Up the Kilt


The coronation of Prince Sebastian Vael was a very formal occasion, Celeste decided, staring at the ceremonial robes laid out for her. Creamy yellow robes of Orlesian silk would accentuate her hips and bust, clasped with closures of silver. A strip of embroidery ran about the hems and sleeves of the dress, breaking up the solid yellow of the dress with a dash of charcoal and silver. She blushed at the thought of her bust so exposed, taking in the sash that would accentuate the cut of the dress, a tartan patterned for the royal house – black and charcoal with a bold stripe of yellow. The sash would loop about her waist and rest on her hips, a drape of the cloth dangling off to one side and knotted in a cunning twist that would keep it in place.

She and her companions were the guests of honor at the coronation feast. Their presence had turned the tide of battle, and everyone had demanded their heroes be present for the Prince's triumph. She would have been there regardless; it was bad form to be absent when your betrothed was being awarded his kingdom, after all. She smiled at the thought. A lot of time and work had gotten them to this point, and she was happy to be there for him.

She pulled her robes over her head to change, realizing that she would have to forgo her breast-band in order to wear the low-cut robes. She sighed, undoing the hooks that held it in place, releasing her creamy breasts to the open air as she slid the dress over her head. It sat just so, and she was surprised she didn't feel like she was going to fall out of it when she moved. She tied the sash, looping it as she had been shown, and tilted her hips, looking at herself in the burnished copper of the mirror.

A whistle from the doorway had her turning, smiling at Isabela. The pirate wore a sash similar to hers, but the rest of her attire remained the same. She eyed Celeste with appreciation, raking her gaze up and down the mage's curves. Celeste grinned at her friend, twirling in place. Isabela laughed, handing her the slippers she was to wear.

"Come on, Kitten, you're going to miss the best part," Isabela's voice was rife with the promise of mischief, and Celeste couldn't deny her when she heard it. They linked arms and sauntered down the hallways of Arrow's Rest, toward the main hall where the sounds of celebration echoed through the liberated fortress. Music and laughter drifted to them down the hall, and the stamping of booted feet preceded them. The double doors were thrown wide, the throngs of people parting so that they could enter to cheers and raised glasses.

She stopped in the doorway, not quite believing her eyes. Sebastian and several local men stood in the center of the hall, clad in ceremonial leather jerkins, as well as what looked to be a skirting of cloth, patterned for the royal house of Starkhaven in charcoal, black, and that bold stripe of yellow. Thick woolen socks rose to their calves, leaving only the barest hint of their bare knees, and soft leather ankle boots tapped in time with the lone drummer that began pounding out an infectious rhythm. She was bewitched by the sight of that small strip of bare skin between the patterned cloth and his socks, unable to stop staring.

"Merciful Andraste, what is he wearing?" she said, her voice no more than a whisper.

"That, Kitten, is the traditional garb of a Starkhaven man – the kilt." Isabela gave a throaty laugh. "Want to know the best part?"

Celeste nodded, unable to tear her eyes away from Sebastian. "Ask him what's worn under it, and he's likely to reply 'Nothing! Everything's in good working order!'"

"Wait," she said, eyes widening. "You mean…"

"That's right, Kitten. Your Starkhaven prince is absolutely starkers under his kilt."

Celeste pressed her palm to her mouth, unable to stop the flush that rose to her cheeks as the thought of running her hand up his bare leg and encountering no resistance flooded her. She saw Isabela's smirk as the pirate rejoined their friends, all wearing variations of the Starkhaven sash around waists and arms. Her eyes were drawn back to Sebastian soon enough, however.

The infectious drumbeat was provided melody by a set of pipes and a tin whistle, and as one, the men in the center of the room burst into a lively jig, heels kicking as they spun across the floor. Sebastian proved light on his feet, keeping pace without breaking a sweat as they leapt and pivoted through the steps. Clapping kept the beat with the drums, the stamping of feet providing counterpoint for the dancers. The kilts lifted in a tantalizing display of male flesh, exposing hints of muscular thighs as feet flashed through the ever-quickening beat; the rhythm built to a fast crescendo. The dancers whipped themselves to frenzy, whirling through the steps faster and faster, until the drum came to an abrupt stop, the dancers standing in their starting positions with their arms raised above their heads, breathing hard.

Heat pooled into her belly at the smile he flashed her, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he saw the sash she wore. She itched to touch his knees, and she had no idea why; perhaps it was the bare skin there, hinting at other things, but it was a wish that bordered on need as he walked up to her, kissing the inside of her wrist. His lips lingered, pressing against the pounding of her pulse.

"My lady," he said, his eyes glinting at her from under his lashes as he raised his head. "You have no idea how proud I am to see you wearing my colors."

"Your highness," she said, smiling at him. "It's an honor. I wouldn't have missed that for the world."

