Another Arishok/F!Hawke fill for all you Qunari lovers. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it - and thanks to the anon who posted the prompt.

Disclaimer: Do not own Dragon Age.

Isabela and Fenris swirled out of focus; eventually disappearing completely through the Fade portal, back to the real world where everything ethereal and fantastical muted into the mundane and normal…

A whisper; a quiver somewhere along her body had her mind opening for something or someone. Something tender had Hawke pausing – her fingers teasing the purple shifting mass of the portal but going no further. This 'something' was cooing against her ear, stroking her neck in a cold breezes.

As she turned she came nose to nose with the beautiful blank eyes of the Desire Demon. It could have been the same one that had tormented the rest of them this whole time…or one unfamiliar, but this one knew what she wanted before Hawke could even find the proper defense against such a demon.

The great Qunari Warlord…a beast…a man…a…desire…obtainable, yesss...

Hawke watched the demon's eyes change; swirl – just as the portal to her back did. One portal beckoned her into the real world…the other into whatever she wanted, and yes she'd guiltily wanted the Arishok since the moment his eyes locked with hers (never had anyone given her such a lengthy period of intense eye contact before, and that had been something profound and…arousing). Every other man she'd courted seemed unable to stand up against her like the Arishok had...even other Qunari seemed weary of her for one reason or another.

A series of pale pictures – all naked and warming the backs of her eyes – flooded into her like the demons breath against her face. The murmuring touch against the side of her bare arm made her moan; chills tracing her spine. The demon - this bitch knew what Hawke wanted…and yes, yes…

"Yes…"

It would be so easy to lure such a giant as him into your bed…I could give you what you want…what you've always wanted…

As if that lyrical promise wasn't enough to wet her small clothes and bring goose-flesh along her limbs – the desire demon caressed Marian's breast gently, implanting another brief picture of mountainous muscles and horns bending to her whim; sweating and exurting against her own body like the earliest of dances.

The beast…will be yours…for the small price of your little mage…so innocent and tender…for the beast…you bring me to her…

It was agreed upon before Marian could open her lips – which were wet and soft by now.

It wasn't her mind that pulled her backwards into the portal, but the demon's that'd disipated and formed inside her – it seemed to find a comfortable spot behind her eyes, under her fingers nails, and on her tongue as it guided her to it's own desire – but it was okay, because the whole time Marian could see the Arishok sneering as he felt a desire for her bronze human flesh settle in his loins. She would have him…oh how she would have him.

The Arishok woke - he watched the sea, sat at his pedestal, watched the sea again, honed his blades, parred and slept. When he woke again after the first break in these repetitions - he did so with an aggravating problem; one that kept him up to wait out the waning three hours until the sun rose. The flesh that had remained dormant and unproblematic between his legs was full and steady under his clothe now; straining from time to time when a sudden image of tanned flesh encompassed his vision.

Even on this gangrenous bit of land the sun appeared less mighty in the morning sky. The Arishok's problem did not wane until he resorted to curling his own claws into his palm as he glared out at the changeless sea. The blood that filled his palm around the flimsy punctures of his own claws seemed to lessen the flesh that hadn't seemed keen to soften since the early morning hours, but even as he appeared flaccid – his desire raged on.

His fellow Qunari didn't notice the changes in their leader.

The Arishok sat at his post as he always did that day; remembering the images he'd seen as he'd slept the night before, but only behind a cold mask as a pair of elves pleaded their case against the guards of their city. They wanted honor in the Qun, safety in the Qun…and the Arishok agreed. There case was sound and enough to insight sneers from half his men…but even as he waved them to follow his Ashaad he knew his selfish reasons for doing so. He knew this decision would bring the rough Hawke to the compound…and he desired to see the small human before him…sooner than the later.

A lesser Qunari would question such wants and sudden needs…but the Arishok had bred many warriors in his time (knew such pleasures of the flesh) and for right or wrong, he wanted to feel her tiny body curl around his massive one. Hawke was a warrior as himself – not as strong or large – but she would (if he chose) sire strong children - it was a maniacal thought, but a thought he couldn't ignore.

