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Lotus Blossom

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Evelyn sits with her back to the wall of the prison cell, legs bent at the knee, Dorian sat opposite with his legs spread in front of him.

“Well, it could be worse,” he quips, and her eyes lift from her lap to stare at him in disbelief.

“And how, exactly,” she asks, voice oddly calm. “Could this be worse?

He smirks, “Well, you could be stuck with Blackwall. My facial hair is much nicer, and I’m well groomed and hygienic!”

She rolls her eyes and attempts to give him a scornful look, but instead a smile breaks through her attempted stern look. He grins back at her and they spend a few moments in comfortable silence. Despite all his lip service, she can tell from the line of her friend’s shoulders and the way he fiddles with his hands that he is as nervous as she. She shakes her head and stands up, going over to the bars and trying to see if there is something- anything- identifiable about this place.

“Maker, what do they want from us?” she asks, rattling the bars and letting out a sigh when they barely budge. She knows better than to attempt to freeze them- the Templars had purged her magic the moment they caught them, and drained her mana completely.

She never usually hates being the Inquisitor, but this is… highly inconvenient. It isn’t even like the two of them had been doing anything to get themselves in trouble- if it had happened during a battle, perhaps, but that still didn’t explain why they’d captured the two of them specifically. If they want money, they would only have to take her and the Inquisition would either pay or stage a rescue- as she is sure would happen with the two of them anyway, but really they didn’t need Dorian there as well.

“I don’t know what they want, Evelyn, but I know you’re not going to find it standing at the bars to the cage- regardless of how nice the view is.”

She turns around and gives him another look, returning his smirk before flopping down to sit with him.

“Well, the view is nicer here, I suppose,” she says, and he puffs up.

“Of course it is, I’m here.”

Their bantering is interrupted when a door opens down the hall, followed by the heavy footsteps of a Templar. The man takes off his helmet, lays it down, and smirks at them, something cruel in his gaze. She stiffens and feels Dorian’s hand move towards her, linking their pinkies together, and no matter their reasons she is suddenly incredibly grateful their captors had taken both of them.

“Let me introduce myself. I’m Knight-Captain Carroll. Unfortunately, your work attempting to bring down the Freemen has been getting in the way of my plans,” he takes off his gauntlets and her fingers tighten in Dorian’s. When the top part of his armor comes off, she feels her friend tense just as much as she. He’s stripping down, and she subconsciously brings her legs together. The Templar smirks at her discomfort and shakes his head.

“Oh, no, dear. I’m not going to touch you,” he says, and nods his head towards Dorian. “He is.”

She jumps to her feet and almost throws herself at the bars in anger.

“Y-you can’t…” she begins, and he raises his eyebrows

“But I can. If you don’t fuck each other… I’ll kill you. And make the other watch,” he says. Her blood runs cold. Dorian is behind her in a moment, hand on the crook of her elbow, face turned away from her. She won’t let him get hurt, and she knows he won’t let her either. After a moment, those warm brown eyes go to meet hers, and she knows that it’s going to happen. Because she won’t let this man hurt Dorian- and he won’t let her get hurt either. She turns to face him, and can practically feel the Templar’s pride at breaking them so easily. They can’t fight the man without magic, and he knows it.

“Kiss him.”

The instruction is unexpected, and she brings her hands up to rest on Dorian’s cheeks, moving to her toes and pulling him down into a kiss. His lips are hesitant on hers, gentle but very, very hesitant, and she understands completely. Because for all they tease and flirt, it is all in friendship, in jest. He isn’t attracted to her, and she realizes the appeal of Dorian, but would never, ever think of acting on it. Especially not after the episode with his father.

He pulls back from her, and she sees something of a glaze of tears over his eyes. Of course this will hurt him more than her- the very thing his father had tried to do to him, she is about to do. Force him to… to be something he isn’t. With a woman. The Templar sighs from the side of the room.

“Clothes off, and then I want him between your legs.”

Evelyn trembles slightly but she moves back, armor coming off in a methodical manner. She stands before Dorian in her smallclothes, and he in his, and for a moment she wonders if death would be preferable. But neither of them could bear to see the other hurt, and so she undoes her breastband and drops her bottoms to the floor with the rest of her clothing. Before Dorian can drop his, a goblet is thrust through the bars.

