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Alistair wakes up in a tent he's never seen from the inside, surrounded by gear that isn't his, and with a warm, mostly-naked body pressed against his back. An unfamiliar place on many levels, and yet, he knows exactly where he is. The knowledge permeated his dreams last night, and it fills his chest now, like laughter on the verge of escaping.
And because the knowledge is so impossible to question or doubt, he tries to make himself doubt it just to have the pleasure of remembering the truth. He does it again and again, coaxing tiny seeds of doubt to life only to look around and feel those seeds die under the weight of truth. The rush of it is breathtaking, like reliving that moment last night when the knowledge first poured into him, that this was real, it was going to happen, it was happening.
This is real. It's Daylen's tent above his head, and Daylen's gear forming shadowed piles in the grey pre-dawn light, and Daylen's arm around him. It's Daylen's naked chest against his back, Daylen's breath in his hair, and Daylen's half-hard cock nudging his ass.
"G'morning."
Also Daylen's sleepy voice in his ear.
"Morning," Alistair replies, keeping his voice to a whisper mainly because anything louder hurts. He wouldn't let Daylen do anything about his throat last night, and the raw ache is still there. So far it hasn't gotten in the way of anything Alistair wants to do, and the burn is a constant reminder of what happened. When they crawled into Daylen's tent last night, and spent half the night jerking each other off instead of sleeping like sensible people, the pain in his throat every time he swallowed had only made his cock that much harder.
Daylen's hand flexes where it rests against Alistair's stomach, then slides up his chest to wrap very gently around his throat.
"Are you going to let me heal you now?" Daylen asks. His voice is both amused and more alert, no longer blurred with sleep.
Alistair feels a strange mix of regret and elation. Regret because he liked having a sleepy Daylen murmuring in his ear, and elation because while he might have lost his chance for today, tomorrow he'll get to hear it again. The tight feeling like stifled laughter grows stronger.
"Alistair?" Daylen prods.
What was the question? Oh, right. Healing. "No," he whispers back.
"Planning on telling the others you have a cold?"
"Vow of silence," Alistair replies, ignoring the real point for now. They don't have to get up yet, and he doesn't have to think about anything past the edge of this bedroll until they do.
Daylen snorts. "I don't think anyone is going to believe that. Especially when they see you coming out of my tent this morning."
There's an oblique question in those words, his tone more curious than anything. As far as Alistair can tell, Daylen doesn't care what anyone thinks about anything he does, from what he eats for supper to whether he chooses to spare an assassin's life for no reason other than because the assassin is both charming and attractive. The evidence of that will be flirting with everyone over breakfast very soon.
Who does or doesn't share Daylen's tent will be a subject of conversation for everyone except Daylen himself. Alistair is...less sanguine about the teasing that will follow as soon as the others realize where he slept last night.
Before Alistair can decide if he wants to try to sneak back to his own tent before the others are awake, Daylen bites the back of his neck and then says in a low voice, "You know, if you're sick, you'll have to stay here all day. And I'd have to keep you company. Make sure you didn't get sicker."
Coughing hurts, but Alistair does it anyway, in his best impression of a malingering recruit.
"How terrible," Daylen murmurs. His hand on Alistair's throat tightens marginally, but it's still a few hundred miles from painful or restrictive. The implied threat, the potential for harm, is what makes Alistair's breath catch in anticipation.
He thinks of last night, of Daylen's hand around his throat and Daylen's voice harsh as he said, "We're done, because I don't think you understand what will happen if we're not done." He thinks of Daylen's hand on the back of his neck, holding him in place with his lips around the base of Daylen's cock and his lungs screaming for air. He thinks of Daylen's cock pulsing against his tongue.
"Alistair," the here-and-now Daylen says, and by his tone, it's not the first time he's called Alistair's name. At least he sounds amused rather than annoyed.
