had worn nothing under the robe.
Her nipples make two obvious tents in the silk, but he seems not to notice, finger merely brushing them as they pass. She squints down at the book. It seems less important than it did a few minutes ago.
The tips of his fingers meet in front of her chest, and his hands stop, gently cupping her breasts. For a while he doesn't move, just holds her, and she feels her body relax, feeling almost disturbingly safe like this. But a breath hitches in her throat when he bends down and nuzzles the back of her neck, lips feeling curiously soft compared to the roughness of his fingers.
Fingers, which now begin to move once more, stroking the bare inner slopes of her breasts. Her necklace clinks as he nudges it, shifts it a little on her chest. She looks down, past the book, past her notes, down at the fingers sticking out under her robe, at how they move, at how they touch her. Their movements shift his entire hands where they lie, just a little, and she's acutely aware of the slightest movement against her nipples. Every little motion sends a fluttering spark of sensation through her body. It pools in her belly and slithers further down, heat in her groin, the cool sensation of her cunt slickening in anticipation. It takes all she has not to squirm.
He moves his head. The lips at the back of her neck shift to the side, kiss their way up to her left ear. She feels his nose brushing it, but then he moves down again, towards the shoulder and she almost groans in frustration.
If he notices, he doesn't show. Instead, he simply stops.
"That book seems to be holding your attention pretty well." She realizes she hasn't turned a page in what feels like a long time. "Should I just give up and go to bed alone?"
She chews her lip. "No," she decides. "Perhaps you should try harder instead."
He laughs against her shoulder, and pressed against him as she is, it shakes them both. "Perhaps," he agrees, and squeezes her breasts. She draws a long, deep breath, curls her toes, and forces her hand to move, to turn another page, even though she's not sure she caught everything on the last one.
Strong, rough fingers knead soft, pliable flesh. Her nipples are like two pebbles under the silk, aching for attention, but it is as if he reads her mind and wants her to suffer. His lips are back on her neck and what used to be light, dry nips are now hot, wet kisses. The pages swim before her eyes. And with a sigh, she admits defeat, reaches out and closes the tome, and reaches back with both hands, fisting them in his hair and pulling him closer. He smiles, she feels against her neck, and nips at her earlobe.
She shivers, and he pulls at her with his teeth, gently runs his tongue over the flesh between them. Her fingers uncurl and curl again, pulling at his hair, but he doesn't react, just keeps doing what he does. His hands shift and his finger curl under the bottom of her brassiere and quickly pulls it up, baring her breasts and achingly hard nipples; he wastes no time giving them the attention she needs, thumbs and forefingers rolling the sensitive nubs between them while his other fingers cup and squeeze.
"Harder," she breathes, and he obeys with teeth and fingers both, growling as he bites her ear, fingers tightening and pinching.
The sensation hits her like a whiplash between the legs. She arches back, lights flashing before her eyes, thighs pressing together.
The grip tightens and he pulls at her nipples, shakes his hands and makes her breasts jiggle and shake. Her hands slip from his hair and she curls forward, knees thumping the table from below, forehead pressing into it from above, nails digging into the wood, entire body twitching and trembling.
When it fades, she lies panting, blinking tears from her eyes. He's cupping her breasts now, gently massaging, but she's even more sensitive now, and the slow kneading makes a glittery sensation trickle down her body. His lips, equally gentle against her neck, send shivers down her spine.
"Am I interesting enough yet, little witch?"
She trembles at the sensation of his lips moving, his hot breath against her wet, sensitive skin. But straightens up nonetheless, leaning to the side and looking over her shoulder at him.
"Perhaps," she says, and reaches behind her, sliding her hand down his stomach and curling her fingers around the bulge in his trousers. "But I shall have to read another chapter to make sure."
He grins, and carries her towards the bedchamber.
Length: 1400 words
Rating: Somewhere in the R - M range for explicit fondling.
Notes: Original prompt: Male or Female Warden plays with Morrigan's breasts beneath the top of her default robes. Established relationship preferred.
Also: Holy shit has it been long since I touched anything DA-related.
The pages whisper as she turns them. The scratch of the quill seems disturbingly loud as she makes the occasional note. It is past midnight and the fire has long burned out, leaving only a single lamp to illuminate the tome on the table. It is old, and quite fascinating. She is not supposed to have it, but that makes it all the more enjoyable.
The floorboards creak. She recognizes the steps; doesn't look up.
He stops behind her. She feels warmth against her back as he bends over her, looks down at what she's doing. Then his hands, warmer still, settle on her shoulders, fingers curling down around them, thumbs stroking the back of her neck and she smiles despite herself.
"Planning to finish it all in one go?"
"Yes," she says, and makes another note, feeling the weight of his hand shift as her arm moves. "What better way to spend my time? 'Tis the most interesting thing in the house."
Some men would be terribly offended, being told they are less interesting than a dusty old tome, but he chuckles.
"Bet I can change your mind."
"Perhaps," she has to admit, because he is good at that. She puts the quill down and turns another page. The fingers around her shoulders tighten briefly, and she hears another sound, clothes rustling as he sinks down, kneeling behind her. His hands glide down to her elbows, callused palms rough on her skin. Down off her arms and onto her hips, and his fingers curl around her hipbones, pulling her backwards on the bench, until her back is pressed against his chest. That's warm, too, and hard.
