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“Now as I recall, we have some unfinished business… unless you still think it’s a distraction?”
Fish flit from place to place, ducking beneath swaying ribbons of kelp. The aquarium casts an unearthly blue shadow over the room, light dancing across Pasha’s fine features. There is something uncanny about the Fade, something that the mortal mind can never quite attune to, no matter how much time he has spent here. No matter how much this place has begun to feel like home.
Despite it, a grin pulls at the corners of Pasha’s lips, dimpling his cheeks, his canines catching on the swell of his lower lip. He stood there, back turned, waiting for a playful retort from Taash, for them to bite back at him, a growl bubbling beneath the grit of their voice. Only silence greeted him.
There is the sound of fabric shifting behind him, pricking his ears in the quiet of his room. An object rolls across the floor, he can hear the high sound of it, rolling, rolling. It hits his heel, cold and metallic, a soft clink echoing through the room as it, a coin he now realises, circles to a stop. Before Pasha can turn around, the silence finally snaps as a growl fills the room. It is not at all the playful thing he’s expecting. It’s deep, draconic, it vibrates his very veins and it alights a flame deep in his core.
His head whips around, curls brushing his bare shoulders, coiling around the curve of his cheek, breathless. The sight that greets him sends a jolt of heat straight to his groin, his stomach clenching.
“Do I look distracted?” Taash asks, stepping forward, into the marine glow cast by the aquarium windows. It caresses their skin, and they almost look soft, but Pasha is reminded of the strength that lies within them. And there is so much of it, for Taash is bare, standing naked in front of him, stealing any ability to form a coherent thought from him.
His eyes drag up their form, their toned torso, their legs and arms, corded in muscle, their braid, curled over their shoulder. It’s everything he dreamed and more. Brain lagging, tongue thick in his mouth, all he can manage out are the words, “I don’t know. I might need a closer look,” And he hopes he manages to at least make it sound suave.
It must’ve worked, because they’re approaching him with slow, even steps, braid slipping from their shoulder to the curve of their back, swaying with each movement, a pendulum, and Pasha finds himself trying his damned best to focus on that to ground himself a little, lest he faint from all the blood in his body draining south.
He blinks, and they’re standing in front of him, close enough to feel the warmth of their breath on his skin, to count each of their eyelashes, to feel their scorching gaze upon him. He has to crane his neck to look at them, a reminder of their height difference, a reminder of their Qunari lineage, of Pasha’s elven one. Pasha reminds himself that he’s tall for an elf, because right now, he doesn’t feel very tall.
Taash leans in, uttering two words to him, “Look Fast.” And it is breathy and broken and Pasha feels he might just pass out.
Once again Pasha is reminded of their strength as their hands clasp his thighs and hoist him up, up to their eye-level. He can feel the heat of their bare skin against him, even clothed, they run hot, and now, pressed together like this, it warms him too. He feels like a ragdoll, and it has him questioning if it’s possible to die from horniness.
Instinctually, his thighs wrap around the nip of their waist, lips meeting Taash’s, mouth hot and wet against his, pliant to their teeth and tongue. His arms fall over the shoulders, feeling the strength lying beneath their skin, fingers dragging down the bare expanse of their back. He needs his clothes off now, he needs to feel their skin against his, but to break their kiss sounds like an even greater sin.
Thankfully, he doesn’t need to make a decision, for Taash makes one for him. They walk him back, pressing him against the low bookshelf that sits back to the chaise lounge, ignoring the objects they have to clear away to do so. He chases their lips as they pull away, but it’s in vain, for the kiss has to break eventually, a silvery string of spit connecting them.
It gives him another chance to take in the sight of Taash, gaze dragging down the curve of their collarbone, the swell of their chest, their dusky nipples pebbling in the cool air of the room. He feels a bit dizzy as he realises that they’re pierced, gold barbells running through them. Their stomach is taught, defined, and every muscle in Pasha’s body clenches as thinks of how easy it would be for them to manhandle him. He fights back the urge to bite his lip.
How did he get so lucky? He questions mentally, pupils blown wide and flushed to the tips of his pointed ears. He reaches up to push back his hair from his face, feeling jittery when he hears them respond.
“I could be asking the same thing.” Ah, well, he must’ve said that out loud, oops. He deploys a distraction before he can allow embarrassment to set in. His pointer finger drags over Taash’s shoulder, nail light as it scratches over their skin, down their collarbone, the valley between their breasts, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.
