Title: Frost
Author: Jakia
Word Count: A little less than a thousand.
Prompt: Morrigan/Alistair - the night of the ritual and they both find themselves enjoying it more... A LOT MORE...than they expected. And it's not hatesex.
Summary: In a world where Alistair isn't King and isn't hardened, and the Warden is female and not interested. In other words, Morrigan hasn't gotten laid in two years and Alistair is still a virgin.

A/N: Done for the oh-so-popular kink meme, which, if you haven't taken a look at it yet, you really should.


He is so unbelievably frustrated.

It's Tabris's fault, he figures. If she'd fallen for his boyish charms, if she'd loved him, if she'd been born a boy, maybe he wouldn't be here right now, wrapped around Morrigan sinfully.

It's for a good cause, at least. Not dying tomorrow, yes, that sounds like a good cause. And Tabris had looked at him with her pretty green eyes and told him if he ever cared about her as a friend, he'd do this for her. If he cared about Zevran, he'd do this for her, because Tabris is a noble soul who simply won't let her dear friend sacrifice himself, even if Alistair is willing.

So he goes to Morrigan.

He feels he should apologize, to explain to her his lack of experience in such matters, but she doesn't seem to mind. In fact, from the way she moans, he expects she's rather enjoying herself.

Maker, why hadn't he noticed she was beautiful?

Not that he didn't know before. He did. But she was always so evil, and the part of his mind that had been corrupted by his Templar training thought that evil and woman could not be one in that same.

*Why* is evil so damn sexy?

So he is here, an unhardened Warden inexperienced in all things, in bed with Morrigan. And Maker's breath, she is beautiful and he is aroused and she is letting him touch her.

He tries to stop and think that this is Morrigan and he should hate her, but it's hard to hate those perfectly pale breasts he so loves to taste, to touch, to feel, to--

She grabs his hand, guiding him down, down, down to her clit. "There, you f-fool." She stutters, but the insults falls half-hearted as he rubs the little nub, causing her to moan.

With her hair down and her cheeks red, he thinks she's rather beautiful.

But he is no saint; his body is hard, ready, almost to the point of breaking.

He looks up at her. "Are you--?"

"YES." She screams, impatient with longing, and flips him over and glides on top of him.

He forgets to breathe, and it takes all his willpower not to come right there.

He rises, she falls, and they settle into a balance of rhythm. He understands now why poets compose ballads, why men lose their minds over women.

He is lying with a woman he doesn't even like, but he would give anything for her.

"Alistair." She breathes, coaxing him to climax. "Alistair."

His name has never sounded more beautiful.

"M-morrigan." He stutter, his body rushing to a beautiful end. "M-m-morrrrrriiiiggggaaaan"

For one glorious, lust-filled moment, as he spills inside of her, Alistair would do anything Morrigan wanted him do.

She comes shortly after, her juices coating his softening member as she slides off of him, lying beside him but no longer touching him.

It hurts.

He rests, and she rests, and there are no other noises in Redcliffe Castle except for their heavy breathing, and he wants to--he wants to touch her, to hold her, to play with her hair and do stupid things like that, but this is Morrigan and the realization that they just had sex and he liked it makes his head spin.

Morrigan, after all, is not suppose to be a woman he likes.

"Well," she mutters so that only he can hear her. "T'was not as awful as I expected."

But her face is beautifully pink, and he knows she's lying, because a few minutes ago she was screaming his name, loudly and unashamed.

Maker, but he wants her again.

"How do we know you're pregnant?" He blurts out, because it's the first thing he can think of, even if thinking about it hurts (his child, his own bastard that he'd never see).

She looks at him cooly, and he flushes under her cold glaze.

"I mean," he stumbles with his words, hoping not to make a fool of himself. "It would be a shame if we slew the archdemon for nothing, you know. I mean, Tabris would die and then Zevran would kill us both in our sleep! How lame would that be?"

She smiles thinly. "You make a good point. Perhaps we should be...sure your seed carries, yes?"

She rolls back on top of him, and they begin again.


A/N: Goddamn you two stop being so hot. Will be continued shortly.