A/N: Oh, look, another kinkmeme fill! And this time, it contains Oghren. I really don't know how or why this happened, but I've actually grown to love this pairing in the short time I've been writing it. Twu wuv.

Shiloh Amell loved presents.

While she was still in the Circle, she sometimes found little things beneath her pillow – caramels smuggled back from Irving's office, drawings sketched on vellum copied from some of the books in the library, and eventually tiny flasks of alcohol when Jalil Surana dipped into Wynne's supplies for the twelfth time. By the time she reached eighteen, she was used to people giving her things, and she accepted them with a dimpled smile, just bothering enough to thank them and inquire as to what they wanted in return.

Then Duncan swaggered into the Tower and conscripted her (she'd made it a point to forget that mess with Jowan), leading her into the wide, open world, full of people willing to give her gifts for only the smallest thing in return. Deliver a letter, get some coin. Retrieve the sword of a long lost relative, get some more coin. Most would've been taken by surprise at Teagan's gift of his ancestral helm, but she merely beamed at him and took it from him, handing it off to Alistair the moment the bann's back was turned.

And now she was the Hero of Ferelden, receiving commendations and little presents at every turn.

Shrugging off her robes, her hands swiftly removed her breast bind as she padded towards the armoire. What would she wear? Something comfortable, something comfortable... "Aha!" A hand shot out to grasp her gown of purple Orlesian silk, fingertips dancing along the fabric as it smoothed over them like water. Pulling the short nightdress over her head, she turned on her heel, and something caught her eye.

Normally, finding a box lying on her bed in the Arl of Redcliffe's estate wouldn't have surprised her, but the fact of the matter was that she hadn't expected this. While the box was clearly a gift, there was no wrapping, only a crumpled bow sitting rather sadly atop it.

Cocking her head to the side, Shiloh entered the room, eying the box warily as she approached the very edge of her bed. Now, what was this? Usually, she was given things by the hand of the gifter. Such shyness wasn't commonplace for those interested in gaining her favor, knowing full well how she preferred a more direct approach.

In a few swift movements, she'd knocked the top off of the box, not minding the pathetic bow as it toppled backwards. What she revealed was a poorly folded garment. A poorly folded, pink garment. Her brows knitted. A poorly folded, pink garment absolutely covered in bows and other adornments. Giving a quiet "ech" sound, she picked the thing up by the straps to pull it out of the box to see the entirety of its finely constructed, but poorly executed splendor.

Holding the straps between the nails of her index and thumb, she regarded the lingerie with an air of horror. Yet, despite all of this, the only question that arose was, "Who?"

Who in their right mind would buy her this?

Zevran no doubt had better taste in lingerie, but perhaps he'd purchased it as a tease? After so many lengthy discussions about the pros and cons for lingerie versus sheer nudity, such a thing wouldn't surprise her. Of course, Alistair might assume this was the sort of thing women enjoyed, though she knew of few women who got their jollies by dressing themselves up to look like an Orlesian pastry.

She knew as well as anyone how eager Leliana was to dress up and look pretty. Then again, this was an obnoxious garment, not a pair of shoes, and she doubted the bard lacked in taste so much. Slowly, the options were ticking down to nothing. The thought of Sten purchasing her naughty clothes was absolutely hysterical. Wynne no doubt hid such racy things in her pack, but she didn't strike her as the sort to share.

That left Oghren.

"No," Shiloh murmured to herself, drawing the dress in to see how the monstrosity would look on her. Evidently the person who'd gifted her with this imagined she was much larger than she actually was. Two sizes larger, to be exact. "Well... maybe." Biting down on her bottom lip in thought, she shifted her weight from one foot to the other, hip jutting out. Maybe Oghren buying her this wasn't that bizarre. Not only had she grown to care for the drunken dwarf, but she suspected he might've tripped and fallen over the old attraction stone some time ago. There were few women - human, elf, or dwarf – able to keep up with him once the ale started flowing. In fact, so long as they kept to the "water-weak human shit," she could actually pound them back right alongside him.