"Uh, sorry. I was..." He trails off, embarrassed and unsure. In every fantasy he's ever stroked himself to, he's submitted to someone else's desires, whether willingly or not, and even inexperienced, he's heard enough whispers to know what most people would think of that. Those whispers have never been kind to people who want the things he wants, and he's too used to keeping silent himself to talk about it easily now.
"You were...?" Daylen prompts.
Alistair shakes his head, face flushing. "Just thinking, that's all."
"Thinking." Daylen's hand moves from his throat to the front of his trousers, cupping his half-hard cock through the fabric. Alistair pushes into the touch and absolutely does not whimper.
"What were you thinking about?" Daylen asks in a silky murmur.
Between Daylen's hand on his cock and his own embarrassment, the best Alistair can do for an answer is, "Um."
"Were you thinking about last night?"
Alistair nods and tightens his aching throat against the groan that tries to escape when Daylen rubs a palm up the length of his cock.
"Which part?" Daylen asks, and shit, that's not a question Alistair can answer with a nod or a shake of his head. "Out in the field? Or when we were back here?"
He has to lick his lips twice before he can mumble, "The field."
"Which part?" Daylen asks again. His voice is low, as warm as his breath, and the sound makes Alistair shiver.
"All of-" Alistair's voice breaks as Daylen's hand presses more firmly against his cock.
"Which part?" Daylen asks again. "Specifically."
"Daylen," Alistair begs, not even sure what he's begging for.
"I want to know," Daylen says. "I want to hear you say it."
"I can't!" Alistair's face is so red it hurts, and he pulls in on himself a little in embarrassment.
"All right," Daylen says, to Alistair's mingled relief and disappointment. As much as it would have embarrassed him, a part of him had been hoping Daylen would keep pushing. If Daylen makes him talk, then it's not quite as embarrassing.
Then Daylen adds, "But sooner or later, I'm going to hear you say it," and Alistair swallows hard.
Daylen kisses the back of his neck, right at his hairline. "I want to know what parts you liked best, so I can do them again." Alistair can feel his lips curve in a smile. "I want to see you look the way you did last night."
Alistair might not be able to say anything out loud, but his body moves instinctively, curling back into Daylen to press them closer together. Daylen's pleased hum is every bit as arousing as his hand.
"How about this?" Daylen asks. "I'll tell you some of the parts I liked, and some ideas I have for next time. If I ask you something, you have to answer, but I'll only ask yes or no questions." He pauses long enough for Alistair to consider the idea, then asks, "Will that work?"
"Yes," Alistair whispers.
He's expecting a moment to collect himself while Daylen thinks, but he gets nothing of the sort. The word is barely out of his mouth before Daylen murmurs, "Last night, when I said I was going to use your mouth, you looked at me like you were ready to beg for it."
His tone makes praise out of what should be mockery, and suddenly, Alistair can't breathe, as much from the words as from the memory they call up.
"I thought about it, too." Daylen kisses the curve of his ear, breath warm on his cheek. "About making you beg for my cock. I don't know that I'd have given it to you, either. I might have just jerked off like that, come on your face while you begged me to fuck you."
Alistair's throat works, but his mouth is too dry to swallow or speak. His heart is thundering in his chest, his pulse pounding all the way to his fingertips, and his cock is almost as hard as it was last night.
"Do you like that idea?" Daylen asks. "Should I have made you beg for it?"
Alistair shakes his head, then nods, then shakes his head again, unable to give the right answer because there isn't one. Or maybe better to say there isn't a wrong one.
"Sometimes?" Daylen guesses. If it bothers him to carry almost the entire weight of the conversation, there's nothing in his voice to give it away. "I should make you beg sometimes?"
Relieved, Alistair nods.
"You may be sorry you told me that," Daylen says. "Because if I do decide to make you beg, you'll have to actually convince me you want it. If you don't beg well enough, I won't fuck you. I'll jerk myself off, and you'll have to walk around with a hard cock for the rest of the day. Maybe the next couple days, depending on how I feel."
