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A King's Treatment

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Alistair was a good king to Ferelden. Though many a man had had his doubts over the young half blooded prince rising to power upon his duel with the former war hero Loghain Mac Tier, he had proved himself to be far tougher a man than was originally thought. His rule was strong, but kind; it was as if he had led in something of a new age for his people, where his people felt freedom and wealth that had been gone since before Orlesian occupation.

His views were rumored to, much as his power itself, originate from his former companion, the Warden Commander. Brosca was her name, a fiery redheaded dwarf with a deep black brand on her face and a burning temper to match. It was whispered across the country that the two of them had lain as lovers during the year they trekked over the land to unite the nation against the growing threat of the archdemon. Whether it was indeed their love or if it was a conspiracy that the king had lain with a witch that had saved the Commander's life when she gave the draconic beast the killing blow was always a debate, but there was no doubt in the minds of any citizen of Denerim that the king's eyes lit up with adoration whenever the woman came riding in on her warhorse.

If it weren't for her lineage, many a person would have loved for the warden commander to have become their queen. Honestly, the lack of a queen years after the blight was something of a concern to the people, as without an heir the Theirin line would come to a horrible screeching halt whenever the king succumbed to the darkspawn taint in his veins. Surprisingly, despite the rumors of a continued romance between the warden commander and the king, she was on record as agreeing with the notion.

"You know, Alistair, all you need is to get one son. Surely you can find a woman willing to exchange riches for bearing a boy."

"Brosca...nn."

"Really, look at my sister. Rica never asks Bhelen for anything. It wouldn't..."

"Is...is this really the time?" Alistair whimpered.

The Warden paused a moment. She cocked her head in mild confusion, brows bunching together. She looked Alistair in the eye, examining the haze in them, the flush filling his face, the sweat along his forehead.

"Why wouldn't it be the time? I have an audience, Your Highness, and I like to be heard."

"But...but you're...this!" Alistair gestured wildly towards their hips. The Warden looked down, confused as ever.

"What, just because I'm fucking you we can't talk business?" Surely, the long piece of polished chestnut tied to her waist and currently resting deep inside his ass was not a reason to stop important discussions. As soon as he opened his mouth to protest, she rocked her hips out a bit, two little bulges of the wooden shaft slowly popping out. He bit at his lip, and she grinned. Reaching over to the side table, she picked up a little bottle of rapeseed oil. She continued as she drizzled a little more of the oil onto the now-exposed toy.

"It's like before we met your 'sister' all over again. You're a coward, you know. Not going through with your kingly duties." She smirked, pushing back into him. Mm, that gasp. She relished that gasp.

"I...blast it, I just don't see why we can't talk about it later."

"Because later you'll think of some excuse to go trotting off on an expedition to the Free Marches or Antiva or whatnot." She paused, thinking. "Hm, I heard that Leiliana was visiting Kirkwall. Perhaps you could go through there..."

"You may as well suggest I go track down Morrigan and declare the witch's spawn the next prince," Alistair grumbled, trying to pull himself up onto a pillow and wincing at the shift of unpliable wood inside of him.

"That's actually an idea, there."

"No. Not a chance."

"I haven't seen Morrigan since the mirror incident, but--"

"Brosca. I swear to the Maker, if you don't just shut up and continue what you're doing?"

"Oh, but I'm talking. How can I shut up and--"

"Can I find you a ladder so you can get off my back?"

The Warden grinned a bit. Touche.

"Hmhm. Alright, we can focus on this for now, but," she said, with too much emphasis on the 't' as she pulled out five of the six little knots, "I want you to remember who's always been in charge around here."

“Of course, Your Grace, I’d dream of nothing else.” Alistair’s face had softened, a combination of relief from the dropped topic with the amusement and longing he always felt around his well-built companion. She nodded in approval of his response and thrust into him sharply.

The king gasped. Maker, he had done this with her a million times before it seemed, and yet every time he found himself melting into a puddle at her hips, stars sparkling in front of his eyes. She had this way about her of being smooth and strong with her motions, never painful but always forceful. The way she fucked was an awful lot like the way she fought, he supposed. Those long, clean sweeps with a sword as large as she was were mimicked perfectly in the way she consistently thrust against spots within him that made him moan and arc into her movements. Now, like always, she cooed at him, telling him how beautiful he was underneath her, stroking his legs that shivered on either side of her, running her hands along the tops of her bare breasts.

He was not allowed to touch her, that was the rule. Sometimes it wasn’t hard at all to follow the command. His hands would be too busy grabbing at sheets or bedrolls or, one particularly memorable time, the very dirt of the damp Deep Roads. Others, such as this time, he found himself unable to stop a quivering hand from reaching up to stroke her stomach. She swatted his hand, her disciplinary tsk betrayed by the huge smile on her face.

“Now now. Don’t make me flip you over.”

He thought about testing the limit, but she had done it before. It was amazing how little effort she seemed to put into grabbing his waist, spinning him around, and shoving his face into the pillow. All of that, mind, without even pulling out of him. He had fully enjoyed the roughness of that time, her slapping his ass as he struggled to breath through the padding he bit into, but for now he pulled his hand quickly away.

“Good boy.”

“You sound like you’re talking to Raleigh.”

“Of course not! The mabari is smarter than you.” She planted a kiss on his inner thigh before he could protest, and he slumped back into the pillows, eyelids fluttering. Just how she loved to see him. She leaned down to kiss his stomach, enjoying watching his muscles clench as her mouth drew closer to his cock. Her small stature still wasn’t quite enough to enable her to suck it while she fucked him, but if she really stretched she could circle the tip of her tongue right over the slit.

She stopped, pulling up sharply as soon as she felt fingers in her hair.

“Oh, ah, my bad,” Alistair stammered out, but to his surprise she held his hand to the side of her head as she leaned towards his face.

“You should have asked,” she said sharply, moving his hand through her own hair a couple of times before dropping it. He continued to caress her locks, her cheek, and the woman leaned into it, eyes almost closed. If he listened closely, he could swear he heard her purr.

She moved to grab his other hand, pulling it away from its important task of digging its nails into his own thigh. She gave it the slightest kiss on its back before grabbing up the bottle of oil and pouring a little onto his hand.

Oh.

She guided it down again, her fingers making his wrap around the base of his cock. She pointed to her face with her free hand.

“Look me in the eye as you do this, okay? I want to watch your face.”

He didn’t say anything as she pulled almost fully out of him, at the same time still holding his hand as she pulled it up his shaft. Then back down, back in. The pace built, the pressure squeezed beautifully around and in him. He couldn’t help but squirm, fingers tangled desperately in her hair. Every time he tried to close his eyes or look away, the Warden struck his hip sharply with her free hand.

“Look at me.”

The wave of pleasure Alistair rode was strong enough he didn’t even notice the sticky white strings of cum coat his and his partner’s hands. All he knew was energy, a coursing white light through his body, dark green eyes staring into his as he shattered. As she pulled out of him and let his hand go he seemed to somehow collapse further into the plush mattress, little twitches running through every muscle of his body.Brosca cuddled up next to him, wrapping herself around his torso, laying her head on his chest.

“It’s good to be back here with you,” she said, sticky fingers running over his ribs, heaving up and down with breath, “my King.”