Oh, sod it, she thought to herself, slipping her gown from her shoulders until it pooled around her feet. It's a gift. He clearly, ah, put a lot of thought into this. Might as well let him enjoy it. Maybe he'll stop moping all the damn time.

Finally wriggling into the much-too-large garment, she secured the straps at her throat with a pin and grabbed for the silk robe she'd been given by Bann Teagan (really, the man was too kind) after Alistair's coronation, cinching it around her waist in an attempt to hide every inch of the glaring pink. When she was finally content with having every bit of it concealed, she turned and made her way out of her room, not even bothering with so much as slippers for her bare feet.

The Arl of Redcliffe's estate was quite large, but full of people now that her party was stationed here for the most part. Despite being the new King, Alistair often spent most of his time here to get away from his lovely new betrothed. Zevran spent most of his time chasing the tail of Leliana's skirt, while Wynne attended to whatever old women attended to – tending to cats, reading poorly written romance novels, watching Eamon whack the poor dummy outside of her window in an attempt to regain his strength, whatever she wished.

The fact that the estate was so full only made the trek to Oghren's room all the more difficult. Her tongue poked out from between her lips as she concentrated on keeping to the shadows. Every time she heard footsteps, she clung to the stone, one hand grasping at the wall while the other kept the robe completely shut. The moment her eyes settled on Oghren's bed chamber, she felt a sigh of relief shudder through her, and she was just about to rush forward when she heard a clearing throat behind her.

"And just what are you doing out so late? And in your nightclothes at that."

Alistair. Her blue eyes rolled skyward. Why, Maker? Why?

Turning around, sure to plaster the most nonchalant smile ever on her lips, she tilted her chin downward when she was finally facing him. "I was merely looking for something to drink."

"In Oghren's room?" he asked her, though he paused soon after. "Actually, knowing you, the answer to that is yes." His brows knitted as he gave a low chuckle. "You're clutching onto that thing like your life depends on it. What's under there?" Taking a step forward, he shot her a lopsided smile, his tanned fingers going for her robe. Each attempt to pull the fabric back was met with one of equal strength to keep it closed.

Pulling away, she thwacked his hand away. "Stop that, stop that. Why do you want to know what's under here? It could very well bite you."

"Oh, you won't fool me. I know they don't bite."

Shiloh aimed a teasing sneer at him. "Well, you do now."

"You shut your mouth."

They parted not long after. Once the teasing was through, they often had little to talk about. So how is the being King thing working out for you? Ah, good. Oh, how's the Hero of Ferelden thing working out for me? It's decent. I sort of miss the killing part, but I'll manage.

Thankfully free of Alistair's grip, she traveled the short distance to Oghren's room, not even bothering to knock. Most people would've been wary about barging in on him, but she saw this as more of a game than an intrusion. Half of the time, he wasn't actually doing anything incriminating, but once or twice she'd happened upon some very interesting activities. Like his singing an old dwarven song. Though rough, he had a surprisingly nice voice when he wasn't intoxicated and tossing out lyrics about easy women and more easy women and their easy friends. And then once she'd walked in on him polishing his battleaxe; his actual battleaxe. Considering she'd never pick up a weapon like that in her entire life, seeing a man handle such a deadly object like a lover was almost intoxicating.

Shaking her head a little at the thought, she let her eyes adjust to the shocking brightness of the room. The fire was blazing as he liked it, and she could just barely make out his shadow on the floor beside the wing-backed chair just in front of the flames. His hands were moving in an odd formation, one she couldn't quite catch from his angle. Either he was braiding his beard or passing the time by making shadow figures.

"What's that?" Shiloh asked, cheek twitching when she saw his hands stop. "Is that a dog?"


Chuckling, she moved over to his chair, not even bothering to look at him as she bent down at his side, motioning for him to look over at the shadow. Her fingers were soon arched and bent and twisted just the right way to make something that vaguely resembled a dog extend onto the floor. "See? A dog."

Oghren gave a short laugh, returning to his braid. "Number two hundred and seventy on the list of 'useless things you can do,' right?"

