This, this is the reason I've been so distracted.
Can I just put the disclaimer on my profile? Property of Bioware. I may need to get that tattooed to my forehead, at this rate.
A warning - this story really is smut wrapped in a thin, thin layer of plot. It is, after all, a product of the Kink_Meme.
She is hungry. The Joining has only been finished an hour, the War Council met, plans laid, but the growl in her stomach is insisting that she pay attention. She is beginning to feel the slightest tug, a tingle in her flesh, an awareness of the tainted blood massed down the valley, calling to her. The new buzzing in her ears is starting to resolve itself into a very faint melody, trilling in her head.
An incredibly appetizing smell strikes her, pulling her head around with the need to locate the source. Alistair is approaching, bearing a steaming bowl of stew and bread. Her nostrils flare as she catches the subtle tang of his scent, his taint, beneath the smell of the food.
She barely manages not to snatch the bowl from him, her hands shaking. She is so hungry! She mumbles thanks through a mouthful of bread, appalled at her manners, but unable to stop. He watches, both amused and astonished at the sight of her choking down the chunks of meat in the stew. There are other things flashing across his face as well, as if he has no practice at hiding himself.
Finished, setting down the bowl, she stretches, her body not quite content, but no longer screaming at her. She licks her lips, chasing the last vestiges of broth, and the ex-Templar blushes.
Her eyes narrow at the change in his scent, the song in his blood that rises closer to the surface. His blush fades under her stare, his eyes darken. She lifts her hand to brush against his face, the pad of her thumb grazes over his lower lip. His breath is hot, his eyes a morass of confusion, a pulling want. She knows he can hear her song, because she can hear his.
There is a voice in her that is calling frantically, trying to get her attention, but she can't make out the words over the smell of him, the sound of him. Mate
She is so hungry…
She is about to step closer, to claim him, when the music soars louder, the thrum of stronger blood pulls her in a different direction. He is singing to her, calling, cajoling, his music caressing. He beckons her north, though he is far distant, she is his. His song is beautiful and mesmerizing.
The tiny voice screams louder, but can't break her trance. Reason slips away, submerged beneath a desperately powerful instinct. Come to us, come. We will ease your hunger, we will fill you. The part of her that is the screaming little voice knows that we is the horde, beyond the tree line, the symphony of corruption undeniable. But she is so hungry.
She turns, but before she can move toward the beguiling hive voice, Alistair catches her in an iron grip. "Duncan said not to let you go anywhere." His breath is hot on her skin, the cage of his arms tight. Maker, he smells so good…A throaty groan as her hips sway against his, she snarls in reply.
"He is calling to me, Alistair." This close, the Templar's song rises again, a staccato beat of pulse, nearly drowning out the distant call. "Please, I have to answer…"
His growl rumbles through her, skin shivering, a piercing heat lancing deep in her belly, the harsh yearning intensifies. "No." He pulls her bodily to him, the instinct of possession, an urge of submission swirling through her. His mouth grazes against the back of her neck, and she pushes her ass against him, feeling the swell of his arousal in response. Keeping one arm locked around her torso, his other begins to drift.
Between the hard heat of his cock pressed against her, and the light, slow sweep of his hand, she succumbs to the sensation, to the sound of him, the smell of him. His touch is not adept, but he too has surrendered to instinct, grinding against her, teeth nipping at her shoulder. The haze of touch and need nearly drowns the oh so distant call.
She feels them before she sees them, hears them before she feels them. Her blood is calling to them, her hunger and need a beacon they cannot ignore so close, even if they would choose to try. The other Wardens come, called to heel by the aria of her taint. She can taste their hunger on the air, mingling with the taste of the Warden behind her. Duncan is first into the encampment, followed quickly by Ranulf and Valan.
There are several faces that are completely unfamiliar, Wardens she has not yet met. The voice inside protests meeting them in this fashion, but she ignores it, the longing that throbs through her welcomes them, responding to their corrupted blood, to their compelling music. The virulent desire that courses through her is reflected in their heavy stares, drawn to her.
Duncan's hand on her shoulder, drawing down her sternum to the valley between her breasts. "This will keep the call of the Archdemon at bay, my dear." His touch is solid, heavier than Alistair's, more knowledgeable. The need in his eyes is no less overwhelming than the others, but he is managing to keep his wits better. His hand comes to rest briefly on Alistair's forearm, still wrapped tightly around her ribcage. "Would you prefer to be held, or bound?"
His question shocks her out of her haze. "What?"
He chuckles, fingers tracing the inner slope of her left breast, stoking the hunger. "You will try to respond to the call of the Archdemon, or you will try to reach the horde. The instinct is strong, and until you are bound completely to the Wardens, you won't be able to resist it." Alistair's warm hand brushes her lower belly, edging his fingertips into the waistband of her borrowed trousers, sitting low on her hips. She rocks back against him again, he is surprisingly harder than before.
