Sebastian liked this dream. He'd somehow known, when it started, that it wasn't real. But he liked it enough he didn't care.
A tavern. A card game. Him in normal clothes, breeches and leathers. No robes. No gold. No armour.
He was free. Not a Brother, not a Prince, just a man.
A man who could do anything he desired, and no one would get hurt.
It wasn't selfish if it was just a dream, after all. No responsibilities abandoned, no duties betrayed, no vows broken.
No loss, no pain.
Just a dream.
He won his game.
The wench who refilled his drink winked at him, and he bowed over her hand as if to kiss it. Instead, he pulled her into his lap, whispered into her ear until she laughed her consent, and he slid his hand up her skirt, teasing gently along her thighs, against her smalls, until he could feel the damp, until she begged.
She looks just like...
He shrugged away the whisper. This was a dream. Not real. Not her. He couldn't seduce her.
That voice wasn't his, rough and soft and sickly sweet, so he dismissed it, focused back on the dream, on the woman, on a warm and willing not-her in his arms. The barmaid's hair was lighter, her skin darker, her eyes safer, safer for who?, clear and grey and laughing.
There was an angry thrum in the air, easily ignored in favour of her laugh.
His head descended to her neck so he could taste her skin, could make her sigh.
He shifted her in his lap, slid her smalls out of his way. His thumb traced gently along her folds, his finger slid inside, then a second, curved just so... He circled her clit, stroked against her walls, his mouth gentle against her jaw, her mouth, her ear, her neck. His hand fucking her until she came apart in his lap, for the whole taproom to see.
Always did like an audience.
A familiar body sauntered towards the stairs, tall boots, lush curves barely hidden, hugged by white cloth. She looked back over her shoulder to wink at him, to tilt her head and hold up three fingers before disappearing in the shadows.
And when the audience joins in...
A voice in the back of his mind, too good to be true, don't trust, don't act, but this was a just a dream. What harm from a dream?
He was up the stairs, looking down a narrow hallway, well-lit by torches spaced evenly along the walls.
Door number three, the gilt flaking off the iron number nailed to the middle of the panel.
The room was dim and warm, firelight, flickering, highlighting skin.
Two women, not one.
Already started, tumbling across a giant bed.
A perfect pair, beautiful in their contrasts.
Voluptuous curves caressed by delicate hands, brown eyes blinking closed as green eyes disappeared between wide spread thighs, golden jewelry still wrapped around a neck, glinting at ears and beneath a lip, heavy and rich, intricate tattoos tracing pale limbs like the most expensive lace.
Isabela's scarf was gone, her hair spread wildly around her head, her hands tangled in Merrill's short braids, tugging as she moaned, as her hips rocked against the dalish elf's mouth. And then they moved, fingers teasing along Merrill's ears, and the elf gasped, her voice light and musical.
Sebastian shifted slightly on his feet.
He couldn't remember when he'd taken off his clothes, but he was completely naked, his cock hard and erect as he watched the women on the bed. Listened as the soft noises they made layered upon each other until Isabela threw back her head, part groan, part laugh, her body a masterpiece, perfection in taut muscles as she came.
Merrill's head moved, licking and kissing along Isabela's hips and stomach, sucking a nipple into her mouth, her hand stroking up and down Isabela's side in time to the slight shiver of visible aftershocks.
Eventually, Isabela groaned, tugged at those lovely short braids again, pulling Merrill up until they could kiss. Sebastian could see their jaws shift, could hear the wet sound of tongues and lips, could lose himself in admiring the line of Merrill's back as she lay across Isabela's body.
But this was a dream.
He could do more than that, if he wanted.
He could do everything he'd ever wanted.
"May I?" He spoke up, leaning against the bedpost, close enough to touch. But not yet. Not 'til he was invited.
No reason not to be a gentleman, just because you wanted to fuck someone's brains out. Wanted to make them go blind with pleasure. Wanted them to scream your name, to beg for you to do it again.
And again, if you were very lucky, and hadn't had so much to drink that it slowed you down.
Or were in a dream, so the realities of alcohol and cheap beds above cheaper bars needn't apply.
Not a dream, not just a dream, dangerous, listen, think.
He ignored that voice too, for all it was recognizably his own, greatly preferring the feel of his cock twitching when Merrill lifted her head, the sight of her tongue licking her lips, eyes wide as she stared at him.
"I do believe it's our little Kitten's turn to scream," Isabela purred, one hand giving the elf's delightfully pert arse a slap. "How would you like it?"
"Tease me, Sebastian." Merrill practically slithered off of Isabela, crawled toward him across the expanse of blanket, every move of her body an invitation, a promise of strength and pleasure hidden by deceptive innocence. "Tease me til I beg, then fuck me 'til I scream."
He'd wondered, before, how far her tattoos went. He tasted each of them, now, his mouth and tongue tracing every line down one side of her body and up the other, lingering on hips and thighs, stroking her firm soft skin 'til she whimpered, breathing fast and uneven.