"Two hundred and seventy-five," she murmured as she bit back a grin. Turning to glance at him, she rested her chin on her shoulder, pursing her lips a little as she gave him a once over. The thicket of red hair atop his head was still drying, though the four braids were very nearly there. Not only that, but he sort of smelled like Zevran. "Did you get a real big hug from the elf recently or something?"

"Couldn't find my soap," he huffed, almost defensively. "You're distracting me, woman."

Shiloh grinned before leaning forward, sniffing his shoulder not once but twice and leaning back to reveal a thoughtful expression. "Woodsy with a subtle warmth, a touch of floral without being emasculating, with the added undertone of Oghren." Her grin only widened at the confused look on his face. "It's very nice."

"Er, thanks," Oghren replied simply. He shook his head and turned back to the final braid, stocky fingers expertly twining the wiry chunks of hair. Instead of pestering him any further, she pulled herself up into a standing position, her hip just barely grazing his bent elbow as she turned to lean against the back of the chair.

After a long moment, she broke the silence once more. "So I found a gift on my bed just a moment ago," she mused in a half-hearted tone, as if she was talking only to herself. Her fingers ran along the back of the chair, and she smirked when she saw him tense up. "And I was thinking about who could've possibly given it to me. It couldn't have been Zevran. Or Alistair. Leliana would've taken me shopping for it instead of sneaking it into my chamber while I was away. Both Sten and Wynne are out. That left you."

She didn't believe he'd fess up for a time. If Oghren was one thing, it was stubborn. Eventually, however, he bound the final braid and settled back onto his chair. "Yeah, it's from me." An odd confidence crept into his voice. "What of it? Too much for ya?"

"Actually..." He gave a snort. "It's a bit big. So, yes, far too much for me."

"A bit big," he murmured before turning and glancing up at her, "So you've tried it on? That what's hiding under that robe of yours?"

"I didn't think you'd noticed."

"I said you were distracting me."

They chuckled at the very same time, though his laughter all but ceased the moment she stepped out from behind the chair. She stood just far enough in his line of sight for him to get a good look at her, her arms held out at her sides as she jutted a hip and pressed her knees together, showing off the robe he'd clearly noticed. She was something else, that was a sure thing. From the top of her dark blonde head to her legs, which were almost as long as he was tall, she was every inch a woman in the physical sense.

How she could turn around and match him both in drink and sheer crudeness, he had no idea. While they were still traveling, Wynne often whispered about how her "personality" was clearly just a ruse to mask her insecurities. "Why's everyone gotta muck up a good thing with insecurities and the like?" he asked her at one point. "So the girl likes to have fun. Don't get your smalls in a twist over nothing."

Oghren could feel a hint of a grin spread across his lips. "So when do I get to see all of it?"

"Oh? You want to see all of it?" Shiloh teased in return, her long, slender hands teasing at the thin belt around her waist. Even without looking directly at him, she saw him nod. Very well, then. Here goes nothing. At that, her hands joined at her hip to untie the bow keeping the robe stationary, sliding the thin bit of fabric out and letting it fall onto the floor. Without the waist cinched, the silken robe opened, revealing his gift.

She admitted that the color looked much more appealing in the firelight. Not only that, but the flames did wonders to her skin. Over the woman's normally pale flesh ran a light flush as she dropped the robe off of her shoulders and then discarded the garment completely. Her hands went to her hips, resting there as she finally looked up at him.

Of all the things he might've said or done, she really should have predicted what came next. Still, she enjoyed compliments as much as the next woman. Actual, genuine compliments that were comprised of words, but it was no matter. This was Oghren, him pursing his lips and letting out a low whistle should have been expected.

"Yeah, yeah, enjoy the show," Shiloh muttered, rolling her eyes at him, though mirth lit up her features. "Any requests?"

"You could turn around for me, for one."

Despite her nearly cordial tone, his was deeper, maybe even darker. The sound surprised her, spreading a very distinct warmth through her stomach. "Very well," she sighed, shooting him a long-suffering look that she was sure he didn't even notice. When she spun around, the filmy fabric lifted up just enough to show the smooth back of her thighs and the smallest hint of her smalls.