"What do you mean, completely bound? I thought the Joining did that?" Her voice is breathy, even she can hear the lust in it, as the Templar slowly, torturously slowly glides his fingers across her hip, pushing the trousers down incrementally.
The surrounding Wardens are all removing armor, and the resurging flare of the song threatens to pull her back under. She struggles to keep control, to stay coherent, to hear Duncan's answer.
"Female recruits are rare. Very rare." Her eyes flick to Ranulf as he steps in front of her, to the Warden Commander's right. Duncan strokes a gentle hand over the tall blonde warrior's hair, then pushes down on his shoulder, guiding him to kneel before her. He stares up at her, entranced, captured by her euphony, by the scent of her through the thin fabric.
"One of the reasons for this is that the call of the Old Gods is very strong for a woman, once the Joining has been undertaken. In order to dim it, to allow her to deny it, she must be claimed by a 'horde'. We are your horde, and now we must make you ours." An edge of a growl, Duncan's hunger is beginning to show through, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, to taste her on the air. His eyes narrow, and he nudges Ranulf's head forward, so that his chin brushes her, the shock of contact making her gasp, making her arch forward, seeking more pressure. "We will make sure that it is not an unpleasant experience for you, as best we can. But it must be done."
She whimpers, caught between the heat of breath on now wet fabric at Ranulf's attention, the sharp, shifting jolts of pain and pleasure as Alistair works the soft skin of her neck and shoulders with his lips and teeth, the expert movements of Duncan's hand on her breast, and the palpable need consuming the air around them. Avid watchers, the Wardens have circled around them, awaiting a signal. She feels the wanton, glorying under their eyes, knowing they were yearning for her, caught in the spell of her blood.
She squirms in Alistair's arms, tilting her head to catch his attention. "What say you, Alistair?" Her tongue darts out to taste the corner of his mouth. "Do you want to hold me while they fuck me, or would you like to see me tied up and helpless?" The animal in her is speaking, crying out to him, and he responds to it, clenching her body tightly back into him as his fingers finish their journey across her flesh, sliding against her wetness.
"I will hold you." His blush is barely noticeable, as his inner gentleman tries one last time to surface, and falls to the Warden instinct, driven by the song of shared taint, their blood singing in harmony.
She smiles at him, twists just enough to catch his mouth, and kisses him. "Hold tight, then. I hear the call Duncan speaks of, and I will answer if I can." She can feel the last vestiges of herself slipping into the haunting refrain. "Keep me safe, Alistair."
Before he can respond, she goes under, the sting of her tunic being torn from her body, the soft slide of her trousers being pulled down and away barely register, the melody swirling through her head, inside her ears, draws her down, and she needs to answer. She struggles against the hold on her, but Alistair is strong, and his instinct demands he own her. All she knows in this moment is the beautiful voice that sings to her, promises of repletion and contentment, if only she will answer!
"Please, please, let me go…" She will beg if it will free her, the need to respond, to follow him north is so strong, she will deny him nothing.
Her thighs are pulled apart, one held by Duncan, one by an un-named Warden. Ranulf slides his tongue firmly against her clit, trying to drown out the far away music with the pleasure snaking up from between her legs. She feels it, hips bucking forward, rocking between the Templar's cock and the Warden's tongue, and Maker, there are hands on her, touching everywhere, hot and needy, as hungry as she.
Her body spasms, coming in jerks of liquid music, Alistair's song loudest against her flesh as he keeps her upright, keeps her from running. He is louder, for a moment, than even the Archdemon, and her plea is not for freedom, not now. "Please Alistair. I'm so hungry…"
He looks uncertainly at her, but Valan steps forward, rests his hand on Alistair's shoulder, dissolving the modesty of humanity. Closer than a brotherhood, are the Wardens, linked in ways normal humans can never be. The dark eyed rogue strips the Templar bare, then grabs her hips to tilt them. Kneeling, Valan grabs the base of Alistair's swollen cock, guiding the younger Warden until his head pushes just into her entrance. With a quick stroke down Alistair's inner thigh, and a wet kiss branding the under curve of her ass, he stands, murmuring instructions on how to proceed.
The Warden moves slowly, stretching her, filling her. The jagged edges of the yearning begin to smooth, become less biting the further into her he pushes. Lips and teeth toy with her nipples, hands caress her heated skin. A tongue lapping at the fluid dripping from her slit, fingers exploring the silky motion of Alistair within her. She comes again, tiny shivers and clenching cunt, and it drives the Templar into hard movements, hips snapping ferociously, the wet slap of skin on skin twining with the symphony of their blood, their want. The feral need in Alistair matches the craving in her, and his cock, hot and heavy and filling her so completely, helps to block out the calling voices, replacing them with the singing blood and lust of the Wardens surrounding her, touching her, taking her.