Hawke had his respect. She may have been a female surrounded by bas and filth, but once he left this city he could take her with him, convert her and breed with her. No one would oppose him breeding a warrior like herself - no...if anything it would be encouraged. It would take many bouts to assure he'd seeded her, but he would make sure…

The night was falling – the sun having settled past the horizon awhile ago.

The Arishok straightened back in his seat, watching the stars brighten as the darkness deepened – but his thoughts remained in the many ways he'd lock inside Hawke; fixing her with his seed over and over…until a child was all but guaranteed…and he wouldn't be convinced until her belly was ripe with life.

A breeze cooled his face, picking up the growing heat from his skin and whisking it away along with the haze clouding his head. A moment of realization hit him (he was ready for a female already; hard and vigorous), and suddenly he growled audibly, catching the attention of the Karashok beside him briefly.

Something was amiss. He had been interested in Hawke at first, gradually impressed by her efforts and views (very unlike the filth around her, but like his own)…but a week ago be would have been disgusted by the predominantly bas ideals he was having for the female. Imagining Hawke on her back and not on her knees was a useless endevor...but one he...desired. If she were mage – like her two companions – he would have assumed she were casting magic upon him in the nights.

It had been four years since the last time he'd given a female a child; the last time he had spilled his seed, and never a moment since then had he needed a release as much as he'd been needing one for the past two nights now. His pride refused him such a desire, and for another week he waited for his nights to become as peaceful as he'd grown accustom to in such a city as this. On top of the noises and the smells – now he had his own body keeping him from any amount of small comforts…and he had Hawke to blame for the way he'd been grazing his claws along his sex at night.

Tendrils cut into his stomach as he eased the bed of his thick thumb along the slope of his rigid length once his brethren were but all asleep. In his mind – he would see Hawke pay for this, but not by his blades as he would have normally craved after feeling such bas things. He wanted to see her buckle under him; cry and sing as he filled her small human body...on her back with her legs wrapped around his hips.

On his beddings – late into the night – he lay and watched the stars whilst teasing the inflamed skin on the underside of his erection.

Something curled inside him; something unnatural and shameful, but there was something else inside that only made this feeling turn him all the more feral for the human female. She was becoming a constant nuisance…day in and day out. Hour after hour he would find his thoughts turning south; a problem was turning into a crisis.

Here – alone and with his sex exposed to the night air – the Arishok stroked himself as if he'd never done so before; gripping his flesh steadily as he slid his fist up and down.

Slow and deliberately he beat down on himself, seeing Hawke before him without having to shut his eyes. Whatever was happening to him was not at his control. He would either suffer from these torments or he would endure them…and enduring this didn't feel as bad as the rest of the things he'd been withstanding in this city.

The Arishok was quite. He snorted out a gruff breath past his nostrils only twice, and the second time he spilled his seed into his palm with a tight squeeze around the tip of his sex.

The enjoyment was little – and still he found himself tense and uncomfortable – even after he gave into the weakness of shutting his heavy eyes - the sear of completion lasting into the next hour.

The Qun was not against such self-pleasures as the ones he'd stoop down to this night, but no one parried such an act with an honor bound warrior as himself. He was weak in this moment, so very weak…but the real weakness was the need that crawled under his skin like a parasite. The Arishok needed Hawke…and he would take no refusal.

Wind fluttered past the drapes on the canopy bed; playing shadows of moonlight off the bronze naked woman on the red spread.

Hawke lay sprawled in her sheets; knots of sweaty cotton wringing around one ankle. A pillow lay to the side of her – shiny and cold with unuse – as she worked two married fingers between her legs in unison. It was the fifth time she'd pleased herself in the past hour. No one was home to listen to her gasp and moan from the touch of her own hand.

The demon had left her for Merrill days ago, but the whispers of patience and desire continued to tickle in the inside of her ears…even now as she groaned out a certain Qunari's title – the soundless noises echoed to her.

