Olivia Trevelyan was the youngest of two siblings, her twin brother, Theodore, beating her to the draw by just a few minutes. As the youngest of two, and also the only girl, very little was expected of her. So long as she attended her lessons, behaved in public and understood she would eventually be expected to marry whomever her father chose, she was mostly left to her own devices.
She went off the rails a little when her mother passed, spending far too much of her fathers hard earned coin on wine and whores. She took whatever she wanted from life, without much thought for the consequence. Some might say she was overcompensating for the loss of a mothers love, but the truth was so much uglier.
There were three things she enjoyed in life - which made her feel like she was part of something: fucking, drinking and gambling. One might wonder how a young woman of her stature could get away with such deplorable behaviour, but she was clever about it. She never gave away her true identity, and though her blood-red hair was a dead give away of her family name, this was easily remedied by her collection of high-end wigs.
Being the Herald of Andraste, however, made it exceedingly more difficult to achieve anonymity. She still drank, though stopped before she began to slur. She still gambled, though tried not to cheat quite so much. The sex, however, was a little trickier. She tried to ignore the primal need for flesh, but it was just too damn difficult. Her unquenched need was slowly driving her insane and she needed to do something about it before she became so desperate that she jumped in to bed with entirely the wrong person.
She and her three companions had agreed to spend the night at the Crossroads after exhausting themselves routing out the rebel apostate's in the Wending Wood. She'd decided almost as soon as she saw him that Whittle would be the one to feed the beast. He was ruggedly handsome and possessed an arrogance which she found incredibly appealing.
"It's Whittle, right?" She sauntered over to offer him a drink.
"That's right." He stood a little straighter as he accepted the offered alcohol. "And you're the one they're calling the Herald of Andraste."
"Olivia is fine." She not so subtly appraised him from head to toe, an obvious display of her intentions, until he blushed and took a nervous gulp of his ale.
"So, can I...help you with something, Olivia?" He elongated her name in a way that made her shudder with anticipation.
"Maybe." She sultrily narrowed her eyes. "I actually think I might have dropped something in a cave not far from here. I was going to go take a look, but I probably shouldn't go alone...right?"
His face twitched, suppressing a smirk of comprehension. "Absolutely not." He was quick to agree. "But I wouldn't mind watching your back."
"I'll bet." She bit her lip and fanned her lashes, before downing the rest of her drink then setting off in to the tunnel, not bothering to wait for him.
When she reached the end she turned to face him, eyes ablaze with mischief. "It's just up this hill." She raked her appraising gaze over him again: he looked more than capable of what she so desperately needed.
She made sure he had a choice view of her tight-leather clad rear as she sauntered up the hill ahead of him. The cave in question was warm and inviting, the fire rune erected by some now absent rebel apostate still burning strong. As she reached the centre of the cave, she turned to face her prey head on.
"So." She announced, apologetically, placing both hands on his chest. "I may have told you a little fib earlier."
"And why would you do that?" He grinned, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear as he slid his other hand around her hip and on to the small of her back.
"Because I wanted to get you alone." She purred, taking off his hat and tossing it to the ground.
"And what reason could you possibly have for wanting to be alone with me?" He feigned confusion, their noses almost touching.
"Well, I was rather hoping you'd fuck me up against that wall there." She innocently motioned towards the smooth stone beside them, the angelic look on her face a stark contrast to her rather indecent vocabulary.
His pupils grew wide with arousal, clearly not opposed to her forwardness. He gave the wall a long contemplative look, teasing her, before answering. "I think I could manage that."
They were suddenly a mass of grasping hands and impatient kisses, as they raced to undress each other. As soon as she had one leg free of her trousers, he grabbed her by the arse and hiked her up off the ground. She wrapped her legs around his waist as he walked her over to the smoothest part of the stone, pinning her against the wall as he ravished every reachable area of bare flesh with tongue and teeth.
Legs locked firmly around his hips, she clung to his shoulders to steady herself, freeing his hands up to do as he pleased. He braced himself on the wall behind her with one hand and lined himself up with the other, swearing as he slowly slipped inside.
With their upper torso's pressed tightly together, he moved his hips to deliver strong slow thrusts, the angle running his length along her outer nerves with each slide. He may not have been the girthiest she'd ever had, but his length was perfect for this particular position.
