Rules

Morrigan and Alistair may have to perform the ritual but that doesn't mean they have to like it.

A/N: I found this forgotten fanfic on my laptop today 80% finished (written a couple of years ago) and thought, why not complete and post it. So here it is. I hope you like it, as dirty and emo as it is. Rated M for naked shenanigans.

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The room, her room, was warm even though it was lit by only a solitary candle on the bedside table. The sparse orange light flickered, casting dancing shadows onto the red walls. All in all, it appeared rather romantic which was pretty funny really. Alistair felt a maniacal smile creep onto his face at the sheer ridiculousness of it all which quickly overtook him. Who would have ever thought he'd be in this situation? With her? Well, she had known. Morrigan had known all these months. Deceitful witch. He laughed deliriously and brought his hand up to cover his face as he shook his head.

The door from the ensuite washroom opened.

"Laughing at your own cretinous jokes again, are we?"

He pulled his hand away from his face sharply and shot a look towards the door. Morrigan stood there in her small clothes, an eyebrow arched at him, with that infuriating and persistent smug look on her face. Any trace of humour he had found in the situation vanquished instantly. He narrowed his eyes at her.

"You know, you should really work on your sweet talk," he jibed.

She said nothing but pushed the door shut with her foot without taking her eyes from him.

"I see you're ready," she said clinically. Her eyes wandered down his naked body and the vulnerability he had already felt sitting in here alone multiplied a thousand times over. "Well...almost."

"Forgive me if I'm not giddy with excitement," he snapped.

"Well, that's something we must remedy," she replied with a smirk and she started to advance towards him...no...advance wasn't the right word...prowl was the more like it.

He instinctively lay back, propping himself up on his elbows, and backed up the bed away from her.

Maker help me...this is actually happening...

She crawled up the bed towards him, straddling him. Her overly flaunted and hence familiar breasts were there (yes, check). Her hips (yes she had those too) far too slim but still womanly enough, swayed as she slinked up him. And then her face, there it was, that face with those creepy, disdainful eyes. Even now, she couldn't hide her disrespect, probably as much, he imagined, as he was successfully hiding the repulsion from his.

And now she was advancing, encroaching on his space. That face, her lips were only an inch from his.

Maybe, he thought, maybe, I could close my eyes and pretend and it will all be OK...

He did that, close his eyes, as he anticipated her lips on his. He imagined that it would be cold, and possibly clammy. But the touch never came. He opened one eye intrepidly. She hadn't moved but her smirk had returned.

"Rule one," she said, her voice brusque and belittling. "No kissing on the lips."

"There's rules. Of course there's rules. Just like the chantry only..." he took in the talismans hung on the walls and the nearly-naked apostate hovering over him "...Scratch that. This is nothing like the chantry."

She leaned in closer, close enough that he wondered briefly if she had forgotten rule one already. "Rule two. No light."

Suddenly she leaned away to the left and blew out the single candle plunging the room into darkness.

"Thank the Maker," Alistair muttered. This would be much easier if he didn't have to look at her.

"Rule three," she snapped, sounding, he noted humorously, slightly offended. "There will be no mentioning of your Maker...no matter how much you might want to praise his name later."

"Or curse it, more like," he retorted.

He could sense her above him, his body tingled with nerves as he awaited her move. He wished she'd just get it over with. Maybe, despite her bravado, she was as unsure as he or, more likely, just as turned off by the idea of it. Seconds passed and no move was made.

"Rule four," he barked. "Can we just get on with it?"

"The rules are mine to make," she lashed out defensively and then her voice turned mocking. "You suddenly seem very eager Alistair. Would one be -?"

She squealed suddenly as he groped blindly, found her waist and spun her over so he was on top of her.

"Not eager," he grumbled as his hand trailed down her side (he had been right, her skin was cold but not clammy at all. It was surprisingly quite soft) . "Just bored. I know you like the sound of your own voice, but Andraste wept!"

His thumb caught on edge of her under garments and he yanked them down unceremoniously.

"You are quite the gentleman," she chided sarcastically. "No wonder you're such a hit with the ladies." He could hear the slight shaking in her usually detached voice and he realised that she was as unsure as he. He halted his movements briefly, her underwear at her knees. A wave of guilt and sympathy rushed over him for the woman briefly before he remembered that this was her plan, her ritual and, hang on, this was Morrigan the evil bitch that couldn't help herself but make his life miserable...even when she'd known all along that she would have to ask this of him.