She climaxed again with the phantom of a demon egging her on; promises of pleasure cooed to her as her body burned and prickled with euphoria as the lingering waves of her climax drifted like the breeze did through her open window. Each peak of pleasure was buried deep in her body; exploding like a dam under pressure.

The night air was cold and crisp, but the sweat shone over her ruddy skin like a stamp of her exertions. She'd turned feral with lust in the past few hours. At first she'd busied herself around her manor – picking dirt from the corner of her floors even – but eventually she'd found herself here…on her bed…with her hands skimming down her naked body with every filthy intention. She wanted the Arishok, and yes – she could have sent for the Templar she'd dabbled with a month ago…but something about the images in her mind seemed so much better than a tryst with a fumbling man of the Maker.

Over and over again she'd brought herself over the edge; each one as good as the first…and each one coupled with one of the many vivid pictures the demon had provided her before leaving her for the naïve elven.

As the wind howled – making her open window pane whine softly – she worked on her sixth bout – her hands working in tight circles frantically.

After she cried out again – tears leaking at the sides of her eyes – she went lax into her beddings. No longer could she curl her wrist against herself…and sleep…sleep promised more than rest for her – so Hawke smiled softly and let the sap of pleasure sweep her into the darkness.

The next day the morning was colder than the night had been.

A letter had been placed on her desk at some point in the morning, but Hawke past it with one eye open as she went to bathe. After a light breakfast she attended to the golden scrawled letter – her legs crossed at her desk – the ache from last night throbbing delightfully (especially in contrast to the twisted shoulder she'd been milking since the day before) as she unfolded the letter.

'Do see to your late night commotions sweet child – go to the gates – dodge the blades – rip the shawl and subdue the beast – for my feast has been sated – and now it is your turn to have your...fill.'

'Yore's with love,

D.'

The delight Hawke should have felt did not manifest itself as expected.

For minutes on end she sat at the antique desk…re-reading the letter - whose ink was quickly browning from its former bright red shade, as if the sweeping letters had been written in blood.

The Maker had a place for those who dealt with demons; worst places for those who betrayed their companions with said demons…and sure as rain Hawke felt that a hot spot had been set aside for her when her time came. It was as if the once pleasant ache between her legs had turned painfully hot with humiliation and shame. Hawke had allowed such desires and wants for the unobtainable to manifest themselves into wickedness; something that she wasn't used to on such an impressive level as this.

For the first time – since even before the attacks on Lothering – Hawke cradled her head in her hands and sobbed softly at the extent of her betrayal.

Into her palms she wept silently; tears leaking from her eyes in despair rather than ecstasy this time. The letter fell from between two of her fingers; skimming and fluttering sharply by her bent knees to eventually touch like a feather to the floor as her eyes continued to run forth.

Red touched under her eyes when Hawke pulled her drenched hands from her face; eyes wet and gleaming. Her lips quivered gently; vibrating against the skin of her cheeks in their unruly pace.

Suddenly – like that of a flash flood – she gave a hiccup of a laugh, which soon mounted into a psychotic fit of banter that brought fresh tears to her eyes. Thankfully no one filled the halls to hear her spiral of emotions…no one was there to witness her revert from such a state of upset to…chuckling.

She had shed her tears for the elf and now she sat in a strange sort of limbo. Everyone knew a demon had been biting at Merrill's heels ever since she'd started dabbling in blood magic. It was inevitable that something like this happened…and…with a set jaw and tight eyes – Hawke decided if it hadn't been her then it would have been someone or something else to bring down the elven mage.

It didn't take as quick to swallow her conclusion as she would have liked, but after dragging her eyes over the house, thinking things over a series more times – she came to terms with it, and smiled once again, past he clogging of tears in her lashes.

Merrill wasn't dead…and the girl had never spoken ill of demons before (even had given them a certain misunderstood complex)…so things…things were back to normal, at least until Hawke's eyes fell on the letter once more. Again that sense of nagging shame threatened to break her composure, but the moment she turned away from the folded note everything seemed okay again…besides…Hawke had places to be and things to do…

…no sense in worrying about demons and mages now- so she left her manor, leaving the letter ignored on the floor.

