There and Back Again Ch. 069-070

Before I could change my mind, I reached behind him, carding my fingers through his soft hair, and then pulled him down to crush his lips against mine. He didn't hesitate to respond, tightening his grasp on my hair, pulling me tightly to him, groaning as I teased his lower lip with my tongue. It was a desperate kiss, somehow conveying need and want but also sorrow and loneliness and regret. I knew, for certain, that he regretted what he'd done, what he'd assumed, and without him saying it, I knew he'd never betray me again. I knew he loved me. And I think he knew that I forgave him, and that I loved him in return.

After the first few desperate seconds, he pulled back a little, softening the kiss, nuzzling his nose against my cheek, his hands stroking my face and my hair. Our lips moved slowly against each other, our tongues darting out to touch but not wrestle each other. For what felt like an eternity, there was nothing but his soft breath on my face, his lips against my own, and his hands stirring warmth wherever they touched.

When we pulled away, the look of adoration on his face took my breath away. It was sort of goofy, with a lopsided smile and sparkling eyes. In that moment, it completely replaced the mental image I'd been carrying for so long, that look of disgust on his face. I felt the fear, the anger, the hurt disappear, leaving behind contentment and love. I didn't think I'd ever forget what had happened, but I filed it into a mental category of 'lessons learned', and moved on. It was no longer important; only the future mattered. And my future was with him.

His smile slowly faded, to be replaced by a look of worry; not being party to the thoughts in my head, it was clear he was unsure of where we stood. I put my finger on his lips to prevent him from speaking, and pressed my forehead to his.

"I love you. I never stopped, really, it just hurt for a while. I was so angry. I think...no, I know I'm ready to move on now, if you are."

He nodded. "I swear to you, I will never doubt you again."

I interrupted. "Yes, you will. And so will I. That's normal, I think. But if either of us have concerns, I want us both to agree to ask the other for clarification before we jump to conclusions. To agree never to assume the worst of each other. Can we do that?"

"Absolutely. And Sierra...I will never leave you. Never again. I know you must be afraid, but I'm not that man anymore. I know, now, that I can't live without you. These last weeks have been horrible, contemplating a future without you. I would bet all the coin I have that if you asked that Alistair, the one drunk in Kirkwall, the only thing he had left was regret, knowing that he should never have walked away. Now that I already know that regret, I never will. I swear it."

I pulled him down for another kiss, to stop him from talking, if nothing else. It was a "you had me at hello" sort of moment, and I wanted to savour it, not discuss it. With a sigh, I pulled away, however.

"There's one more thing you should know."

His expression was anxious. "Oh?"

"I told you before...at the end of the Blight - there's a second game. It covers the events happening in Kirkwall after the Blight."

"Right...?"

"In that game...the player plays as someone else. Hawke - a Ferelden refugee whose mother was a noble in Kirkwall until she eloped with an apostate. Hawke ends up dealing with a lot of stuff happening in Kirkwall." He nodded understanding. I sighed. "In the game, there were possible romances, again."

He grimaced, but then controlled his expression, looking at me calmly. "Who?"

"Anders." It was almost a whisper; I didn't want to admit it, but everything needed to be on the table if we were going to move on.

"Of course. It would have to be." He sighed. "Do you...do you like him? I mean..."

"No, no. Maker, no. It's...actually, it's a tragic romance. And he can be a total ass. I'm not Marian Hawke, nor even Solona, apparently. I have no interest. I just...I figured you needed to know. I know things about him. Like Zev, or Leli. If it ever comes up...I don't want that to come as a shock. No more secrets."

"I won't say I'm not jealous. I am. But I trust you. If you say it's not like that..."

"It's not. I promise. Not even the slightest attraction. He was never my type."

"Oh? And what's your type, then?" His expression was mischievous, and I grinned.

"Oh, you know, tall, dark, and handsome. Just what you'd expect."

He grabbed me, holding me to him and tickling my side relentlessly. "You minx! You're...you're a bad person."

I giggled maniacally, his devilish fingers making me squirm and gasp for air. "Uncle! Uncle. I give." He stopped tickling, and I smiled up at his handsome face, careworn wrinkles already gone from his forehead. "You. You're my type. Funny and gorgeous and strong and perfect. Even before I came here, it was you."