For once, she realized, Oghren didn't have any words. Swallowing back a chuckle, she wriggled her hips a little, poking her rear out as she did so. "You called it a rump roast once, you know," she said, her tone serious despite the fact that she wanted to laugh and badly.


"You called my ass a 'rump roast,' and told me it needed some juice. Or gravy. Or something like that. Maybe sauce. Yeah, sauce." Shooting him a knowing look over her shoulder, she saw him leaning heavily on the arm of the chair, virtually unable to remove his eyes from her scantily clad hindquarters. "You seemed quite willing to provide. You told me to go make myself ready for you, but you passed out before you took another step."

Oghren actually scoffed. "No, I didn't."

"Yes, you did."

"I think I'd remember somethin' like that."

"You were drunk. You passed out. Of course you don't remember."

He gave a little lecherous giggle, "It is a mighty fine rump, though." Leaning against the back of the chair again, he tilted his head forward a little, watching as she turned around to face him again. Small breasts; she had small breasts. They were much smaller than all the women he'd known in his time, but they looked like they'd fit easily in his hands.

For a moment, he actually recoiled at his own thoughts. He'd sent her the gift for no reason in particular. Women liked fancy underwear, didn't they? Leliana was always going on and on about it. So why was he actually thinking the gift might get him somewhere? The woman standing in front of him was the sodding Hero of Ferelden; he didn't have any business rooting around between her thighs. Still, she was standing there. Right in front of him. Wearing what he'd bought her. Was it an invitation, or was she humoring him? Never once to let something like this pass him by, Oghren's lips twisted in a half-smile. "So, were you serious?"

She hadn't been serious at the time. Maker's breath. At the time? I wasn't serious at the time? Am I now? Would I actually... She didn't see why not. In all of her time traveling outside of the Tower, she'd stumbled over her share of men who'd have made excellent bedfellows. She'd considered many of them. Even Alistair had been a candidate at one point, but the whole heir/virgin/templar thing was too much, even for her. Despite his being a crude, almost consistently drunk widower of a dwarf, Oghren was actually the only one that interested her. How had that even happened?

Without giving herself time enough to change her mind, her index and thumb grasped the pin holding the straps together at her throat, sliding it out and casting it aside. The garment rested on the slopes of her shoulders, and only took a subtle wiggle for them to slide all the way down.

Oghren's eyes widened almost to the size of saucers, and she felt a pleased smile melt across her lips.

All it took was a step and a flick of her ankle for the lingerie to be forgotten about completely. In fact, Oghren could hardly remember where he was, much less what she'd been wearing. The only sound he uttered was a quiet, strangled noise. Her smile widened. As the silence stretched out in front of them both, Shiloh continuously felt more and more exposed, even going so far as to wrap her arms around herself.

"That was a yes, by the way," she murmured, her brows cinching together as she shifted from one foot to the other. Where was this modesty even coming from? She'd never been modest before. Then again, no one had ever really looked at her like that before. Admirers would gaze and they'd praise and shower her with tiny, whisper-light kisses. But this was different. He was staring at her. She could feel a heat rising from the pit of her stomach, could see his eyes darkening as they continued to look her over. He didn't merely gaze. His eyes weren't full of appreciation. There was reverence there; reverence mixed with lust.

Before she was able to pick up her robe, he stood from the chair. Passing her tongue absently over her full bottom lip, she watched him as he crossed over to her. The journey was over in a few, heavy steps, and before she could think to say anything, she felt the unfamiliar, tickling sensation of his facial hair on her ribcage. His hands were rough on the curves of her hips as he pulled her forward, his mouth trailing hot, clumsy kisses along the strip of skin beneath her breast.

"What about now?" His voice was hardly more than a low-pitched grumble, but she heard each word with shocking clarity. "Still serious?"

Her breath caught in her throat when she felt his slick tongue thrumming crooked circles on her sternum, his chin pressed roughly against her. Hands roaming up to rest on his shoulders, she nodded, willing to go along with this for some reason that was still completely unknown to her. Why was she doing this? Or, better yet, why shouldn't she be doing this? Why did she need a reason? There was no one else in Thedas who was so willing to treat her like an actual person and not some kind of deity.