“Now, Isenatha, are you going to get these clothes off me? Or are you planning on keeping all the fun to yourself?” He tilts his head as he speaks, making use of his most dangerous weapon: his eyes. He looks up at them through his long lashes, blinking a few times for good measure, the light catching on his honey-brown irises.
It works to a stunning degree. Not even a second passes before a growl is drawn forth from deep in Taash’s throat, diving down as their lips attack him with renewed vigor. It's all teeth and tongue this time and Pasha takes his time to mentally congratulate himself. There is the tang of iron in his mouth as he realises one of their canines must have caught his lip, but he can’t bring himself to care.
Taash’s hands push his shirt down his shoulders, the split in the center of the garment allowing it to slip from him easily. Bare from the waist up, his arms return to wrap around their neck, grasping at their shoulders. Now, when he presses against them, it is skin against skin, and he can feel just how flushed they are… he’s not the only one, then.
The sash at his waist was next to go, Taash’s hands scrabbling to pull the tie undone, and he could feel the desperation with each tug. Lungs burning from lack of oxygen, Pasha is first to pull away, resting his forehead against theirs. Their eyes were turned downward, focusing on disrobing him and his gaze caught on the way their kiss-bitten lips were ever so parted, spit shining silver on the swell of them.
The strip of silk was left discarded on the floor, and it wasn’t long before Pasha was kicking off his sandals as to be able to shove his trousers down, heat pooling low in his belly. He needed Taash and he needed them now. Any regard for the state of his clothing be damned.
Pasha took a breath, the corner of his lip twitching, “Might I point out that there is a perfectly comfortable lounge behind us, and that there is no need to defile this poor bookshelf.”
Pasha’s hand smoothed over Taash’s shoulder, feeling the shifting of muscle beneath skin, and then suddenly, the room was spinning as he was hoisted up once more, and Taash circled the room, depositing him on the chaise. It renewed his fluster, and he was grateful that he wasn’t required to use his legs, as they were beginning to feel rather weak.
The chaise was plush beneath him, cushions luxuriously soft and over stuffed. One of his legs hung limply over the side of it, making room for Taash between them, his arms still clinging to their neck.
“Better?” Was the only thing Taash uttered, never having been a person of many words. Pasha mentally thanked Taash for it, for his brain had stopped functioning when Taash had scooped him up like he weighed nothing.
His brain was lagging so far behind that Pasha couldn’t even structure an answer to their question, not when Taash was leaning into him, their lips pressing against the column of his throat, dragging the points of their teeth over the sensitive skin. Fortune was on his side, however, as spoke for him in lieu of his answer.
“Isenatha, huh? Is that Elvish?” It took Pasha a few moments to catch up with the question, distracted by Taash’s own wandering hands. It was a reminder how much bigger they truly were compared to him when one of their hands cradled his waist. They mouthed at his throat, his collarbone, and Pasha prayed that dark bruises would bloom under their tongue.
“Means ‘dragon’. I thought it was cute.” Pasha’s words are clipped, but with how foggy his mind feels, it’s really the best he can get out. So much for his silver tongue. He shivers, feeling Taash’s hands journey lower, wishing now that he had prepared for the eventuality that he’d find the love of his life on his adventure to stop the Dread Wolf. For some reason, he didn’t think he’d be having sex on such a job. He damns his past self under his breath, as well as his biology. Curse his lack of a cock.
The sigh that exits Taash in response sounds almost like a purr. They lean up, peppering kisses along his cheek bone, and once they reach his ear they whisper a Qunari word, a word his brain is far too foggy to ask about right now, but a word that drips with hunger and need and possessiveness, “Taarala.”
“Fuck, I need you.” The words come out in a tumble, breathless. Pasha turns his head, their mouths meeting, his hand knotting through their braid. Whatever he did gave Taash some kind of permission, as their hand finally slips between his legs.
Pasha shudders as their fingers circle his clit, his body feeling as taught as a bow string. He fights the compulsion to clamp his thighs together, his arms tightening around Taash’s neck, gasping against their mouth.
“I should, ah, warn you…” Pasha swallows, his toes curling as Taash continues to stroke him even as he speaks. Pasha mentally curses, this is really hot but you’re really not helping, Taash! “I’m very sensitive, you know. Because of my, ah, hormones.”