"Please, Sebastian, please," she whispered in the delectable sweet voice of hers.
He ignored her, starting over again, firmer this time, the occasional scrape of teeth, a bite here, a nibble there, pinning her down with his hands when she tried to squirm beneath him. She was gasping now, almost sobbing, his name no longer a whisper but a moan, drawn out between breaths as she bucked up against his mouth.
Isabela was panting too, watching, Aveline holding her down in a chair beside the bed.
When did she arrive?
Was she here before?
She's here now, does it matter?
Isabela was trembling, straining against the strong arms wrapped around her chest, her legs spread wide, held in place by Aveline's legs tucked around her shins. He could see how wet she was, even from his place on the bed.
He looked into Aveline's eyes, dark and hooded, her hair loose and tousled around her face, like spun copper in the firelight. Her shoulders were bare, freckles visible along the line of muscles behind Isabela's body. Isabela whined in protest as Aveline's arms and legs tightened around her, keeping her close, keeping her still, stopping her from touching herself to go along with the show.
Aveline bared her teeth at him, a dare, a promise, wear yourself out on these pretty things, and then I'll take, I'll make you beg.
He was looking forward to it.
He had a job to do first, though, one he would enjoy just as much.
He leaned into Merrill, shoving her hard against the mattress, pinning her with the weight of his body as he kissed her, lips firm and tongue deep in her mouth. His hands slid down her sides, fingers digging into her tender flesh, listening to her groan, feeling her body curve up against him.
He sat back up and gripped her legs, thumbs digging into the crease between her thighs and the curve of her hips. And then he waited, waited as she pushed up against his hands, waited as she squirmed and panted, fingers clawing at his arms, catching on his skin. Waited until she swore and begged, twisty dalish words he didn't understand, a breathless desperate tone of voice he did.
He shifted his hands, lining up her folds and his cock, and then he thrust, one hard shove of his hips, hard enough she slid back along the bed, deep enough she wailed, hands clenching at the sheets so hard he heard the fabric tear. She was hot, and wet, and tight, so tight it almost hurt, so tight around his cock he almost wailed with her.
Instead he growled, a low dark sound, pushed himself back and out of her, and slammed all the way in again, even harder than the first time. Her voice broke, silent as she clenched around him, silent as her whole body shuddered, eyes closed and toes curled and fingers tight, silent as she came.
He pulled out before her pleasure pushed him over the edge as well, waited until her body and breathing eased.
And then he lifted her legs up over his shoulders and fucked her. Long, strong, steady strokes, over and over, the slap of skin as he slammed into her, her eyes closed and her face tilted back, a sudden memory, her face gentle, not flushed with sex, leaning back to look at clouds, innocent, not like this, her jaw clenched and he forgot, lost in the sound of her moans.
Isabela's hips were bucking in time to his thrusts, just visible out of the corner of his eye. "Fuck, yes, come for us Kitten, scream for Sebastian, please," Isabela's low voice was almost as good as the sight of her naked breasts, nipples tight as she leaned back against Aveline's chest.
"Shut up whore," Aveline's whisper was harsh, but still carried. "It's not your turn yet."
Maker, he wanted them too. But they could wait. He had to make Merrill scream, first. He was almost there, the gasp she made with each thrust was getting higher, louder, he could practically feel her cunt pulsing around him in time to her breathing. But he could also feel his cock thickening, his balls tightening, he wanted to let go, he wanted to fill her, to pump inside her, he wanted to come more than he could remember wanting anything...
He growled again, trying to banish the mysterious whisper that kept plaguing him, his hips grinding down against Merrill's body.
"Yes!" She screamed, at last, her voice high and loud and piercing, her body tight, so tight, frozen too tight to shudder, too tight to clench any more, too tight to do anything but wait, ride it out, to take his seed as he came, fire and relief, until finally she broke, collapsing to the bed with a whine.
He grunted as he slid free; he couldn't move for a moment, concentrating more on breathing and staying upright on his knees than anything else. As soon as the world stopped swaying he kissed her softly along her stomach, nuzzled at her breasts, her neck, and finally took the tip of her ear into his mouth and sucked, gently, until she groaned and opened her eyes.
"You'll have to help me off the bed, lethallan." Merrill's voice rasped along her words as she turned her face to look at Isabela. "Unless you're playing with him somewhere else?"
"Oh, she's not going anywhere just yet." Aveline growled. "Come over here and show us what you can do, Choir Boy."
It had been too long. He hadn't forgotten, though, the feel of a woman's slick on his tongue, in his mouth, her warmth covering his face as he knelt before the chair and lowered his head between Isabela's legs. First he just used his mouth, his tongue, until she shuddered, and he heard Aveline's whispered "good job." But oh, he wasn't done yet, he kept going, tongue and lips, fingers helping now too, the occasional scrape of teeth, never stopping, timing the shift of his jaw to go along with her clenching muscles as she came again, and again, her body thrashing in Aveline's grip.