"Is the templar losing his nerve?" Her snide, piercing tone cut right through him.

He gritted his teeth. "You know what might help?" he berated. "If I wasn't doing this alone."

"Oh? I thought you'd have plenty of practice at that."

That's it! he thought angrily and he fiercely pushed himself up and away from her so he was kneeling upright between her ankles. Maker help him, dying would be a whole lot less painful than this charade. He heard Morrigan give a resigned sigh. Maybe he could just scrape up whatever dignity he had left and head back to his room for a nice, long sleep or maybe, just maybe, he could go and find some solace in the arms of his love...if she'd take him. He was acutely aware of Morrigan shifting beneath him. Maybe if he lied to his warden, said it was done, she wouldn't try and stop him from killing the archdemon. But he knew he could never get away with lying to her. She knew him too well. The bed moved as the weight of the witch budged. Hands pressed on his shoulders as she repositioned herself, silently straddling his thighs. Then hands left him and she was fiddling with something. He knelt there obediently waiting.

"How about this? Rule five," she said and her voice was different. It was compassionate and soft. "...is no talking at all?"

The sound of soft fabric hit the bed. Then fingers slid down his left arm to his hand and she lifted it to her bare breast. He responded the way he knew he should, firmly but gently kneading the flesh. He circled the nipple with his thumb and it quickly tightened. He traced his thumb over the peaked bud and she (she because he didn't want to think of her name right now) inhaled audibly. How formulaic, he thought cynically. Pull lever, gate rises. Touch random woman there, apparently you're making love.

She leaned in to him, her soft, full breasts pressing into his chest and he felt lips on his neck kissing, a moist tongue tracing up his jawline. Wanton tingles travelled up his neck and down his spine and, Andraste help him but, he groaned. Encouraged by the sound she carried on, her tongue following the shape of his ear and then his earlobe was in her mouth. Did she tell her that he liked this? Or was it just instinct? He couldn't imagine the two of them ever talking about him in any kind of girly gossippy way.

His treacherous body was responding to her. He hated that she was able to elicit anything from him so easily. His arm slid around her back and he pulled her closer to him. At the same time, he moved his other hand it to the back of her head, pulling her head back by her hair and instinctively capturing her mouth with his.

She pulled away violently, with a hiss.

"The rule-"

"SshhUT UP with your stupid rules! I need this!" he almost shouted. It was loud enough that he worried the next door room would hear him but if he couldn't have the pretence of love and romance then he couldn't imagine he was somewhere else with someone different under different circumstances. He did need this.

There was no answer from her. Their chests moved together with their laborious breathing.

"I'm not a machine," he explained. It was like trying to explain the sky to a fish. "I can't-"

A hand groped around his chin and, finding his mouth, a finger pressed there shortly followed by a set of uncertain lips. He kissed them as if they were hers, not the witch. Although it was difficult at first, with the noticeable differences. This kiss was methodical and impersonal, not like her warm and passionate kisses that would make the rest of the world evaporate away.

He greedily deepened the kiss, hoping to force some kind of familiarity and it worked, to an extent.

She responded favourably, opening her mouth to him and encouraging his tongue to sweep into her mouth with a sweep of her own.

One set of fingers traced down his spine, the other traced down his side. He let go of her hair and allowed his fingers to wander down her frame as well. By the time his reached her hip, hers were on his abdomen and his breath hitched with fear and anticipation of where they were headed. He mentally conjured up images of her. That day in Denerim where she had given him a really naughty grin just before dragging him, quite willingly, off into an abandoned warehouse she'd found.

A hand lightly gripped his cock and it instinctively jumped, hardening at the touch.

The first time she had touched him like that. She had looked him square in the eyes with confidence but the way she chewed her bottom lip betrayed her own nervousness.

His hand drifted to her centre, his fingers trailed along her opening. He pushed one digit in slightly and felt her warm wetness. He'd like to think that it was his machinations that caused it, but more than likely she had prepared herself before. Shake it off, he thought, don't think of it.

The first time he'd kissed her, she had let all her barriers drop and had held onto him so tight and kissed him back so hard that when they eventually parted he was left gloriously oxygen deprived and dizzy.

She was stroking his erection with experienced movements. Too experienced. That was enough. He placed his hand over hers to stop her then he wrapped an arm around her waist and lifted her, moving over her as he lay her down.