His hand is warm and a little rough, rubbing Alistair's cock through his trousers, and for one dizzying moment, Alistair thinks he's going to come like this, half dressed and without any part of Daylen's skin actually touching his cock. When they finally did lie down to sleep last night, Alistair put his trousers back on from habit—the risk of a midnight attack is too great for him to even consider doing otherwise--a decision he now seriously regrets.
"Would you like that?" Daylen asks. "If I made you wait until I was ready to let you come, even if that took days?"
No. He'd hate it, hate every second until Daylen relented, and yet....
"Wrong question," Daylen says. His voice has shifted from a murmur to something more dangerous, a growl very like the one he used when Alistair was on his knees in that field last night. "Because it doesn't matter if you'd like it."
It's going to happen. Alistair is going to come, right now, making a mess in his only pair of clean trousers and reaching new heights--or maybe lows--of embarrassment.
"I don't care if you'd like it," Daylen says. "Do you want it?"
That's a question Alistair can answer without hesitation, and he nods. More eagerly than he might have if he could think about something other than how close he is to coming, but he's too distracted for anything except complete honesty. Because he would hate every second of it, and oh, how he wants it.
"I could do that to you now," Daylen says. "Fuck your mouth until I come, then leave you here, tell you not to jerk yourself off. Let you spend the whole day wondering whether I'll let you come tonight, or whether I'll just use you again and make you wait another day."
Alistair is trembling, the way he used to shake before practice bouts against a more-skilled opponent, full of all the excitement and energy he has to hold in check until the right moment. He's afraid he might not make it, this time.
Distracted as he is, he doesn't realize what's about to happen until it's done: Daylen flips him onto his back and straddles his thighs right above his knees as invisible bands circle Alistair's wrists and drag his arms up to pin them to the ground above his head.
Like Alistair, Daylen is wearing trousers and not much else. He looks insufferably pleased with himself, and he palms his own cock without loosening his laces, rubbing himself through the cloth. The muscles in his stomach flex, and Alistair's mouth goes dry with the need to put his mouth there, to taste Daylen's skin, to work his way down until he can get his mouth on Daylen's cock. He has no idea how to do anything except let Daylen fuck his mouth, but in his fantasy, he knows what he's doing. In his imagination, Daylen grips his hair and groans, telling him in that low voice how good it feels, how good Alistair makes him feel.
"Fucking Andraste," Daylen breathes.
Alistair tears his gaze away from Daylen's hand and looks up to meet his eyes, eyes that are wide and dark and hungry.
"You looked at me like that last night," Daylen says. "And I thought, when I woke up just now, that I wasn't remembering it right. That I couldn't be." He bends forward to plant one hand above Alistair's head, pushing the middle two fingers of his other hand between Alistair's lips, and Alistair thinks his whole body might catch fire. That he hasn't come yet is just one of many miracles in the last day.
"No one could look as good as I remembered you looking. No one could want it that much." He strokes Alistair's tongue with his fingers, pressing down until Alistair struggles to swallow. "No one could possibly want so badly for me to use them."
A thread of unease winds through Alistair, despite everything. He doesn't know what to make of Daylen's tone, and the words are a little too close to ones Alistair has used to condemn himself for his desires. Is Daylen mocking him?
Daylen grins. "But here you are. Turns out I really am that lucky, and you really are that fucking perfect."
There's nothing snide or contemptuous in his voice, and while there is a fair amount of unholy glee, there's also amazement and excitement and delight. "Maker," Daylen says, "there are so many things I want to do to you, I don't even know where to start."
From outside the tent comes the rattling clang of someone hanging the kettle over the fire to start breakfast. Alistair realizes he's been hearing voices and the normal sounds of the camp stirring for a while, but he'd been too focused on Daylen to pay much attention. Now it occurs to him that if they make too much noise, the others will know exactly what's going on in here.
Glee is definitely the strongest emotion on Daylen's face now, and he pulls his fingers from Alistair's mouth to raise them to his own lips in an exaggerated shhh. Alistair can feel his eyes widen, even as his cock twitches with interest.