“Hormones?”
“Well, didn’t you ever wonder how my voice is this deep— Mythal’enaste!” Pasha tossed his head to the side as their fingers pressed against him in just the perfect way to have him seeing stars. His thighs shook as they seemed to target that spot just to torture him, his hands grasping at fist-fulls of their hair.
“You are sensitive..” They drawled, warm breath against his skin as they peppered kisses over the curve of his jaw.
“I just said that!” The words came out in a very embarrassing squeak; he hadn’t even known he could make such a sound, the tips of his ears burning hot. He unravelled his fingers from their hair to clasp his palms over his face, feeling his cheeks sizzling.
Quickly, he realised that Taash’s kisses were moving rapidly downwards, down his throat, down the subtle curve of his chest, down his sternum. They paused at the pouch of his belly to suck a dark mark into the supple flesh, another blooming on his hip moments after. Pasha’s cunt clenched. He knew where this was going and suddenly his single focus was what’d be like to get that wicked mouth of theirs on him.
Their hands, so much larger and stronger than Pasha’s own, pressed apart his thighs, their tongue laving over the tattoo etched into the flesh there. Pasha wondered, for the first time in his life, if you could orgasm from anticipation.
He wrenched his hands from his face to steal a glance downwards, and the sight he was greeted with sent a jolt of heat right through him. Taash’s gaze met his, their blue-green eyes gleaming with something like hunger. It made Pasha feel light-headed, his lips parting in a gasp.
They seemed to delight in keeping him strung-up and needy, though, as they leaned up, away from where he needed them most, to press a kiss to the curve of his knee. It was only by sheer force of will that a whine did not exit his mouth. He might just die of horniness if this continues.
His other leg rested limply over their shoulder, his heel scraping against their toned back, as the other, still in their grasp, kicked out. “My balls would be blue if I had them,” He complained, his head falling back against the chaise.
Taash laughed, and they were damn lucky it sounded as hot as it did, “I thought you’d be more patient than that.”
“I thought you’d be less.” He grumbled, abandoning his dignity as he spoke.
Taash ignored him, pressing another kiss into his skin, slightly higher this time. Pasha stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about the pulsing in his groin. But just when he was about to open his mouth, another complaint on his tongue, a gasp was torn from him, as they bit into the meat of his thigh. Bit. He could have come right then and there.
It wasn’t hard enough to draw blood, but Pasha knew it would bruise and that only fanned the flames in his gut. He gave up on being patient, his hands flying to Taash’s horns, gasping them, and pulling them toward the centre of his arousal. He couldn’t remain calm any longer, he needed this, needed them.
They seemed to get the idea, Pasha’s chest heaving as their mouth sealed over his heat, hot and wet and everything he had been waiting for. His heels dug into their back, his knuckles white where they held their horns.
His entire body was alight, hypersensitive and only one thing was on his mind: Taash. Their cheeks hollowed as they sucked at the length of his clit, swollen and pulsing, and finally some attention was given to cunt, wet and needy. A finger pressed against him, stretching him open, curling up against the velvet of his walls. He already needed another.
His thighs clenched around Taash’s head, his skin alight like a wildfire torching through Arlathan Forest. And then their finger brushed up against something that had him lit like a livewire, a pathetic-sounding moan escaping his lips, “Taash!”
Another finger joined the first, scissoring him apart, and Pasha went boneless against the lounge. He felt like an instrument to be played, weak to their hands, their mouth, their sinful tongue. One hand abandoned its grip on their horn to clamp over his mouth, his eyes squeezed shut.
Their tongue teased along the length of his clit, their fingers largely avoiding that spot that made him go so brainless, and Pasha once again found himself being teased mercilessly by Taash. He felt pitiful, but he found he liked it.
His hips twitched up into their mouth as he thumbed along the jewelry that adorned their horn, his stomach clenching like a bound spring. If only they’d— just a little more and he’d—
Taash sucked harshly against his clit, their fingers targeting that one place inside him, and Pasha swore he ascended. Every muscle in his body clenched, tremors wracking his frame, as white-hot pleasure flooded his veins like lava. He saw white and he cried out Taash’s name, mouth agape. And then it was over.
He melted against the pillows, as the aftershocks of his orgasms washed over him like the tide against the shore, pulling Taash up by the arms. He was lucky that they went so easily, as without their cooperation he’d have never been able to move them. His bones felt like jelly.