As the day drug on – morning turning into noon, and noon turning into the afternoon – Hawke found herself crossing her knees against Aveline's desk after spending the past hour sipping ale in the Hanged Man.

The Guardswoman before her had summoned her, and had promptly greeted her with that stern edge in her voice (a trait Hawke found appealing about the woman). Hawke was never keen to settle with one sex…and if the Arishok hadn't been busy bedding her in her fancy then she may have instigated something with the woman…but as things happened this was not the case and here she stood…

Now Hawke tucked her chin down as she watched Aveline pace noisily. Her armor clanked between her legs and under her arms with each heavy step – even more so when she turned on her heel to continue in the other direction sharply. The pacing was beginning to agitate Hawke in the worst of ways.

"What's this about Aveline?", Hawke's eyes followed her as she questioned gently. Either she was fuming for some reason or another or there was an issue…and by the looks of the corners of her mouth…the issue (if that being the case) was grand indeed.

"We have a problem Hawke. This city is on the verge of war and…I…don't know what to do." Aveline had ceased in her pacing after her brief pause; eyes softening but the wrinkles under her eyes remained to show her worry. The woman exuded stress like a deep laceration does blood.

"Between who and who is this war going to play between?" Hawke may have known the answer…but thoughts of the Qunari lead to…other things…and for all she knew the problem could have been between the mages and templars – the tensions between both sets were great and only growing.

"The Qunari are keeping my men from an arrest, Hawke…and the Arishok seems all too content in just sitting by, allowing criminals to evade justice under the Qun.", again she paced – her voice gaining a mild amount of hysteria as she went, "You know how to speak to the Arishok. At least he won't wave you away like he will me if I go to him alone.", a breath was all Aveline took before she continued on, "I'm asking you to come with me…show him that this will only bring about a rebellion against his people. Whatever they're here for, things will change for the worst if a diplomatic solution isn't met soon."

Hawke watched Aveline ease out a breath before joining her in the center of the office. What Aveline said was true – no doubt there would be the threat of revolt if matters weren't settled amicably, and unfortunately the Qunari had the manpower to wipe the city clean. Though all of this should have concerned her more (the destruction, death, loss of freedoms), all Hawke really worried about now was having to face the Arishok after the events of the past week.

Would he agree to her every whim like the demon promised?…would he fall to his knees and promise her whatever she wished as long as she bedded him? The sheer amount of ridiculous folly that seeded itself in Hawke's brain was…astounding – even the brief (but detailed) idea of him commanding his army for her say so…just for the smallest touch from her, entered her head.

Wordlessly Hawke agreed; nodding her head to the awaiting Aveline as she fingered one of her blades hilts fleetingly. It was time to see the Arishok; see what has become of him…or see what hasn't. Nothing good would come of waiting things of this caliber out…

…and once her and Aveline arrived at the compound – fresh faced before the Arishok – Hawke realized that the chances of her having been tricked by a demon were greater than they were small. The Arishok seemed even less interested in speaking with her than he would have before she'd entered the Fade; before she'd bartered with the demon.

That frown he wore seemed to cut into his face like some terrible old battle wound; reopening with each word he uttered. Aveline's approach did not work, as the woman had assumed...so this was how Hawke found herself with one foot easing on the first step of the Arishok's plinth, lifting a hand before the red-headed woman in an act to silence her from beginning to openly beg.

Yes, images of depravity coursed under her eyes – even as she urged the Arishok to see the situation from both sides, but in her voice Hawke betrayed nothing.

"Let these elves face our courts, Arishok. A jury of their peers will surly find them justified, and this matter can end amicably. You nor Kirkwall need to raise arms…if this ends without a compromise that is what will happen. You know this, Arishok. One of us will fall if you do not hand these elves over to the Guard."

