Chapter Text
The Queen was completely nude on her knees, pale arms stretched behind her back. Each hand grasped the other arm’s elbow. Her breasts were perked up, waiting for her King. Her hair was unpinned, loose blonde curls fell below her shoulders. Blue eyes were closed in anticipation. She was in for it this evening. She had stolen far too many secretive glances at her King, and at one point during the dinner with important dignitaries, she had slipped her hand onto his leg, and squeezed it lightly.
The King responded with a firm grasp on her hand, and a disapproving look of warning. Oh, she knew she was to be punished.
The past ten years as King of Ferelden had been good to Alistair. He proved to be a more than competent leader, and was favored much more than Anora ever had been. His Queen, Lissa, was a noble second in command, and the King had often referred to her with questions. He was assertive and confident, something Lissa was proud to see. Lissa believed she had it in him, he wasn’t just some bumbling fool that Morrigan once thought he was.
She heard his familiar footsteps enter the room. Her body tensed. This didn’t happen every night, usually he was very affectionate and loving, but Lissa needed this release just as much as Alistair did. The footsteps came closer to her, and she could feel the heat of his body radiating toward her. She didn’t dare open her eyes.
“My Queen,” Alistair breathed into her ear. His breath was hot, full of intensity already. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes.” Lissa’s voice came from deep in her throat, desire already beginning to curl throughout her body.
“And you know the word if you want me to stop?”
Lissa cracked an eye open. “Swooping.” She suppressed a giggle.
“Correct, love. Now,” his voice was stern. “I want you on your forearms, that magnificent arse in the air.”
Lissa was quick to oblige him, dropping herself down to rest her forearms on the rug. She was fully exposed to him, her quim wet and glistening. Alistair strode around her slowly, his footsteps creaking the wooden floor. He appraised his wife, his love, a Warden, healer of the Blight that coursed in their blood. Archdemon slayer. Savior.
Removing one leather glove with his teeth, he tossed it to the bed. The other followed suit as his eyes never left her backside. A softly calloused hand met with the creamy skin of her arse with a resounding smack. “Who do you serve?”
Lissa shuddered, feeling that spark of desire light inside her. “The Maker.”
Another sharp slap to her firm behind. “Who do you serve?”
“The Grey Wardens.”
She was wet, so so wet between her thighs. She knew better than to rub her thighs together. Alistair paused in his assault, stripping off his gambeson and cotton undershirt. Deep hazel eyes watched as she tried not to squirm. Watching her like this had Alistair hard, ready to take her. But he wanted to draw this rarity out.
“Who do you serve?” He asked again, light slaps between each word. She was writhing underneath his hand already.
“My. King.” Lissa said between gasps. The spark of desire had turned into a raging wildfire. He had barely touched her, but she was so tightly wound that she could stand no more.
“Mmh,” Alistair hummed, stepping back to examine her rosy backside. One large hand print adorned each cheek. He dropped to his knees behind her and inhaled her scent. “De-licious,” he purred, lips moving on her skin. With both hands, he spread her wide. Lissa groaned.
Alistair gave her backside a slow lick. They had done this a few times, but never enough for his satisfaction. She gasped, the pink rose puckering in front of him. “Relax,” he commanded, before thrusting his tongue deep as he could into the tight hole. The noise that escaped her could only be described as otherworldly. He was relentless in the attack, fucking her arse with his slick tongue.
He hummed his approval as he popped a finger into his mouth. His cock was aching, straining against the fabric of his breeches. The lack of touch was driving Lissa mad, and she thrust her hips backward toward him. She was rewarded with another stinging slap, and she yelped. “Yes….” She hissed.
“So greedy and eager. I wonder if Her Highness will be so eager now?” Alistair circled her forbidden tightness with his finger before slipping it in. Her whole body went rigid, adjusting to the thickness of his intruding digit. Alistair was still, feeling her flex around him. His length twitched almost painfully. Lissa arched her back and moaned obscenely. “She is eager,” he mused, curling his finger a fraction. Her hips bucked against his hand wildly.
“Yes, Maker, fuck!”
With his free hand, Alistair landed another smack to her arse. She tensed, right on the brink of orgasmic release. He pulled his finger out slowly, crooking it just so. “The Maker can’t help you now,” he purred, unlacing his breeches.