She looked up at him with soulful eyes, devoid of their usual banter. She stroked his cheek. "Alistair," she breathed, her voice and her expression heavy with need, with desire and love. And then -

He entered her.

She gasped, her head thrown back, her hand dropped away from his face.

He held still, his head dropped down and his eyes closed as his head swirled with the feel of her around him. It seemed he'd forgotten how to breathe. It could have been mere moments or long minutes before a whimper and a slight wiggle of her hips below him indicated her frustration. Eyes open again, she smiled at him and the sight of her combined with the sensation of her broke him momentarily.

"I love you so much," he whispered, propping himself up on one elbow to stroke her hair.

She turned her head to kiss his palm returning in a whisper "I love you too."

Then he felt her hands had trailed down to his ass and she was groping at him to continue. Needing no further encouragement he smiled crookedly at her before leaning down to kiss her. He withdrew and-

-thrust in again. No noise, except from their movements and their laboured breathing. Not like with her when she-

-cried out. "Aaaalistair!" The proximity of their companions outside of the tent seemed not to concern her now, any more than it did him and he drove into her again needing to hear her scream for him more than he needed air. Her knees rose and she locked her ankles behind his back, angling herself to take more of him-

Just as she was doing now. But she was just trying to help him reach his completion faster which was fine with him and he took this as a silent invitation to increase his speed. He thrust faster, harder (and damn her but she felt good)causing her to break her silence as she impulsively moaned. That voice. He didn't want to hear that voice! It dragged him back into reality horribly but he wouldn't stop, and he couldn't stop. Not when he was getting so close...

He dropped his weight down, leaning on his right elbow as his left hand covered her mouth to silence her. She bit at him and he bit back an angry quip, he was so angry for so much.

She was almost battling him for dominance – her hands in his hair, scratching his back, down his body and cupping his face. Her kisses, against his chest and neck, became nips, and she broke away only to gasp and moan.

She pushed his hand away and circled her arms around his neck, pulling herself up so she was flush with him. They moved as one awkward beast. This was nothing but rutting. He was punishing her and it was sweeping him away.

And then he won or she won and she threw herself back against the ground with a feral cry, her body suddenly limp but her walls clamping around him.

She was clinging to him like he was a lifeline, trembling, and then her teeth clamped down on his shoulder.

He groaned, her ecstasy more than enough encouragement to drag him over the edge.

He followed her into the abyss and collapsed, spent, the instinct of holding his weight to one side not out of consideration for her, but from an unwillingness to press his sweaty body against hers.

He rolled off of her before he was truly ready to move again and lay there still, awkwardly. She said nothing. He said nothing. He tried to calm his breathing, as if by hiding his exhaustion, he could hide what they had done.

Suddenly a burst of light flared and caused him to blink rapidly. Morrigan had formed a ball of fire in her hand. His instant reaction was to push himself upright and back into the headboard.

She smirked and reached across him to light the candle once more.

"I have no interest in sacrificing you."

Crazy bitch.

"...Did it work then?" he asked.

"You tell me."

He scrunched his face in displeasure and guilt and looked away. He could imagine her derisive pleasure in his discomfort, he didn't need to see it.

"I have no interest in snuggling Alistair," she said after another moment, the weight of the mattress shifting as she slid off the bed. "You may leave."

"My pleasure." He practically jolted up and to his discarded clothes.

"Clearly," she gloated.

"I. Hate you. So much," he sneered through gritted teeth, as he yanked on his trousers. He was desperate to be dressed and out of there.

"You're welcome by the way, for your wretched life."

He pulled on his roughspun shirt and spun on his heels, boots in one hand, to the door. His free hand on the doorknob he paused, suddenly conflicted. Once he was in the hallway, what would he do then? He wanted to go to her, he wanted to tell her how much he loved her and hold her, but he didn't know how he would look her in the eyes.

"You won't tell her will you? What happened in here?" he asked without turning, his voice quiet, his deepest insecurities exposed.

"I think she might have some idea. She's no innocent. I would have thought you would know that better than most."

So derisive, so belittling.

"Morrigan." He turned, beseeching. She had pulled the bed sheet around her in some semblance of modesty and for that he was grateful. "Please."

At that she looked directly at him for the first time since... Since. "I shall not speak of what happened here, to her or anyone, if you will do the same."

Alistair tilted his head forward in a singular nod of approval of her terms.

Morrigan smiled then, as if she were a normal human being. Finally they could agree on something. "It can be our final rule," she said.