He was quiet the whole time she took to speak, but behind his eyes she found nothing to show he was listening to her. Instead of his attention she found his eyes flickering down the length of her body; searing and quick like a bolt of lightning. She'd paused briefly, as if she may have imagined the whole thing. His look had only caught her off guard for a second or so…

"Be understa-" , she tried but he cut her short with a raised finger; silencing her in the most effect show of domination she'd ever seen…and it worked. A tightness sucked the voice down into her belly as her eyes searched his own, feeling a tense worry as those yellow orbs flicked to one of the mean-eyed Qunari to his left, giving out a silent – yet effective – order that expressed his level of authority all too clearly.

With that one brief moment of eye contact between the Arishok and the Qunari the shift of the atmosphere between the two races broke out. Spears cut down from the scaffoldings above (whisking audibly beside her), other weapons were used to box in the group of Guardsmen, herself and the shouting Aveline, as the angry Guardswoman drew her blade; fending off a sweeping arrow just before it caught her in the neck.

While this happened – even when Aveline yelled at her to follow through an opening good men had and were dying for – Hawke took two seconds too long; catching herself in the direct line of sight of the Arishok. He sneered, hateful and…and lustful; eyes glowing in the reflection of the low sun and just as keen as any petrify spell. Even as another spear struck just past the hairs beside her cheek - Hawke's eyes remained focus blindly on the Arishok's intense gaze.

Just as the muscles in her legs found the blood to move – it was too late.

Clawed hands – blade-like - swiped up her limbs, curled around her wrists and arms with one red-eyed Qunari aiming the sharp tip of a spear against the vein in her neck, pricking the skin to bead forth sluggishly. The last fleeting image she saw before the gates of the compound closed behind her, was the sight of Aveline's face being pushed out of focus through the reflection in a Qunari's glossy shield. The red-haired woman looked broken, but she did not stay to watch what the Qunari had in store for Hawke. She was a good woman…and…Hawke knew this even as she was drug forward up the steep stone stairs to the Arishok; the sheets of metal on her boots scraping against the angles as her fitful body was eased closer to the platform…where the Arishok's mountainous painted body heaved with a breath, fitting with the way he stared in vigorous rage at her.

Truly Hawke must have been deceived by the demon. There was anger and hate in those yellow eyes; veins protruding beneath ashen thick skin, and teeth shadowing behind fierce lips – no lust for her or whatever the demon would have glorified her as in his eyes- just hate.

His gaze locked her in such a state of fear that she didn't notice the battle cries around her, the flood of ashen and red bodies herding in the opposite direction she was being lead in, or the distant cries of her own people as Qunari hacked their way to the Keep.

It was just her and the Arishok as far as she was concerned, even with the others holding her body in place on the second to last step. Suddenly a pit of fire sparked to life a few feet behind the Arishok (lit by one armored Qunari before his departure) - this burst of light brought new life into her stoned-by-fright body – she flopped like a fish out of water, making the worst breathy noises as the heat of the fire warmed her neck and face.

"Your words have failed you, Hawke. Your people have failed you by fleeing like children…and yet you let us take you. Do you not...practice...as you preach? Do you believe your own words or…", she snarled as blood tickled in a trail down one arm – the claws of the Qunari digging in too deep, "...pit her down."

Immediately the cold and gritty stone was under her cheek, crushing the side of her jaw in a fit of…reasonably deep pain. There was no noise as she hit the ground – the wind left her lungs just as her body fell flat with a heavy foot pinning between her shoulders.

"You have resorted to tricks that I thought beneath you, Hawke. I ask you. What is it beneath you now?"

Her shuddering exhale of breath blew dust from her face. Her lips squashed into an 'o' and one eye went blind as she attempted to look up at him, dragging her face against the scratchy stone. The foot on her back slid further up, pressing her neck down into the ground. The stone – the ground was what was under her…which…was nothing.

Pathetically she answered him, "…st'ohn!"

When his breath let out above her in a growl she growled back, more small pieces of gravel rolling along the stone as the air from her mouth rushed them into a tumbling array. She was always too proud for certain things, but to find herself pinned down by a bare foot because of the one weakness she allowed herself was something her pride couldn't handle.