I wiggled around in his lap until I could straddle him, wrapping my arms around his neck, feeling his hands on my back and one hip. I kissed him, trying to convey the desire, the total commitment I felt, and he returned the favour. I moaned into his mouth, his hands clenching into fists as I pressed myself closer. I teased at his lips, trying to get his tongue engaged, but he seemed to be avoiding it.

Finally pulling away from the kiss, I looked down at him in confusion. "I shall be most offended if that's the best you can do, you know."

He raised his eyebrows at me. "'Shall'? Seriously? Now you sound like Morrigan."

I grinned and stuck my tongue out at him, enjoying the way his eyes lingered on my mouth. "Yeah yeah. Don't think I didn't notice you changing the subject."

His smile faded slightly, and he blushed. "I thought...I just thought, perhaps we shouldn't be so...hasty. That maybe I could, I don't know..." he trailed off, looking sheepish.

I was both relieved and amused. "Woo me? Is that what you were thinking?" He nodded. "I don't need to be wooed, Alistair. We've already done awkward and unsure. I've been alone and hurting for weeks, and I'm sure it's the same for you. I don't need to be wooed, I need to be loved. Please?"

He studied my face, and then I felt his hands slide up my back to tangle in my hair as he dragged me to him for another kiss. He pressed his tongue against my lower lip and I opened to him; he immediately took advantage. It was exactly what I needed: the taste that was all Alistair, the feel of his hands pulling me closer, his hard body pressed up against mine. When he pulled back to start kissing down my jaw and then sucking on my ear, I gasped and trembled.

He finally stopped, pressing his forehead against mine while we both panted. "We should continue this somewhere more private. If...I mean, if you're sure."

I smiled at him, gazing into his hazel eyes. "I'm sure." My stomach grumbled, and his followed. "I'm hungry, though. I think we missed supper."

"And lunch. How's this - you head to my room, and I'll find us some food and join you there?"

I agreed, and then awkwardly scrambled out of his lap. He kissed me one more time, and then held the door for me to head inside from the ramparts. He headed down to the kitchen, and I wandered slowly towards his room. I ran into Blake, who was carrying a covered tray; I apologised for missing him at the meal. He assured me he was doing fine, that he was being taken care of, and that Isolde hadn't so much as looked at him. I ruffled his hair affectionately and he scurried off towards Theron's room with the tray.

I slipped inside Alistair's room without being seen, and then stopped, unsure what to do from there and suddenly nervous. His room was virtually identical to mine, so I went over to sit in the armchair in front of the fireplace. Hearth. I'd been working on Fereldan terminology for things, but I wasn't always successful.

Aedan had tried, a couple of times while we'd walked, to explain to me the terms for various pieces of armour; I'd heard cuirasses and gambesons and pauldrons and a bunch of other strange words, and not even my gaming history helped me retain them. I knew gauntlets, but the rest were a mystery. To me, pants, chest piece, gloves and boots were good enough. It was like trying to stop saying 'Oh my God'. That one was going to get me in trouble one day. I'd added swears using the Maker or Andraste to my repertoire, but hadn't quite managed to fully phase out the Earth ones.

It also amazed me that straight up swears were used so rarely. I'd heard 'shit' a couple of times, but nobody seemed to drop the F-bomb. They used sodding instead, which never failed to make me giggle. I was looking forward to meeting Oghren, for that if nothing else. Alistair had called Morrigan a bitch in game, but I'd never heard it used other than referring to female dogs.

I realised I was trying to distract myself from my nervousness, and laughed. It was such a stupid thing. I had no reason to be nervous; it wasn't our first time, and I wasn't doubting him anymore, so...I took a shaky breath and tried to relax.

Alistair found me curled on the chair, staring intently at his drawing of myself looking miserable, holding the tiny Ironman figurine when he arrived. He had a similar tray to Blake's, only it was clearly piled high. He put it on the table, before approaching me and taking my hand. He drew me up from the chair, taking the figurine from my hands.

"I kept it. I don't even know what it is, but..." He flushed, and I went up on tiptoes to kiss him gently.

"Would you like me to tell you?" He nodded. "It's called Iron Man. It's a guy wearing a suit made of metal, and it can fly. He is a superhero - he uses the powers of the suit to help people. Sort of. I just thought it was sort of like the other figurines you like. Like the golem. I saw it in a shop in the hospital and couldn't resist."

