Author: tinypinkmouse PM
Duncan was the greatest man he had ever known. Alistair/Duncan, dub-con.Rated: Fiction M - English - Drama/Angst - Alistair & Duncan - Words: 629 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 4 - Published: 10-31-10 - Status: Complete - id: 6440516
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Another fic that I'm posting for my friend, who's now going by the username unikorento on Dreamwidth. She posts most of these fics there.
Alistair believed in Duncan. He had no reason not to, Duncan was the greatest man he had ever known. Someone you could go to for good advice, someone who always knew what to do next. Duncan had never been wrong. He would never lie.
And so, when Duncan said "Don't judge me, Alistair." Alistair didn't, because he believed him. "When you've done this for as long as I have... You'll be standing here one day, and then you'll understand."
So Alistair lowered his eyes, and went down to his knees as he'd been told. Duncan's hand went to rest on his neck, and Alistair could see him shift to lean back against the trunk of the tree. He swallowed nervously, but the hand at his neck was steady and... demanding. Backing away was not an option and yet, still he hesitated.
"Alistair, please." His voice had been hoarse and impatient. Alistair's hands had shook as he'd unlaced the strings of Duncan's breeches. There hadn't been anywhere to look to avoid it, so he'd preferred to keep his eyes closed during the... the rest, but there was no way to block his ears or, well, the sensations. Alistair worked him hesitantly, and first only with his hand. He was surprised at how hot the skin was, feverish even, and how alien it all felt doing this to someone else than himself. Still, the reactions were the same.
Alistair's hand twisted over the top, coming away slick, and Duncan's breathing got heavier. He couldn't see it, but he could hear the way the older Warden's chest rose and fell in deep breaths. The hand at his neck gripped harder, urging him closer, communicating that this was good, but not good enough. Alistair complied mechanically, taking in as much as he could into his mouth.
The whole time, that hand had stayed a shackle on his neck. When it was over, and the hand lifted, Alistair had found himself almost scrambling back to wash his mouth and his face in the water flowing next to them.
Duncan had just hung his head as he caught his breath and re-did his breeches. "We all deal with it differently,"he explained to Alistairs back. "When the nightmares come, there's no right or wrong then. You'll understand, one day." Alistair didn't know who Duncan was really talking to now, and it didn't care to know either. He wanted to block out the sound of his voice. The water was cold and clear, and it made the skin on his arms and neck pebble and contract. He stopped when Duncan fell silent, and got up to leave, but that wasn't the end of it.
"Alistair," Duncan's hand was hard on his arm. "More than anything, I require your silence."
As if he'd have to say it out loud. Alistair hadn't thought... hadn't entertained the notion for even a second that he would speak to anyone about this. Not ever. He swallowed, looking down.
"You have it," he whispered hoarsely.
"Put it out of your mind," Duncan soothed, his grip softening, his voice regaining its confidence and its familiarity. "We'll reach Ostagar soon, I'll have a task for you there."
And Alistair had nodded, and put it out of his mind. With great effort and discipline – the kind a man only learns when he's been trained as a Templar – he navigated the minefield of his mind nightly, and never revisited that memory.