Just as the pain branched out into her tail bone, the foot was lifted – so quickly that she cried out. Her face burned with humiliation. Uncontrollable tears glossed her eyes pitifully. Some of the worst pain she'd ever felt still throbbed below her skull and down her back where the strong foot had been. She couldn't remember now why she'd hesitated while her fellows fled – not with a small smear of blood appearing where her cheek had been resting.

Gently she touched her cheek, pulling fingers back that were covered in dust and blood. It wasn't like spilt blood wasn't uncommon in her line of work…but something about the sight made her stomach clenched with resentment.

Footsteps retreated, padding quietly away from her…but still all her eyes concentrated on was the sight of the scuffed boots of the Arishok…no matter how blurry they came in as she sucked back the gathering tears. This was one of those times that people talked about where they regretted certain decisions they'd made…never had Hawke felt such things until now – and it was truly…appalling…

He was unsatisfied. Seeing Hawke brought to her belly like a wild animal at the end of a hunt did not fill that gap of need no more than food or dueling had. Silently, he watched motionless as the horns of his subordinates disappeared to follow the rest – they had tasks to complete…and so did he…but that nag was enraging him more than it had been at any moment since it'd started. The ache was becoming unbearable…and he had fought it long enough.

This bas female - no matter how much respect he mustered for her - was grating on his honor, his control, his…

"…You have blood magic rampant in this city Hawke, a fault that is brought on by your people's lack of structure…and it is all I have to blame for what you are about to endure."

Her small body tensed so harshly that he witnessed it through the thick clothes draping her form. Was she afraid? – she had right to be. Never had he had to fight with himself as much as he had since landing in this bas-city…and the level of torment he'd been facing from his own mind in the past two weeks had finally reached its peak. After tonight he knew a part of his honor would forever be ruined. Not only would he take a female without needing to seed her, but he would be taking a human…and possibly one against her will.

As he took one measure step – turning into two more – the Arishok thought of impregnating her anyways. She would be a valuable asset under the Qunari army; under him, and seeding her would only be an extra advantage to her use. Their conjoined essence could rear strong soldiers and philosophers; a great addition to the order of the Qun.

When her tangled crop of bark-colored hair arched; showing off a set of hateful eyes – he paused. The corners of his mouth sank further, but in his eyes he found the sight of her thrilling. This black desire running under his skin was an abomination, but it told him how to feel…and indeed he felt more for her than he should.

A thin trail of blood eased over the slope of her high cheek bone; a secular slope of bone structure, enough to rival any female genetics. Soot and tiny stones embedded in the side of that one cheek, covering half her face in a grim version of their bas currency.

"You do not care for this city, Hawke…anymore than I do." The fire behind him crackled; blew sparks of hot embers against the back of his shoulders and glimmered off the spec of blood Hawke had left on the stone. "You would be struck down in Par Vollen before even rising…but here you act as a hostile immigrant species of blooming palm, ready to be tamed and plucked…", the closer he grew to her the further her eyes seemed to shine against the reflection of the fire, as if something about his presence animated her. "I will be the one to pluck you from the dead growth from which you came, Hawke, and I do not see you fleeing as you should."

Indeed she did not flee, even as he lowered to one knee, tilting his head to study the exaggerated curves of her face as the air blew heavily from her nose. She looked enraged, like some trapped beast facing the sight of its own slaughtered brethren…and knowing that soon it would join them.

Around them the muted cries of her city filled the gaps when the wind wasn't blowing off the sea, or the fire wasn't roaring, or she wasn't struggling to breathe steadily.

She did not speak as he took a claw down her marred cheek; spreading a thin and painful streak of blood down her face. Only her eyes twitched as he cut into her skin, relishing it in more way than one way – the sight of the thick red in contrast with the soot on her skin.

"Lie back, Hawke.", he uttered; half growl and half plea – even he was disgusted with the impatient tone of his voice, but he desired above all (even taming this city) to tame her as she lay facing him.

For seven lengthy seconds she did not make a move, only the hair at her cheeks whisking in the heated wind, and when she did move it wasn't what he'd demanded of her.