When her nails began to gouge painful crescent shapes in to his shoulders in a bid to hold herself up, he hooked his arms under her knees to bear more of her weight, opening her up a little more in the process. They both moaned, loudly, as he hit a spot deep within causing her walls to contract around him.
She gasped, excitedly, when he dropped her legs and span her around, pressing her chest to the wall but pulling her hips towards him just enough to slip a hand between her thighs, as he effortlessly thrust back in to her from behind.
She moaned as he forcefully filled her over and over while his fingers played a perfect tune on her tiny bundle of nerves. As she loudly cursed through her own release, he thrust a few more times then quickly pulled away to spill himself on the stone.
He pressed his whole body against her, catching his breath for a moment, before spinning her to face him. When he tried to kiss her, she discreetly turned her head to give him access to her neck; now that she'd received the orgasm she'd been craving, there was really no need for any of that nonsense.
"I should get back." She contentedly sighed, before gently pushing him away and began gathering her clothes.
"Wait, uh, will I...see you again?" He stuttered as they both re-dressed.
"Maybe." She shrugged, placing a chaste kiss on his cheek before disappearing in to the night.
Cullen Rutherford was a simple man, or so he would have people believe. He dedicated himself to a life of service and sacrifice - a decision he made as a youngster, and not one that he regretted. It was...unfortunate, that as he grew he discovered a profound craving for the female form.
As a Templar - although under the right circumstances it was allowed - he had decided he would never take a wife or have a family of his own. But after his first sexual encounter – a welcome to Kirkwall gift from his comrades – he quickly decided it was something he simply could not live without.
He soon realised he had the perfect cover for no-strings sex. He would play the innocent Chantry boy, let the women come to him – which they did in droves. He would tell them how special they were; how, in another life, he could see himself really falling for them. It was only a matter of time before they insisted on showing him a good time with no future expectations. And whenever that failed, there was always the brothel.
After agreeing to leave the Order behind, he had to change his story a little. This time, instead of a Templar, he was the sodding Commander of the Inquisition! He simply didn't have time for anything serious. But even so, his handsome face had the women begging for just one night with him; one night to take his mind off his responsibilities and help him to relax. It wasn't even a challenge.
They'd been stationed at Haven for a few weeks, when he was approached by not one but two tavern wenches. Occasionally he would stumble upon a woman who knew exactly what game he was playing, and simply didn't care. These two were exactly that.
The women were complete opposites, catering to his every desire. One had obscenely mouth-watering curves while the other was astonishingly petite, weighing next to nothing. The curvy one had a mass of dark curls and chocolate brown skin, while the slender one was as pale as a porcelain doll, with long blond hair. The blond was better with her mouth while he preferred the feel of the brunettes sheath, but he let them both have their fill.
They seemed to enjoy pleasuring each other just as much - if not more - as they did him. Still recovering from their last round, he watched them tangled together on the floor of his tent, stroking himself until he was fully hard. He re-joined them as soon as he was able, repeatedly switching from one to the other, watching as they moaned in to each others mouths as they took turns fucking him.
Eventually the blonde coaxed the brunette on to all fours and began playing with her arse, sliding one, then two, then three fingers in until she was loose enough to take him. He cursed when she took him in her mouth, coating him in an obscene amount of saliva, before guiding him in to the brunettes rear.
As soon as he established a rhythm, the blond positioned herself in front of them to have her own arsehole toyed with. He let out a unrestrained growl as he watched the woman he was fucking lick the others tight ring. She reached back, clutching the back of the brunettes head to push her tongue in deeper.
“My turn.” The blond eventually demanded, and he wasted no time in switching from one to the other. This one he took missionary, so the brunette could sit on her face.
They were a pair of desire demons. They kept him up all night and in to the early hours, satisfied with pleasuring each other each time he needed a moment to recover. He was sore the next morning, but thoroughly satisfied, and even more so when the two woman acted as though the night had never transpired; the only proof being the pungent smell of sex which lingered in his tent. He had a clear head for at least a week before his hunger inevitably resurfaced.
He was actually mid-coitus when the sodding Temple of Sacred Ashes blew up, and he blamed said ejaculatory interruption entirely for snapping at the then prisoner (now Herald) when they first met on the battlefield. She was unfortunately the type of woman who valued first impressions, and seemed to be giving him a hard time at every available opportunity. Under any other circumstances he would try to flirt his way in to her good graces, but he got the distinct impression she would be immune to his charms.
It did not help matters that she had an arse he couldn't stop staring at.