"Mm, yes," she replied, fingers digging so harshly into the fabric of his shirt that she felt his muscles twitch beneath. "Yes. I'm serious."

Breaking away from his grasp, Shiloh managed a small smile in his direction before turning her attention to the bed. It was roughly the same size as her own, but the blankets were mussed, as if he'd either folded the sheets himself or barked at one of the poor elven servants into rushing. Her fingers slipped down to curl around the back of his arm, tugging him with her as she made her way over.

When she reached the bed, she sat down on the very edge of the mattress, legs split to accommodate him as he moved forward. Her hands were working at the buttons of his shirt when he surprised her with a kiss. Eyes widening for a moment, they soon fell closed as she felt his lips working against hers, the brush of his beard on her cheeks and chin. She suppressed another smug grin when she heard him give a startled grunt at the feeling of her tongue sliding forcefully into his mouth as she arched forward, hands curling into fists around his shirt.

The moment she pulled away to continue her work with his buttons, he opened his eyes, peering at her curiously. "Didn't really expect that one."

"Well, we're even, then," she chuckled in response, finally freeing the last button of its clasp.

"You could'a just tugged it over my head, you know."

Shiloh's pale fingers splayed beneath the now free-flowing white fabric, nails dragging lightly over the thicket of red hair on his chest and spreading from there. She'd seen him without his shirt before. Actually, she'd seen him in his smallclothes before, but it just seemed different now. This wasn't unheard of, considering she was more admiring him now than shaking with laughter as he paraded around camp, "looking for his clothes."

She glanced up at him, giving him a simple twist of her lips as she tugged the garment off and tossed it aside, "What's the fun in that, hm?"

Oghren mustered a huff of laughter. "There's a lot of fun in that."

"If that's the case..." Pulling her hands away from him, she crossed them in her lap. The look he gave her was nothing short of crestfallen, thick red brows gathering above his nose. "Don't give me that face. Continue. Off with your pants."

"Now you're just teasin' me." Despite that tiny acknowledgment, she didn't move a muscle, watching as he fiddled with the laces. He was clearly having a hard time focusing. Then again, no matter how much he concentrated on the damn laces, he could still see her sitting there. Not only was she sitting there, but now she was leaning back on her hands, breasts puffed out all brazen and the like.

After what felt like forever, the laces were finally half-finished, which was enough to get the trousers down and away. He was just about to do just that when saw her reach forward. He suspected she was going to help him, for which he was thankful. If only she'd thought to do that an age ago. His stomach lurched forward when she didn't go for the waist of his trousers, her long palm finding the swell of him even through the thick pants. Swallowing back the gasp that threatened him, he looked up at her to see a slender brow arched.

She lingered for only a moment before switching her attention to removing the trousers as he originally thought she would. They were pulled down around his thighs in no time, leaving him standing there in all his glory. All his stocky, muscular, hairy glory.

Chewing on her bottom lip, Shiloh slid forward to the very edge of the bed, her hands sliding over his back until she reached his hips. In a single, swift movement, she pulled him forward, taking his lack of awareness to her advantage. He stumbled a little before bracing himself on the mattress, his palms digging in just beside her thighs. After regaining his slightly stuttered composure, he realized something rather quickly. He was pressed right between her thighs. And she was moving her hips. And it felt great.

Soon, she felt him moving with her, each exhale leaving him as a quiet huff as he gripped and grabbed onto her hips, rough palms kneading the flesh as he tried to pull her even closer.

They were both hesitant despite their character, each of them entering unsure waters in more ways than just the difference of race. She was sure this was what she wanted, but what would come of it? Despite his inclination towards seeming to be a simple man, she knew that was hardly the case. He still wasn't over Branka, over the betrayal and the sadness that came with striking that final blow that cleaved her head from her shoulders. And she was something higher in his esteem. She was a hero, something to aspire to, when he was just some drunk of a dwarf with no House to his name. Only sheer luck brought him to where he was. General of the king's forces, living in Denerim, and now he was resting between the thighs of the woman who's skirt he'd been chasing for months now without actually realizing it.