His grin was infectious as they turned as one, his hand in hers as he addressed the crowd. "People of Arrow's Rest, of Starkhaven, this is a joyous day. Today, you accept me as your Prince and ruler. I pledge to serve you as my parents before me, and I ask that the Maker guide me to rule wisely and well."

Cheers and raised glasses greeted this announcement as he made his way up to the dais where the high table stood. The Revered Mother for Starkhaven's chantry waited there, the coronet in her hands. She placed it upon his head when he knelt before her, her hands hovering over his brow as she blessed the newly-anointed Prince. He lifted his head as she ended the blessing and rose, turning to face the crowd, who sank to one knee.

"Thank you all for your support, to all of you who fought to defend your homes from the usurper. Today is your day as well as mine, so eat, drink and be merry! Forget your troubles, if only for a little while!" Another round of cheering, and the crowd split into smaller groups, talking and laughing as they spread out in the main hall. He handed off the coronet to his seneschal, who placed it in a case – it appeared to only be for special functions. As he stepped off the dais, her companions gathered around him, all except for Isabela, who dropped back to talk to her.

"So, are you going to exploit your newfound knowledge of the kilt?"

"Isabela, would I do that?" Celeste's face was the picture of innocence. Isabela, who knew better, snorted laughter.

"Silly of me to ask, my apologies."


Sebastian endured the backslapping and congratulations from his subjects and his companions, turning at last to his betrothed, who stood apart with Isabela, speaking in quiet tones. She smiled up at him as he approached, her fingers seeking his. He led her up the dais to the high table, where they would eat, pulling her chair out for her. Once they were seated, she beckoned him closer.

He leaned close to hear her over the revelry now in full swing. Her breath was warm on his ear, but her words were what sent fire racing through his blood.

"So, is it true what I hear, Sebastian?" Her voice was a low purr, rife with promise. "Do Starkhaven men go bare under their kilts?"

"I – well, yes, it – it's tradition." He swallowed around his too dry tongue, reaching for a goblet of wine to wet his lips again. "We do not wear smallclothes under the kilt."

"Indeed?" He jumped as he felt the pads of her fingers trace the line of his bare knee under the tablecloth. Her nails were blunt, but long enough to raise gooseflesh along his thigh. He could feel himself stir at her touch, and took another sip of wine to distract himself as the food was served. Her hand remained on his knee, her thumb drawing circles on the bare flesh as she ate and drank with the other hand.

Soon, the food began to dwindle while the wine kept flowing. He sipped at his, conscious of her fingers playing with the hair that grew on his thighs, sliding up the inside of his leg. How he managed to keep a conversation going with Varric, he would never know. He relaxed, leaning back in his seat and pushing his legs farther under the tablecloth. This only encouraged her wicked fingers as they slid under the fabric of his kilt and brushed feather-light against his thickening shaft. He hissed in a breath as her nails teased him to a hardness he had not felt in a long while, all as he tried to pay attention to what Varric was saying.

The clatter of cutlery to the floor distracted him, but only because it came from Celeste's side of the table. He glanced over to see her wicked smile as she removed her hand from his lap, only to slide under the table with a murmured apology for dropping her fork. She disappeared under the table, the cloth swinging back into place with a finality that worried him.

He flinched as he felt both of her warm palms on his bare knees, pushing them apart. He shifted his feet to accommodate her, glancing to his companions that sat on either side of him. Isabela and Varric had both noticed her trip under the table, and Isabela wore a knowing smirk that Varric soon echoed. Sebastian stifled the yelp that welled up as he felt her breath ghost across the inside of his knee. He fisted his left hand in the tablecloth, fighting to keep a straight face as her lips pressed against the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh.

She kissed a line up his leg, folding back the kilt to give her better access. He bit the inside of his cheek, letting Varric talk him in circles as he concentrated on her soft hands. She massaged his thighs, fingers brushing the edges of his erection, but never coming close enough to take him in hand. He fought the urge to fidget as she traced circles with her nails up the top of his legs, tracing the muscles that bunched there as he strained to keep his composure. More than once he felt the soft pads of her fingers stroke the lines of his hipbones, angling outward to avoid giving him the satisfaction he craved.

The tease.

Instead of flipping the table and revealing her in flagrante delicto as he was tempted to do, he nudged her back with his knee before adjusting himself in his chair, pulling the wooden seat forward and arranging the tablecloth over his waist, resting his back against the chair back at an exaggerated angle. Isabela's smirk widened behind her glass, and Varric coughed to hide the chuckle that bubbled up. Sebastian let a small smirk of his own play across his lips for a brief moment before he spread his knees again.