Daylen rolls away to kick off his own trousers, then returns to pull Alistair's down to his knees before settling back into place across his thighs. It pins Alistair's legs almost as effectively as the magic pins his arms, and he can barely breathe for fear of somehow breaking this apart to find it was only a dream. He wants the look Daylen is giving him, equal parts hunger and approval, to be real.
Even when Daylen drops a hand to his cock and begins to stroke himself in what's clearly a show Alistair is meant to watch, a part of Alistair stays focused on his face and that look. It's hot on his skin, and he wants it more than he wants to come. Walking all day with his cock hard would be worth it if it meant being back here tomorrow morning, Daylen looking at him like that.
"Get yourself off," Daylen whispers, his voice pitched to stay within the tent and just between the two of them.
Without thinking, Alistair tries to reach for his cock, only to find he can't move either arm from where Daylen pinned them above his head. For a blink, he thinks Daylen has simply forgotten, then Daylen smiles that wide, wicked grin Alistair first saw in the field last night.
"Go on," Daylen says, insincerely encouraging. "But you'd better be quick, because when I'm done, you're done."
For all his words, Daylen's hand is moving slow, long strokes up and down the shaft of his cock. If Alistair could touch himself, he has no doubt he'd be done in moments, but from here? With his hands pinned and nothing but air against his cock? How is he supposed to get himself off like this?
"If you can't," Daylen murmurs, "you'll just have to wait until tonight, and maybe I won't let you come then, either."
The words should make him anxious and push him that much further from release, but not when Daylen says them in that voice. It's the voice he used last night, and Alistair hears an echo of Daylen saying, "I'm going to fuck your mouth, and you're going to take it."
"If I do let you come tonight," Daylen says, hand working the head of his own cock, "you'll have to earn it."
Alistair nods frantically, and if his tongue hadn't glued itself to the roof of his mouth, he would beg Daylen to tell him how. All he wants is the chance to win Daylen's approval, to hear Daylen call him perfect again.
"Maybe I'll have you suck my cock," Daylen says. "Let you do the work this time, while I just lie back and enjoy it."
Outside, Leliana calls something across the camp to Bodahn, who answers the same way. Alistair barely hears their voices, let alone the words.
"I think I'll do that no matter what," Daylen says abruptly, like a man reaching a decision. "Teach you how I like it and have you suck me. Only difference is, if you can come this morning, just like this, and you learn fast tonight, I'll let you come. Otherwise, you'll have to wait until tomorrow morning."
Alistair is panting for breath, mouth a little open to keep it as quiet as possible. Deep in the pit of his stomach, tension is somehow, impossibly, starting to build. It's nowhere near enough, not yet, but it is there, and his awareness of it winds it even tighter.
"But you will learn fast, won't you?" That wicked smile flashes across Daylen's face again. "I won't have to tell you more than once or twice, will I?"
"Once," Alistair gasps out. "Just once, I promise, please let me show you, I swear I'll learn fast."
"I know you will," Daylen says. His hips flex, as if the thought is too much for his control. "And I want to watch you do it. Maybe I'll come like that, or maybe I'll pin you down again, fuck your mouth until I come. You have no idea how good you looked last night, choking on my cock."
Alistair's breath stutters, and he tries to move, unable to keep still, despite Daylen's weight on his legs.
"We'll see how deep you can take me on your own." If Daylen's eyes were dark before, now they're black, and his breathing is only steady in comparison to Alistair's. "I want to watch you choke yourself on my cock, while all I do is lie there. Maybe I'll grab your hair sometimes, hold you still with my cock in your throat just to feel you trying to swallow, trying to breathe."
Breathing would be good right now, but all Alistair can think about are Daylen's voice and hand, rising and falling together.
"But I won't come like that," Daylen says. "I think I'll come on your face instead. I could hold your head with one hand, jerk myself off with the other, come all over you and then make you clean yourself up with just your hands and mouth. Wouldn't let you touch yourself until you were done."