Slickened fingers slide between her cheeks, hooking into the puckered ring of muscle even as Alistair pounds into her, the sensation of dual penetration pushes her over the edge again, dragging him with her, gasping breath and crescendo.
Reprieve is brief, the hunger rising rapidly again, only to be met by Duncan, his tongue teasing in her mouth, his flesh ramming into her body, all pretense of gentleness gone. The rhapsody of tainted blood submerges even his civilized façade, lost in the mist of an urge that is barely human. After Duncan, Valan plunges into her, his nimble hands reaching behind her to stroke Alistair back to readiness.
One by one, the Wardens come into her, though their hands and mouths never leave her skin, Alistair never lets up his grasp around her torso. At some point, guided by Tamhas's urging, slickened by her come, Ranulf's saliva and the other Wardens' seed, the former Templar eases his cock into her too tight ass, his slow thrusting a counterpoint to Tamhas's movements. Neither man is small, and she is finally full, the Wardens can feel each other through the thin flesh separating them, but modesty is lost to them, there is no wrong in doing what needs to be done, and even the bashful Alistair, chantry raised, feels no shame or hesitation. They are Wardens, and it would be shameful to let their Sister suffer, to not feed her hunger.
Sometime after Tamhas spends himself, while Alistair is still slowly, slowly fucking her slick ass, Errol, his name whispered in her ear just as he slides into her cunt, is thrust in to the hilt, King Cailan's cheerful voice is hollering for Duncan.
As one, the Wardens turn, snarling lips and threatening eyes, move protectively around her, blocking the King's access to her. Even Alistair growls, the same innocent chantry boy who had lead her into the Wilds, his teeth locked into her bent neck, nearly drawing blood, challenges Cailen with the fierce burn in his eyes. Outsider. Intruder. Not kin. Not Warden.
Yet she stretches against their hands, drawing his eyes to her, his mouth agape, his face confused, horrified, longing. His silence heralds the resurgence of the distant music, no longer hidden beneath the Wardens' own. She is desperate, and he may be her way out. Her seductive movement is her own undoing, the sway of her hips brings a groan from Alistair, a hot rumble against her throat, and he impales her deeper, shoving her harder onto Errol. The waves of pleasure bear her under, away from the voice, away from the King, back into the surging opus of the Wardens synchronized thrusts.
The King is allowed to watch, at a cautious nod from Duncan, a hoarse admonition to not interfere, no matter what. Do not come close. Do not touch.
Her body is wet, sweat and come, both hers and theirs, glistening in the firelight of the Wardens' camp. Nothing in her eyes is human as her body begins to quake, spiraling, dissolving in the movement, the need, the cresting hunger. Her mewling grows louder, the pulsing throb of heated flesh as pinpricks of light spark across her vision.
The savage rip of skin and meat as Duncan bites into her breast, tears out a chunk of flesh, bleeding freely. She is coming, hard, as each Warden steps forward, bending around Errol to brush lips to wound, to lap at her singing blood, dripping down her writhing body. They all cluster around her, hands grip her jaw, each kisses her, laced with her own taint and his, a final claim. Each kiss is a brand, until only Alistair remains. A last cruel thrust, deep inside her, and his teeth sink into her shoulder, muffling his roar of release.
Twisting, she licks her blood from his mouth, bites his lip until she can taste his song, mingled with her own. She can taste them all, and they are all hers. A satisfied smirk curls her lips as she collapses against the ex-Templar's chest, the gentle grasp of the Wardens' hands bearing them to the ground.
The aching melody still cajoles, but she finds she can ignore it, the music of her own horde thrilling through her. They are the louder now, theirs the blood that calls to her. She is entwined in Alistair's embrace, his hands stroking, no longer imprisoning. A cloak is draped over them, damp cloth run lightly over skin, cleaning, bodies cuddle up to them. Ranulf runs his fingers through Alistair's short hair, even as the Templar reaches to pull one of the others close. "Danial," whispers the slender black haired elf, eyes tired and content as he curls close, arm draped over her back.
Duncan stands over them, in a tangle of bodies. The Warden Commander smiles, his voice deep and rough with affection. "Welcome, Sister." He shrugs into his robes and armor, with a tired sigh, turns to lead the awestruck King away.
"Duncan, are you certain you can't make me an honorary Warden?" The responding chuckle drained of energy and humor, Duncan ushers Cailen away from the Wardens, away from her, replete and enfolded in the warmth of her Brothers.