Finally, he saw it, a shift in Aveline's legs, a weakening in her position, and he stood up, pulled Isabela free, and spun them both around. He bent her over the side of the bed, his arse in Aveline's face as he took Isabela from behind, his cock thrusting inside, rough along the front wall of her cunt, his fingers gripping her hips and arse, holding her in place, admiring the curve of her back, the soft broken gasps of her voice, her warmth wrapped tight around him.
They both cried out as she came, as she milked him dry, shuddering in counter-point to each other, until she collapsed across the mattress, and his knees slid to the floor, his head resting against her thighs.
"Not bad." Aveline's hand was tangled in his hair, pulling his head back so she could stare into his eyes. "Got a round three in you?"
"For you?" Sebastian remembered his old smile, the one that had inspired blushes and giggles and lifted skirts, felt it find its way across his face as he admired the warrior goddess before him, all strength and freckles and delicious looking nipples. "Anything."
She tied him to the bed, arms and legs spread, made him watch as Merrill and Isabela played with her, grinding themselves on her thighs, Merrill's hand up her cunt, Isabela's fingers in her arse, all three flushed and gorgeous, pale and pink and dusky, delicate and strong and lush, legs rubbing and hips tilting and mouths tasting and bodies taut.
Three distinct voices twined together to make a beautiful melody, soft words and soft moans. Then not so soft, Aveline's rough cry as she came, nimble fingers and hot tongues ensuring the other two quickly followed.
Finally, she came to him, and how he longed to touch, to taste, hands straining against leather cuffs, neck stretched up so at the very least he could see.
His head fell back against the bed with a groan, however, eyes closed and hips bucking up despite himself as her hands wrapped around his cock, fingers slick and cool as she covered him with some sort of oil.
She waited until his eyes opened, until he was looking again, before she straddled him, before she started to lower herself on his cock. He bit his lip, fingers clenching in the wrinkled sheets as he held his hips still. She was so very hot, her muscles shifting in her arse as she took him deeper and deeper, agonizingly slowly.
She groaned, head thrown back, tendons visible along the strong lines of her neck as she finally settled against his body, muscular thighs tight along his hips.
Maker, he adored her arse, so tight and strong, each shift of her body making his cock throb inside her, but it was torture, looking at her cunt, wet and empty, right above his stomach, and be unable to touch, unable to taste.
Isabela came up behind her, pressing herself against Aveline's back, her mouth on Aveline's neck, one hand on Aveline's breast, the other circling her clit, right where Sebastian wanted to put his own hand, taking all the pleasure Sebastian was denied.
Aveline laughed, hips rocking as he pushed up inside her, not all my pleasure denied, Maker, so good, her hands resting above Isabela's. Her laughter was strange, bitter, almost mocking. Not like her rare honest amusement at all.
None of this is like her. She wouldn't be here, wouldn't do this. I've seen the way she looks at that Guardsman, the one we helped her rescue from the former Captain's schemes...
He shook his head, trying to lose himself in her body again, but now that his brain had woken up it wouldn't stop, cataloguing impossible eyes, sly smiles, expressions very unlike the women he admired, beyond even the surreality usual in dreams.
Isabela's fingers were too long.
Merrill's tattoos too dark, an almost purple tinge beneath the skin.
Aveline laughed again, the sound rough and dark, almost double-toned, but he lost his thought as she came, her body clenching around him, his own orgasm rough and sudden and surprising as he pumped into her arse.
Your Guardswoman gave me away, did she?
The bed was gone, mist and smoke, Aveline and Isabela and Merrill only dreams, the shape above him dark and twisted and Maker forgive him, unbearably beautiful.
Demon , he tried to push himself away, but he was still bound, tied to nothing, tied with nothing, unable to free himself. There were no clever tricks, no twist of fingers that would loosen knots of thought and air. No matter how he tried, she was always there, wrapped around him, hot and smooth and sex and smoke, and his body wouldn't stop, despite the horror tightening his throat, the twist of panic in his gut. She was cold and heat, wet and dry, impossible and perfect and horrible, and he couldn't get free of her.
Please, Maker, no.
He woke to darkness, his room silent and empty. He rolled out of bed, falling to his knees on the cold stone floor, barely making it to his nightstand in time to move the water pitcher out of the way before his stomach heaved, his dinner from the night before sharp and bitter in his throat on its way into the basin.
He heaved again and again, until only bile burned his stomach. He stood there, panting, eyes closed tight, muscles trembling, but the nightstand stayed firm beneath his hands, the stone of the floor solid and real beneath his feet.
Not a dream.
Never just a dream.
He rinsed his mouth with a handful of water, spit into the basin. Picked it up to toss in the midden heap behind the kitchens, on his way to the chapel to pray.
He had a feeling he'd be praying for a very long time.