He kissed me softly, then rested his forehead against mine. "When I found that in my bedroll, when I walked away from you that night, I felt like such a..."

"It doesn't matter now." I kissed him briefly again. "New beginning, right? No secrets." He nodded again, blushing when I waved the drawing I'd pulled out of his pack at him. "Speaking of which, I didn't know you could draw."

"I didn't know that you knew I can draw."

"Wynne," I said as though that explained everything; he nodded, so maybe it did. "I think it's about time we feed this one to the fire, don't you think?"

He frowned. "I keep it-"

"To punish yourself with? I know." He nodded, so I continued, "I don't think either of us need reminding, do we? This is the past. We're moving forward. Forgiven, right?"

He studied my face for a moment, and I stood quietly, holding the drawing. Finally he nodded; together, we crouched in front of the hearth. We held each other's hands as we placed the drawing in the fire. It caught immediately, the dry parchment lighting up with a whoosh. He smiled hesitantly at me, and I returned the smile with a brilliant one of my own.

Standing, he encouraged me to sit on the edge of the bed; leaving me there, he grabbed the tray and put it in the middle before sitting on the far side.

He pulled the linen off the tray to reveal fruit, cheese, some thin-sliced meats, and buns. We both tore into the food, too hungry for manners or for awkwardness.

"So how did you learn to draw?" I asked around a mouthful of bread.

"At the monastery, there wasn't much to do outside of training and studying. We had lots of parchment - no one questioned us needing more - so it was easy to doodle and hide it in my study materials. I just had lots of chances to practice."

"Well, you're amazing. You have quite the eye for detail. Whenever I draw, I'm lucky if I can get my stick figures to look human."

He flushed and cleared his throat nervously, then changed the subject.

When nothing remained on the tray but crumbs, I looked up to meet his eyes, only to find him staring at me in return, and immediately my embarrassment returned.

He got up, putting the tray back on the table, before digging through the drawers of his armoire. When he turned around, he held one of the tunics he wore for sleep. He fidgeted with the cloth, clearly having as much trouble as I was.

"I was thinking...it might be nice if we could pretend the last few weeks hadn't happened, if we could start over. I was thinking I should sort of, um, court you, the way nobles do it? But if you don't want that, I thought...maybe we could pretend it was our first night again? And just start from there?"

He held out the tunic limply, looking vulnerable. I smiled, walking up and cupping his cheek with one hand, taking the tunic with the other. "That sounds good." I stroked his cheek softly. "You had less stubble, then."

"I had sort of planned things, then. Today was a surprise." He smiled, and I grinned in return. "Do you want me to shave?"

I rasped my fingers over his stubble again; it was just long enough to look rugged, not long enough to be uncomfortably prickly. "No. I like it."

Hi eyes darkened, and he pressed a kiss to my fingers. "Go change, before I get other ideas."

I slipped behind the little curtain, taking care of business and changing into his shirt. When I came out, he wore sleeping pants, like the first night in Denerim, and nothing else. It was getting dark, so he'd lit a candle; we didn't quite need it yet, but we would before long. I knew why, and I felt the same: I wanted to see him, all of him, not make love in the dark.

He walked over and effortlessly lifted me into his arms, moving to place me gently on the bed. I couldn't pry my gaze away from his gorgeous, serious face as he laid down beside me. Without a word, he kissed me, and I ran my fingers into his hair to hold him close. The kiss was passionate, but far less desperate than I'd expected. I sort of thought the first time after so long would be needy and sweaty and fast, but he seemed determined to go slow, to drag it out.

After an eternity of kissing, I felt his hand on my stomach, rubbing gently, then wandering down to my hip. I let my own hands explore his bare chest, stroking and smoothing the skin over the rippling muscles I'd been appreciating in the shower room. He shivered when I brushed a finger over his nipple, so I did it again, triggering a groan. He released my lips to start kissing down my jawline, while his hand finally cupped my breast through the tunic. Now unable to reach much of his skin, I settled for clenching my hand in his short hair while I shuddered and arched into his fingers. He teased my nipple through the thin cloth, not providing enough stimulation to get any sort of relief, but dragging a gasp from me anyway.