He cupped their cheeks between his hands, and the gloss of his own slick smeared on their lips was not missed by him. Like a secret shared between them, he whispered out three words, a lazy smile on his lips. “I love you.”
A breathy laugh. “I love you.” Taash’s lips slid against his in a languide kiss, his fingers tracing over their cheekbone, their jaw. He tasted himself on them, and he couldn’t bring himself to care, his chest overflowing with fondness— with love.
They pulled away enough to utter that foreign word once more, “Taarala.” before biting at the swell of his lower lip. “I brought something.” They added, and Pasha was awash with forlorn when they began to pull away from him entirely.
He lifted himself up on his palms, doing his best impression of a baby halla with how he shook at the effort. His gaze followed Taash’s stride, watching as they approached their pile of discarded clothing.
“Uh oh. Should I be scared?” He shifted, leaning upon the back of the chaise, resting his chin upon his arms, cocking his head. The corner of his lip twitched up in a smirk. The expression didn’t last long.
Taash pulled a harness up the lengths of their legs, settling metal buckles over their hips. They tightened it until it sat comfortably and securely on their frame, and Pasha felt his mouth dry, swallowing helplessly, as he accepted his fate. What a wonderful fate it was.
“Depends. Can you go again?” Taash turned to face them, their profile was strikingly handsome against the cool light, cutting an imposing figure that had Pasha stomach swooping and his mind screaming, yes, absolutely.
“What about you? I was going to return the favour, but it seems you have other things in mind.” Pasha’s eyes drifted downwards, to the faux-cock that hung between their legs, rolling his lower lip between his teeth.
Taash smiled, and what a dangerous smile it was. “Later. Right now…” They trailed off, rounding the chaise lounge at the centre of the room, like a predator, smouldering gaze locked onto him. Pasha felt like hunted prey. It felt good. “Right now, I want to test if I live up to those daydreams of your’s.”
“I like the sound of that.” Pasha shivered with anticipation. Taash approached him with measured, unhurried steps, renewed arousal pooling deep in his belly. In a blink, they were pushing him back down into the chaise, pressing his wrists above his head, settling between his spread legs.
“I like where this is going, too.” Pasha added a singular eyebrow curving into an arch. “You know, to fully fulfill my day dreams, we might be busy all night. I’ve imagined so many things, you see—”
“Shut up, or I’ll make you shut up.” Taash growled, a frown twisting their lips, clearly ready to be done with Pasha’s bratty tom-foolery.
“That one’s not very original.” Pasha retorted, his grin just as wide, his tongue darting out over his lips, “You can come up with something better than that.”
“Rook.”
“Say my name.” His playful expression fell away, steeling his gaze. His request was earnest, his voice cracking with a hint of vulnerability. This entire journey it had been Rook this, Rook that, that stupid nickname Isabella had given him. ‘Oh, he’s fearsome alright, but he tends to think in straight lines.’ That was what she had said to Varric. And that was what Varric had said, too. He had embraced his reputation as Rook, his Identity as Rook, but he just wanted to hear his name. His actual name.
“Pasha.”
“Now, are you going to fuck me or not?”
“Needy.”
“Yup. Your fault, though. You’ve thoroughly seduced me.”
A growl rumbled from Taash’s throat, deep and gravelly and it renewed the fog in Pasha’s brain. One of Taash’s hands, the one that was not restraining Pasha’s own, migrated down to the curve of Pasha’s hip, coaxing the length of his leg over their waist.
“I suppose I shouldn’t lead you on.” It was whispered like a secret, hot breath ghosting the high curve of his cheekbone. Pasha was absolutely, thoroughly in love with this person.
(He hoped to never get out again.)
Pasha was too busy staring at Taash with a lovesick expression on his face to notice them lining up, his head falling to the side when he felt the bulbous head of the toy press against his entrance. He took a sharp breath in, it was definitely a qunari-sized toy.
His hands scrambled desperately in Taash’s grip, for something, anything to hold onto, to sink his nails into. He already felt impossibly full and they had just entered him. Oh, he was going to be a wreck. How was he supposed to lead the charge against an evil elven god in the morning?
That was a concern for future Pasha, because present Pasha wanted to get thoroughly railed.
A moan escaped him, as strangled as it was considering how he had tried to restrain it. his thighs tightened around Taash’s waist in a death-grip, his lower lip caught between his teeth. Being hypersensitive from his previous orgasm probably was not helping his situation.