“To ensure you can actually please the lady,” comes Carroll’s voice, though he is sitting in the shadows for now. Dorian takes it in one shaking hand and swallows it down, dropping it to the floor and dropping his smalls a moment later, eyes full of self-loathing. Evelyn swallows and lowers herself to the floor, legs open, and Dorian lies between them. For a moment, he keeps his head there and Evelyn’s head falls back in false ecstasy, wondering if they can trick him. She hears a sword being drawn.

“Pull a stunt like that again and I will kill you.”

Shaking, she lies back properly, against the wall letting Dorian settle between her legs. He lowers his head to her and gives a tentative lick. It doesn’t hit the spots it should at all, it’s awkward and forced and she’s terrified, but meets his eyes anyway. This time, when he licks, he does hit the right spot, and she lets out a soft noise despite herself as his tongue moves over the soft nub of flesh. He does it again, and suddenly she realizes why he’d try to bring her pleasure- without it, this would be more painful that it’s already going to be. It’s not just for the benefit of the man outside their cell- it’s for her benefit too, and she’s suddenly all too grateful to him, despite the churning in her gut- nausea at how base this is, at how utterly depraved they are being forced to be. She tries to convey every apology with her eyes, and he squeezes one thigh. He understands.

He continues his gentle ministrations, and soon one hand finds its way to his hair, legs tightening as a wave of orgasm crashes over her. The Templar makes a noise outside the cell, and she wrinkles up her nose. He’s pleasuring himself to this, to their forced… Dorian’s eyes still glisten with tears, and she lets out her own sob. He gathers her to her chest and turns angry eyes to their attacker.

“Must we continue?” he asks, and she sobs against him, guilty for her pleasure, guilty for enjoying what they were being forced to do. She knows, inside, that she can’t help it, and that it was better she be prepared for what is to come next- but the teachings of the sisters at the Circle stand out in her mind, and she feels like a whore for what she’s done. She blocks out their conversation, but when Dorian looks down at her it’s with pain, and she knows they have to continue.

“I am so sorry, Evelyn,” he whispers, and lays her down so she is on the floor, instead of against the wall, covering her with his body. She can feel the hard length of him against her thigh and almost panics- because this is it. Her chastity, gone forever due to that damned Templar, not to a man who wants her but a man forced as much as she. He is gentle when he enters her and yet stills he flinches in pain, feeling the uncomfortable sensation of being opened up. Dorian’s eyes flutter slightly, but when he sees the pain his movements all but cease, realization dawning on his features. He swallows and leans down to her ear.

“I know it’s hard, but try to relax. Imagine it’s… someone else. Somewhere else,” he murmurs. Easier said than done, but she figures he knows better than she does, and so she does relax, notices the way Dorian’s eyes are closed as he starts to move, and she wonders who he is imagining himself with. That’s cut off, however, when he brushes against something inside her and she lets out a noise. Her hand flies to her mouth, but apparently she can’t even spare herself that.

The Templar, who she’d almost forgotten about, speaks up from outside, “Come now, don’t seem like you’re forgetting one another. That’s just rude. If the lady wants to be quiet, you’ll make her quiet with your lips.”

It’s unfair, to make it seem like they’re making love when they’re really being forced to fuck. Dorian is crying now, as is she, and he leans down to kiss her with all the anguish he feels. She can taste the salt from their tears as he kisses her, even as he speeds up his thrusts, and she lets out another weak moan as she comes again, her friend (if she still has the right to call him that) stilling inside her as he follows her. For a moment they lie there, before standing, dressing silently as the Templar outside lets out a noise of pleasure as he comes to their performance.

“You can go now. Provided you don’t try to take my freemen away from me again, you can rest easy knowing this won’t happen again,” he says. “Corypheus may not want you free, but I only command one faction. And you have fulfilled your purpose, pretty.”

She leaves, feeling broken inside and out, a limp in her gait. Dorian reaches out to her and she flinches away, not wanting to be touched, not wanting to acknowledge that she and her best friend had just raped one another. She sees a flash of hurt in his eyes before he swallows and pulls away.

The next couple of months are something of a blur. She and Dorian don’t speak, and in a lull between finding Stroud in Crestwood and moving forwards, she doesn’t have much to do beyond close rifts and try to feel something more than empty.

It is when she throws up once again, after three days in a row of that occurring, that she goes to see a healer, suspicions already in her mind. Two months of missed courses, tender breasts, sickness… it could only mean one thing. The confirmation is horrifying, and she wants to cry but can’t find the tears. Instead, she numbly makes her way up to the library, eyes averted until Dorian notices her.

“Evelyn, you…” he doesn’t finish the sentence. She swallows, meets his eyes.

“Dorian, I’m pregnant.”