She was no match against him with her fists. The Arishok was not to be beaten in hand to hand by anyone, let alone this bas female. Her tightly coiled fist didn't make it far from her side before it fell into his own. How easily he realized he could crush her fingers in his own…but the sneer on his face was not one for bloodlust…but of lust itself.

In one instant he was staring her down – eyes tense and heady – the next his dense forehead slammed into her own; knocking her on her back with her fitful cry of pain and ire echoing against the stone walls. There was no worry over the pain he'd caused her. Immediately he buried a knee into her thigh, another pushing up between her legs, while he held her neck precariously in his hand. She was not escaping him…even though she remained near motionless.

Furious - he barred his teeth; panting as his groin swelled with the feel of the heat between her legs seeping past the thick fabric around his leg. The contact was scorching, more so than he'd ever experienced with any female before. This sensation causing his sex to ready, and the fact that still the only thing rebelling against him were her eyes – caused him to question her true intent.

Slowly he squeezed her neck in his hand; pulling another meager reaction out of her that left him empty and needy for more.

"You are to blame…some how…for this.", her eyes looked guilty suddenly, but this coursing of need and unbearable tension in his body seemed relentless, regardless of whether a part of him found suspicion in her lack of action or not.

When her body finally moved, shoving her groin into his knee – the Arishok growled; tearing her striped blouse as he pinned her neck to the ground. The shreds of the odd black and green material slipped apart as easily as waves cutting past the stillness of the sea. Her small noises – breathy noises – only sunk somewhere deeper in his gut. She was to blame for this uncontrollable urge he felt…somehow she was the culprit of his nights awakes; his moments of weakness as he'd palmed himself like some youngling to the image of her just as she was now.

Her teeth barred for him as he sliced her skin in his chaotic urge to rid her of her light clothing. When he'd first seen her – he'd had mixed feeling on her state of protection (respect: for surviving without the thick plating the rest of her kind wore and disappointment: for a resilient thing such as her ignoring the need for proper defense), but now all he thought of was how easy it was to get it off her. The leather strappings she wore were tougher, but the strings holding them tight came apart simply enough and…soon she was a mass of scratched flesh; naked and tanned.

She had lay in his grasp as if she'd wanted him to unclothe her effortlessly, but in the moments he glanced down her nude form – he'd grown painfully erect despite the reasoning's behind her laxness.

"You want this.", he growled it to himself more than as a sly against her. He couldn't think anymore without it getting lost with visions of seeding her repeatedly. The look in her eyes was what set the Arishok into frenzy – it wasn't the sight of her breasts, or the plot of thin hair between her legs…but it was the sudden urge in her eyes, and the subtle parting of her lips. At least he knew – as he ripped his pants open, letting his fully engorged sex slip free – he wouldn't be taking her unwillingly.

Finally she reacted – her body squirmed and thrust against his planted knee. Weak sounds rushed past the grip he held on her throat; tumbling from her tight lips as her eyes ran down to his erect length. He must have been frightening to her, for she stared wide-eyed until again he squeezed her neck; lips puckering like a dying fish. Slowly he released his grip, feeling a sudden hurry of blood flow and air pulling up the fragile length of her neck.

Her words were dry, "Yourrr insane.", that last word trailed off into some equally dry chuckle, as if she was privy to something he was not.

The Arishok wasn't keen on laughter, and he was less keen on hers – so with a sudden sneer on his lips he thrust her neck down into the ground; releasing her before thrusting her thighs apart in the same breadth. Hawke's chuckle was still on it's last trail when he plucked her body into the air to sneeringly shove his girth inside her.

Her laugh died, and his growl was born; loud and heavy at the sudden vice around him. He should have taken her slowly, but what was done was done, and now all he could grant her was that he wouldn't waste their time with petty courtesies.

"Where is your voice…now…Hawke.", her title on his tongue caused his sex to throb inside her; stretching her further with a strangled cry from between her clenched teeth.

Around him she was slick, but not slick enough to ease her pain or make the second jagged thrust he bore inside her that much better. Another one of those shaky grunts left her mouth – her face tense and eyes squeezed shut.