It felt like an eternity before Taash’s hips pressed flush against his, his eyes fluttering open once more, catching the sight of them, flushed, hair mussed, escaping their braid. They were beautiful, in a perfect, androgynous, otherworldly way. It made Pasha want to take up poetry, just to wax poetic about their appearance. He surged up to kiss them, before he was stopped by his restrained hands. He groaned.
“Taash, Taash, ah, this is very hot, and I’m very turned on, but I— ah —really want to kiss you, and if you’re going to keep holding me down I’m not going to be able to make that happen.” He babbled, his eyes slipping closed once more as he mindlessly ground down onto their hips, into the weight filling him up.
The moment his hands were free, his arms found their way to Taash’s neck, holding them close, skin flush, his mouth capturing Taash’s in a searing kiss. Taash took that as their cue to begin moving, and they gave Pasha little warning before pulling out and thrusting back home with a merciless ferocity that he really should have expected from a dragon slayer.
Each thrust was accompanied by a punched out moan, little ‘ah, ah, ah’s. Pasha was limp against Taash, taking everything he was given with his lashes fluttering, sweat gathering on his temple. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he pitied poor Emmrich, who he shared a wall with, for he certainly wasn’t going to get much sleep either.
His hands scrabbled against Taash’s back, their shoulders, leaving scratches in their wake. Pasha’s hair was plastered to his forehead, his face red and flushed, lips swollen and kiss-bitten. He was the picture of debauchery, his chest heaving, and he revelled in it.
It was overwhelming, it was euphoric, cloying in the best of ways. His brain felt as though it was melting; it was perfect. “Taash, Taash!” He practically wailed their name. He felt pathetic, his veins thrummed with ecstasy. His body was a livewire underneath their hands. His legs shook.
Molten hot pleasure pooled in his stomach. Taash’s mouth found his throat, sucking a dark mark into the skin there, something he wouldn’t be able to hide. He wondered if anyone would let him live it down, if they all got out of this, that is. Were they trying to target that one spot inside him? If they were, they were doing a damn good job at it, his nerves sparking every time they hit home.
“Fuck— Fuck!” He was hopeless. His orgasm was building rapidly inside him, more intense than the previous, almost unbearably. He repeated that name, common tongue and elvish blending together in his mind, utterly broken, “Isenatha!”
And then he was coming, his muscles seizing, any sensible thought disappearing as his vision whited out. His lips stretched in a silent moan, scrambling for any stability as he grasped onto Taash, hips jumping, cunt clenching around the thick toy inside him. His toes curled, cramping, and he knew he was utterly ruined for anyone else.
The first thing he did when he managed to form coherent thoughts again was smash his mouth against Taash’s. The second thing he did was pull away to fiercely demand, “Let me eat you out.”
They laughed at him, laughed, and instead of being offended, Pasha only felt thoroughly smitten. It was disgusting, it was beautiful.
“Later.” They repeated, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth, “I’ve kept you up long enough.” Pasha wanted to argue, but his tongue still was not cooperating with him.
Instead, he follows his impulses and changes the topic. His brain was still foggy, thighs still twitching from aftershocks, and he lacked the self control to stop himself. “What do dragons do to show affection?”
Taash’s brow raised, a bit shocked by the sudden question. They made a sound of contemplation. “Huh. Sexy growls. Sometimes little bits of fire and love bites?”
Pasha’s fingers found Taash’s hair, playing with the soft wisps that had escaped their braid. He relished in the skin to skin contact in the aftermath of it all, feeling their heartbeat against his chest. He pointedly ignored how they were still connected at the groin.
“That, um… that sounds really great to me.”
As if to test his statement, Taash let out a quiet growl, their brow still raised quizzically. It only served to re-fluster Pasha, his hands pausing as they carded through their hair. “Yes, please.”
Taash took a deep breath, cheek brushing Pasha’s sharing warmth in the cool air. They repeated that word again, the one which Pasha had been simply too turned on to really notice the first time, but it was just as possessive then as it was now. “Taarala.”
His brain ever so slightly clearer now, it clicked for him. He had spent enough time in Rivain, where there was a large number of Qunari immigrants, to recognise the word.
“Taarala? That’s the Qunari word for… “mine”?”
“Yeah. ‘Cause that’s what you are. Taarala.”