She could hardly hear him when he grumbled a question, something about her being sure, but she still felt a small piece of her uncertainty slip away. Planting a kiss on the rounded end of his nose, she felt a warm smile part her lips. "'Course I'm sure," she murmured, shuffling backwards until she was rested, half-lying, on a pile of three pillows. "I wouldn't be here if I wasn't sure." Her smile softened, and she dragged a hand along the rumpled coverlet, an unspoken invitation for him to come closer.

Climbing up onto the bed, he made his way over to her, each move almost sluggish as he took all of her in. Her skin was flushed, but he wasn't in the state of mind to let arrogance dictate that the reddened flesh was his fault. The room was rather stuffy due to the fire. The blush could be blamed on that.

The effort to remove their smallclothes was nothing short of a small-scaled skirmish. He could remove underwear from dwarven women like a professional, but Shiloh was all legs and he had to move around far too much for her to get them off. Eventually, after much cursing and mumbling, she swatted him away and curled her legs up, wriggling her hips and sliding the tan fabric over her thighs until they reached the center of her calves. She then shot him a look before wiggling her toes at him. They were cast aside a heartbeat later.

In all of her years, she never imagined she would be with a dwarf. And when she met Oghren, she hardly imagined he would be her first. But as his fingers dug into the curve of her waist and he pushed into her, his mouth moving clumsily at her throat, she didn't have the presence of mind to stray on these thoughts. Instead, she grasped at his shoulder, her teeth nipping at the shell of his ear as she wrapped her legs around him, her heels digging into the mattress between his bent knees.

No matter how strong he was, his unshakeable constitution, it was a long time since he'd been with a woman. As her quiet mewls and moans of pleasure ran higher, he began to feel that unmistakeable tension in the pit of his stomach. With each stroke, his hips ground against hers, the friction sending shivers up into her core. He could feel her skin sliding beneath his hands; the heat of the room was making her sweat. Not only that, but she was hardly looking at him now. Her head was lolled back onto the mountain of pillows, her lips parted with every gasp of breath.

When his orgasm took him, he released into her with a stuttered shout, his back arching in a last, vain attempt to plunge as far into her as he possibly could. Those few shots of warmth and the continued, dull grinding of his hips into her was all she required to be pulled over the edge herself. Her heels jerked backwards, tugging his thighs even closer to hers, as her hands grasped blindly at his muscular shoulders.

He lingered there for a long while, his mouth still crafting lopsided circles on her collarbone. Fingers smoothing over her waist, laving the skin there with attention in hopes of keeping the flesh from bruising, though he knew it would.

"S'hot," Shiloh murmured after a long while, finally opening her eyes to look at him down her nose. Glancing up at her, he uttered a quiet chuckle that ended in a heavy sigh as he rolled off of her and onto his back at her side. She replied to his sigh with one of her own, turning over onto her side and slinging a limp arm over his chest. When she curled into him almost effortlessly, a little warning light should've ticked off. But it didn't. It was already too late for warnings. "I have a question."


Resting her chin on his shoulder, she glanced up at him, brows knitted. "Why'd that take s'damn long to happen?"

He shrugged, "You just weren't ready for ol Oghren yet, is all."

Pinching him on his stomach, she laughed and nuzzled her nose into the underside of her beard. "You know what I mean," she half-whispered, "You shoulda told me sooner that you were interested. Maybe it would've happened before now." As she spoke, her hand drifted up until her palm was resting on his chest, fingers twining around one of the braids dangling from his chin.

"If I would've told you sooner, I wouldn't have gotten that little show, yanno." His brows cinched as he looked down at her. "Sod, woman, you talk too much. Be quiet. Sleep or somethin'."

Shiloh rolled her eyes, but acquiesced. Despite the heat of the room, she knew the fire would die eventually and grabbed for the sheets pooled around her legs to pull over them both. He didn't even so much as protest the idea of her staying, and she knew when they woke, nothing would be awkward between them. While she didn't know what this was exactly, she knew him well enough to be assured of this. Leaning her head on the pillow just beside his, she wrapped her arm around the thick width of his chest and shut her eyes.

Just before she drifted off, she swore she could feel Oghren's hand stroking her shoulder.