She bites her lip to suppress a shiver when he starts to move his hands, fingers exploring the strip of bare skin around her hips, painting slow, circular patterns over her stomach. She fumbles with the quill as she picks it up and copies down another symbol from the yellowed pages.
He hums behind her, the sound echoing in his chest, against her back. But she keeps her hand steady when she lays the quill down once more. The fingers on her belly slowly spiral out towards her hips, caressing the little valleys inside the hipbones. It... tickles. Her shoulders tighten, just for a moment, and she frowns, angry with herself for the lack of control. He doesn't call her out on it. Just continues to stroke her, hands slowly moving back around her hips, until he gets to the part where she's pressed against his body and has to stop.
She almost makes a noise of complaint when he leans back, depriving her of the warmth behind her back. But then his hands brush up past her robe where it's looped around her waist, and up to the bare skin above, fingers splayed, as if trying to cover as much of her as possible. He runs them up and down a few times, gently massaging, before he begins to slide them out and around her once more. Over her ribs and under her arms, those rough, warm hands glide over skin even more sensitive than her hips, and this time not even biting her lip can suppress a tremor, a shiver through her entire body. Her hand slips a little, smudging her latest note, staining her finger. She barely even cares.
His fingertips toy with the cord keeping her brassiere in place, but he leaves it in place as his fingers dip in under the front of her robe, slowly creeping up the outer slopes of her breasts. Light and slow, just like before. Her robe flutters where it drapes over her stomach and her toes curl at the sensation of those hands slowly covering her breasts. The tips of his fingers make it up to the black silk and the sensation changes. She finds herself wishing she had worn nothing under the robe.
Her nipples make two obvious tents in the silk, but he seems not to notice, finger merely brushing them as they pass. She squints down at the book. It seems less important than it did a few minutes ago.
The tips of his fingers meet in front of her chest, and his hands stop, gently cupping her breasts. For a while he doesn't move, just holds her, and she feels her body relax, feeling almost disturbingly safe like this. But a breath hitches in her throat when he bends down and nuzzles the back of her neck, lips feeling curiously soft compared to the roughness of his fingers.
Fingers, which now begin to move once more, stroking the bare inner slopes of her breasts. Her necklace clinks as he nudges it, shifts it a little on her chest. She looks down, past the book, past her notes, down at the fingers sticking out under her robe, at how they move, at how they touch her. Their movements shift his entire hands where they lie, just a little, and she's acutely aware of the slightest movement against her nipples. Every little motion sends a fluttering spark of sensation through her body. It pools in her belly and slithers further down, heat in her groin, the cool sensation of her cunt slickening in anticipation. It takes all she has not to squirm.
He moves his head. The lips at the back of her neck shift to the side, kiss their way up to her left ear. She feels his nose brushing it, but then he moves down again, towards the shoulder and she almost groans in frustration.
If he notices, he doesn't show. Instead, he simply stops.
"That book seems to be holding your attention pretty well." She realizes she hasn't turned a page in what feels like a long time. "Should I just give up and go to bed alone?"
She chews her lip. "No," she decides. "Perhaps you should try harder instead."
He laughs against her shoulder, and pressed against him as she is, it shakes them both. "Perhaps," he agrees, and squeezes her breasts. She draws a long, deep breath, curls her toes, and forces her hand to move, to turn another page, even though she's not sure she caught everything on the last one.
Strong, rough fingers knead soft, pliable flesh. Her nipples are like two pebbles under the silk, aching for attention, but it is as if he reads her mind and wants her to suffer. His lips are back on her neck and what used to be light, dry nips are now hot, wet kisses. The pages swim before her eyes. And with a sigh, she admits defeat, reaches out and closes the tome, and reaches back with both hands, fisting them in his hair and pulling him closer. He smiles, she feels against her neck, and nips at her earlobe.
She shivers, and he pulls at her with his teeth, gently runs his tongue over the flesh between them. Her fingers uncurl and curl again, pulling at his hair, but he doesn't react, just keeps doing what he does. His hands shift and his finger curl under the bottom of her brassiere and quickly pulls it up, baring her breasts and achingly hard nipples; he wastes no time giving them the attention she needs, thumbs and forefingers rolling the sensitive nubs between them while his other fingers cup and squeeze.
"Harder," she breathes, and he obeys with teeth and fingers both, growling as he bites her ear, fingers tightening and pinching.
The sensation hits her like a whiplash between the legs. She arches back, lights flashing before her eyes, thighs pressing together.
The grip tightens and he pulls at her nipples, shakes his hands and makes her breasts jiggle and shake. Her hands slip from his hair and she curls forward, knees thumping the table from below, forehead pressing into it from above, nails digging into the wood, entire body twitching and trembling.
When it fades, she lies panting, blinking tears from her eyes. He's cupping her breasts now, gently massaging, but she's even more sensitive now, and the slow kneading makes a glittery sensation trickle down her body. His lips, equally gentle against her neck, send shivers down her spine.
"Am I interesting enough yet, little witch?"
She trembles at the sensation of his lips moving, his hot breath against her wet, sensitive skin. But straightens up nonetheless, leaning to the side and looking over her shoulder at him.
"Perhaps," she says, and reaches behind her, sliding her hand down his stomach and curling her fingers around the bulge in his trousers. "But I shall have to read another chapter to make sure."
He grins, and carries her towards the bedchamber.