It was another moment before her fingers curved around his calf, squeezing as she kissed the inside of his knee again. He felt her lips curl into a smile before she nipped him on the sensitive spot right next to his kneecap, and he almost shot out of his skin right there. He held onto his bland expression, years of practice at the Chantry listening to people who bored him making him a master of feigning interest when his thoughts were elsewhere. And they were certainly elsewhere as her lips and tongue traced the defined muscle of his leg.

"You know, you have a long hard job ahead of you, your highness," said Varric, his smug expression revealing how proud he was of that double entendre.

"Oh, I'm sure I'll rise to the task somehow," he said, matching Varric smirk for smirk. Isabela choked on laughter as she snorted into her drink, coughing as Fenris smacked her on the back.

Celeste seemed to appreciate that the conversation was about her, for he felt the flicker of her tongue as she lapped at the tip of his member. Her palms slid up his legs, resting flat before one took him in hand, stroking upward once. Her hot, inviting mouth closed around the tip just then, and he lost the ability for rational thought for a few moments. He could see her in his mind's eye, gazing up at him through her lashes, her green eyes dark with lust.

The world narrowed to a pinpoint as the broad flat of her tongue swiped up the length of him, sending a bolt of white hot pleasure through him. He could feel his nostrils flare as her mouth slid down, enveloping him in her warmth. She hummed in obvious pleasure, the vibration of it adding to the sensation as she took him to the hilt, pausing to adjust to him. Her tongue flexed against the underside of him again, and he bit back the groan of appreciation that rumbled up in his chest as his hips bucked.

She held him steady, sliding off of him and then back down, lips and tongue working in tandem to set a languid rhythm that left his toes curling as her gentle hands aided her. Fingertips stroked and caressed, each touch sparking against nerve endings rubbed to the breaking point. He felt the slightest suction as she slid upward again with another hum of pleasure before swirling her tongue around the oversensitive tip and flicking it against the underside of the head. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his head, his hips giving an unconscious twitch as her hands warmed with the smallest spell, sending more heat to join the friction on his shaft.

Isabela and Varric, to their infinite credit, kept up the conversation around him. They would ask questions that required monosyllabic answers, amused at how he gritted his teeth through them. He could feel the muscles in his neck flex with the effort of keeping himself seated, as much as he wanted to thrust into her hot mouth. He let her have her way, his mental image of her adding to the arousal as her hand tightened around him. She kissed the tip before stroking him again, sliding him past her lips once more before applying a spectacular amount of suction that had him breathing deep through his nose and mouth, concentration broken for good. His companions above the table noticed, and kept the banter going, appearing interested in what he had to say. He knew he could keep up the bland expression, but his hand clenched in the tablecloth like a vice, the knuckles going white.

He risked slipping his other hand under the table to cup her face, stroking her cheek as she laved him with her tongue. She arched into his hand before continuing her ministrations, and he laced his fingers through her hair, encouraging her with a gentle tug on her reddish locks. She picked up the pace then, winding the thread of need that laced through him tighter still, until with a shudder, he felt it snap, sending his hips jerking as he spent himself in her mouth. She lapped it up, cleaning him with her tongue until he hissed in mingled pleasure and pain at the oversensitive twitch of his spent flesh. She tugged his kilt back down, giving his calf a final squeeze before crawling out from under the tablecloth, fork in hand.

As she seated herself again, she gave him a deliberate look, licking her lips with slow pleasure, a smirk on her face. "Found it."

Isabela and Varric roared with laughter.


Celeste tried to be good after the incident under the tablecloth. It was so hard to keep from running her hands up Sebastian's kilt when they were alone and he was unaware. Her robes were complicated enough to dissuade him from returning the favor, allowing her the freedom to drive him to distraction. He was unhappy when he discovered the complexity of the ties that held the robe in place, not allowing for a secluded tryst.

It was the kilt. Something about it made it irresistible. Perhaps it was the way it accentuated his slender hips. Perhaps it was just the thought that he wasn't wearing smalls beneath it, and she could reach beneath it at any time for her fill of his bronzed flesh. She took advantage of the situation far too often, pushing him against the wall to kiss him, all the while sliding eager hands under the cloth to grab a handful of his toned backside, pressing herself against him to feel his arousal as he groaned into her mouth. She knew it was bothering him, but she couldn't help herself.

The afternoon passed by in a haze of arousal and hasty groping kisses in abandoned corridors and archways, Sebastian trying his best to avoid them and failing in the face of Celeste's insatiable libido and infuriating tenacity. She suspected he wasn't trying too hard, for he could overpower her and hold her down should he want to do so. He seemed to enjoy the thought of her prowling behind them as they walked the corridors and grounds of Arrow's Rest, bewitched by his backside in his traditional garb.