I had the sudden need to sit up and rid myself of the pesky tunic, wanting his hands on my skin, right-sodding-now, but he seemed to guess my intent; when I went to sit, Alistair held me down, and when I tried to push him away he simply gathered both of my wrists in one hand, holding them lazily above my head. It seemed like he wasn't making a true effort to keep me pinned, but to my dismay, when I struggled, I couldn't break free. Stupid warriors and their stupid strong hands. I cursed as he went back to licking my ear, and felt his breath as he chuckled.

"You could change your mind tomorrow. I'm not going to rush anything tonight, my love."

"What if I beg?"

"Oh, I'd very much like to hear that, Sierra. Please, feel free." His voice was going to be my undoing, I was suddenly certain. The husky tone he took on when aroused was enough to make me want to scream.

I resolved then and there not to beg, no matter what, but at least part of me was well aware that I'd break that resolve in a hot second if I thought it would work. When he gently nipped my neck and his hand returned to tease my nipple some more, I groaned and writhed, my hands clenching uselessly on empty air.

Finally satisfied that I was completely frustrated, he leaned back and urged me to roll over without releasing my hands. In a haze of arousal and want, I complied, unable to express my confusion at the request but too dazed to resist. He laid alongside me, enough pressure on my back and hip that I couldn't get up, and finally released my hands. He stroked my hair, kissing the back of my neck and my shoulder, until finally rising up to swing his leg across and straddle my bare thighs. His hands gently brushed my shoulder blades, down to my lower back, and eventually I felt them tease at the hem of the tunic I wore.

I held my breath as his nimble fingers slipped underneath, and he caressed my thighs softly before reversing his previous path underneath the fabric. He fondled my bottom for a few moments, making me squirm, and then, as his hands rose, so did the fabric of the shirt. I felt him shift, and then gasped as his lips pressed to one of my exposed butt cheeks. He repeated the process on the other side before questing further north with his hands. He followed his questing fingers with kisses, from my lower back, to both scapulae, to the nape of my neck, at which point the fabric of the tunic was bunched, denying further progress.

I had hoped he would allow me to finally rid myself of the pesky garment, but instead he lifted it over my head and tangled it around my arms, then began massaging my back, shoulders, and butt. I didn't even realise how sore my muscles were, and he gently kneaded each knot with his strong fingers until I was completely relaxed. I was still aroused - mostly naked, with a semi-nude Adonis straddling my legs, I don't think I could have been anything else - but the need was less urgent, somehow less desperate than before.

I could feel his hardness against my thigh, but he seemed content ignoring it for the moment. Once he had me entirely limp, he began kissing his way down my spine instead. I tried to lay still, I truly did, but when his tongue swiped against the sensitive skin between my shoulders, I moaned and arched up, pressing myself against his lips harder. I had no idea, before that moment, that my back was so sensitive, though I supposed it could have just been the anticipation. I had been entirely relaxed, but now I was completely tense for a different reason.

He slid one hand into my thick curls, tugging them out of his way to get at the back of my neck; it was accidental, I gathered from his whispered apologies, but his fingers tangled and pulled my hair as he did. Delicious sensations shot from my scalp all the way down my spine, and I shuddered in pleasure even as he caressed the area gently. I was shocked - having my hair yanked seemed like it shouldn't have been sexy - but it turned me on even more. As I mulled it over, still mewling and pressing up against his hard chest above me, I realised it was the same thing that made this whole situation so delicious - apparently I like it when Alistair takes control. I didn't know how far that would extend, and I certainly didn't think I was some sort of submissive, but my usually mild-mannered warrior overcoming his insecurities because he wanted me so much was, well, arousing.

Now if I could just get him to stop teasing me and act on that desire!

When he finally allowed me to roll over again, I managed to rid myself of his tunic as he repositioned himself straddling my thighs. I quirked an eyebrow at him, wondering what exactly he thought we were going to accomplish with his legs keeping mine trapped and pressed together; he ignored me and leaned down to kiss me instead. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him down hard against me, hoping to encourage him with my ardor; he groaned and deepened the kiss further, but didn't seem to be making a move towards ridding himself of his pants. His erection was trapped between us, so close but so frustratingly far from where I wanted it.