The strain is starting to show in his voice, and his hand is moving faster, real strokes rather than a show for Alistair's benefit. Against his stomach, Alistair can feel his own cock beginning to drip as his balls draw up tight. He's still not sure he can come like this, but the idea no longer seems far-fetched.
"Maker," Daylen breathes. His fingers smear the drops of liquid on Alistair's stomach, rubbing them into his skin. "Maker, there are so many things we could do, so many things I want to show you, because I want to see you like this all the time, desperate to come but still not fighting me."
Alistair is beyond desperate to come, but he's more desperate for Daylen's praise.
"I could just do this," Daylen says, his voice gone thick and slow, like his brain is no longer entirely in control of his mouth. "If I never got your mouth on my cock again, we could do nothing but this, and I'd love every fucking bit of it, because you'd look like this the whole time, wouldn't you?"
He leans forward and shoves his fingers into Alistair's mouth again, three of them this time, bitter with Alistair's seed. Daylen's other hand is planted on Alistair's chest now, no longer stroking himself, and the weight of his body presses the air from Alistair's lungs in a harsh rush. It's not quite the same as last night, but the struggle to breathe combined with something fucking his mouth are close enough Alistair whimpers despite his best efforts to keep quiet.
"Andraste's ashes, I can't believe you're real," Daylen whispers. "You lied last night, you said you didn't yield, but you do, you are, and you'll do it every time I ask, won't you."
Alistair is shaking, every muscle taut, but he wouldn't have bothered to nod even if he'd been able. Daylen wasn't asking a question.
His fingers dig into Alistair's chest and push to the back of his throat, and his voice when he goes on has a snap to it even if it's still no louder than a whisper. "Come for me. Come now."
For a second, that relief is out of reach--he can't do it, not like this, not without at least something to rub against--then his gaze catches on Daylen's expression. It demands obedience, demands surrender, with an unshakeable certainty that Alistair can and will give him both.
Alistair can't do anything else. He's aware of his hips lifting off the ground despite Daylen's weight, and then the world disappears. With it goes his awareness of anything except Daylen's fingers in his mouth, and the echo of Daylen's order in his ears.
He's still clawing his way back to something more when Daylen replaces his fingers with his mouth. The kiss is messy and uncoordinated, but about the time Alistair gathers enough thought to try to help, Daylen exhales like he's been punched and comes all over both of them. Alistair thinks of what it would be like to feel Daylen's seed spattering on his face instead of his stomach, and his breathing stutters again. He hadn't realized it was possible to want something that much after coming that hard.
"I should-" Daylen starts, then pauses to take a deep, shuddering breath. He's still panting lightly when he tries again, but he otherwise sounds almost normal. "I should make you clean it all up, but I don't think my arms will hold me that long."
Alistair snorts out a laugh, but even as he's laughing, he's savoring the way those words jolt through him.
It occurs to him then that his chance to slip out of Daylen's tent unnoticed is almost gone, but he might still manage it. By the voices outside, only Leliana and Bodahn are awake, and they're at the wagon right now. If he's quick, he could probably make it to his own tent before they return to the fire, or someone else wakes up.
He thinks about the amount of teasing he can expect to deal with for at least the next month if the others see him crawl out of Daylen's tent, and then he looks up at Daylen's face and the emotions chasing each other over it. When Daylen releases his hands, he barely hesitates before rolling them carefully over.
Daylen tenses marginally as his back hits the ground and Alistair looms over him for a moment, but he relaxes as Alistair shifts away. He tenses again when Alistair begins to lick up the mess on his chest and stomach, but it's an entirely different kind of tension.
"Fuck the Maker and Andraste both," Daylen mutters as he grabs a rough handful of Alistair's hair and pulls his head back. "Are you trying to kill me?"
"Is it working?" Alistair asks, grinning even though his voice is strained by the angle of his neck and last night's lingering ache.
For an answer, Daylen tightens his grip. "I don't know," he says with a lazy smile. "Why don't you keep going, and we'll find out?"