Toward evening, the revelers spilled from the castle onto the island, scattering into the fields with blankets and wine. The reinstated First Enchanter of the Circle had something to show them, in celebration of the retaking of Starkhaven, but he had mentioned that waiting until dark would be best. Early stars began spilling across the sky as the light faded, tipped there by the Maker's hand as the sun descended in the west. The castle began to empty, even their companions heading to the fields as the sky began to darken.

Sebastian rolled a blanket under his arm as they headed to the river, looking to find a good spot to watch the sky, for they had been instructed to look up as the sun set at last. Celeste had kept her hands to herself for almost a half-hour, a record for today she was sure. She followed him into a secluded copse of birch, wondering what he was up to when he whirled on her, smirking. He pressed her against the bark of one of the trees, capturing her lips in a bruising kiss. The blanket dropped from his hands, forgotten in the grass as his fingers gripped her hips in possession.

"You have teased me, taunted me all day, sweetling, but now we are well and truly alone. What shall I do with you?" He said, breathing the words into her ear in a low growl. She shivered, her skin prickling from the heat of his breath and in his voice.

A slow smile spread, wicked on her lips. "Would you like to find out what mages wear under their robes?"

He ground his hips into hers, causing her to gasp as she felt the firmness of his arousal against her stomach, all delicious friction.

"It had better be exactly as much as I wear beneath my kilt, sweetling, or it shall be completely unfair." Deft fingers undid the clasps of her robes, rucking the yellow fabric up over her hips as he turned her to face the tree, baring her backside to him in the gloaming. Strong hands swept across the bared flesh before a sharp slap rang through the copse, a calloused hand smacking hard against her rump. She jumped, more surprised than hurt, and glared over her shoulder at him.

"That's for being a heartless tease. And this – " he said, sliding his hand past her rump and brushing the damp curls of her sex, making her whimper and buck against his fingers – "is what I've been waiting to do all day."

A booted foot nudged at her slippers, encouraging her to spread her legs wider and arch her hips as his fingers explored her folds. She bit her lip and complied, holding the tree and doing as he asked. One of his hands rested on her shoulder, holding her in place for him as a finger teased around her waiting entrance, withdrawing when she bucked backwards. He made a tsking noise at her impatience, but she felt the rush of air as a drape of fabric was lifted behind her, and her suspicions were correct as he positioned himself behind her, entering her with a single, smooth thrust, hilting himself within her. He growled in her ear, tugging her back to meet his chest as his hands slid between the folds of her robes, cupping her breasts before he began thrusting in earnest. She leaned forward again, her hands braced against the tree as he set a brutal rhythm, pounding into her with frantic abandon. His hands covered hers as he picked up his pace, the friction enough to set her to gasping for air, snapping her hips back to meet him.

His guttural growl in her ear coupled with his possessive, wandering hands sent her spinning over the edge all too soon, clenching around him as his thrusts became erratic and his teeth found her shoulder, biting down as he tugged her to his chest again. She felt him spill himself inside her, his seed filling her as his hips jerked against hers, his shout muffled in the column of her throat while he rode out his release. They sagged against each other, breathing heavy in the still evening air. The sun painted the sky with the last of its rays, turning everything a dusky purple as they righted their clothing, Sebastian gathering the blanket after a moment and spreading it in the clearing. He held out his hand to her and she joined him, the couple lying on their backs and staring up at the stars.

A shout went up from the distant fields, wafting through the trees to them as a bright, reddish light exploded in the air above them. Celeste gave a delighted gasp as another light burst above, this one in a bluish green that offset the fading red.

"Lyrium bombs," Sebastian explained, tucking her close to his shoulder. A third light erupted above, bright yellow faded to ochre in the night sky. "The First Enchanter is standing on the wall with a troop of crossbowmen. Each one fires a bolt tipped with a bomb, and he ignites them with his magic."

She nodded against the crook of his shoulder, her eyes drawn to the sky even as her wandering hands were drawn to the edge of his kilt once again. He gave a chuckle at her obsession, allowing her hands to roam where they would in the privacy of the thicket.

"Sebastian?" she asked after a moment of quiet thought.

"Hmm?" His exertions had left him sleepy; it sounded as if he were drifting off in the warm evening.

"Do you wear your kilt for all the special occasions in Starkhaven?"

"If this is the reaction I get to it, I might have to start wearing it every day." He pressed a kiss to her hair as more of the colorful explosions crossed the sky, marking the coronation of a new Prince and a victory for the people of Starkhaven.


A/N: Told you I would do it eventually. The title, ironically enough, is based on the Scottish holiday of Burns Night, according to a friend of mine across the pond. In the pub that day, you'll hear the cry of 'Up the kilt!' and all the men in the pub will prove they're true Scotsmen by lifting their kilts to show what's beneath. Anyone caught wearing anything other than their skins buys the next round. I love prompts that ask for stuff I was planning to write anyway. As always, Constant Readers, I hope you enjoyed, and thank you for reading!

~Lywinis