The feel around him – as tight and taut as it was – she was just as his forced desires had promised, maybe even more so. Everything was warm and soft, yet unyielding. No matter how deep he locked inside her, no matter how much he titled her backside around him – she did not stretch further. This amount of tension around his sex wasn't something the Arishok was used to, but even the part of him that'd known something inside his mind was amiss, relished this feeling despite whom it came from.

With his sharp claws skating around to grasp her hips – he removed himself from her; seeing the streak of blood and wetness on his flesh as he popped out against her inner thigh. Hawke's body tensed again – resisting him - as he sought inside her once more. Again those noises escaped her, but they were neither hateful nor painful…and they stirred a desperate fury inside of him that had his hips slapping against her small frame instantly. Her tightness still did not yield, but his strength over matched the meager resilience of her body.

A bead of sweat formed on his brow, slipping down over the hard ridge of his nose to drip on one of her flushed breasts. He felt an urge to lick it off her, but with a hardy growl he ignored it for increasing his pace against her.

Their bodies slipped with the growing sweat – the noises grew louder, even his own shallow breaths made way for sharp grunts as the heat around him laxed to make way for his full assault, as if she was being freshly stretched with each measured thrust.

The wrongness of this now seemed small compared to how massive the pleasure her body gave him. Belatedly he imagined a strong female of his own under him, but the pleasure muted suddenly and quickly he rubbed a strong palm up her stomach; solidifying that it was indeed Hawke (the bas female rouge) he was joining with…and the arched neck, the spread taut arms, and the open mouth was all the acknowledgement any blooded-male needed to know the feeling was mutual.

Everything about how her lower body thrust against his own movement; urging him to slip further inside her made him growl suddenly as he held in the sharp stab of pleasure. There was still a part of him that refused to seed her. If she were under the Qun he may have courted her like he would any other female ready to bear…but this…this was something he for once was not sure on…

The feeling inside him could make him join with her; make him shake her against the stone as if he were some jungle animal, but the desire could not force him to spill inside her.

Just as Hawke's muscles around him tensed; sucking against his sex – he drove out of her, and promptly spilled his seed between her legs on the stone floor with a choked grunt. The cold wind struck his heated flesh like a sheen of acid, making him hiss as the last jets of his seed left him, some painting her inner thigh as his body urged him to fill her again.

Even with the feeling of completion throbbing under his skin, and the sight of her flat on the stone with her flesh puckered and tight – he found the sight of his seed appalling. The only reason he should see his seed is if he spilled so much inside her that it leaked from her body.

As his hair stuck to his thick neck, as his eyes skimmed over the puddle of his fluids with a blankness in his stare – he heard Hawke's thin voice through the ringing in his ears, "Don't…you find me…worthy…enough?"

He had ignored her well enough until he felt a pressure around the base of his left cluster of horns. His eyes found her stretched arm; gripping his ebony horn and tugging him dominantly to stare at her face…and not between her legs. Instinctively he growled at her show of force. Never had a female grabbed him during a joining…and never his horns like they were some support or way to herd him however she pleased.

She gave out pants of endurance, but she seemed to have trouble forming words – which was all the better as he furiously thrust his still hard sex inside her again; unable to back down from such a deliberate show of challenge.

Hawke mewled as the tip of him struck the back of her sex, immediately setting a vicious pace that he couldn't remember why he started. As a strong male he was expected to seed countless times during one night, but to start again so soon wasn't common even for him.

"Worthy...to submit!", he growled loudly into her face as he pounded his length into her, angling his hips in each turn to find the deepest he could go until he was fitting their bodies so close that the contact of skin was stinging. Her continuing challenging words, her sneer and her thrusting body was enough to clog his mind. He would seed her; fill her now yielding body with enough of his essence to rear a warrior stronger than them both – and with this new determination – he pulled her mop of hair into one fist roughly, driving her body into the stone with sweat beading off him - the fire hot at his back.

Her curled fingers around his horns only fueled the need to impregnate her. With every noise she made, every contact of skin, and every string of pleasure – he found his mind numbing gradually.

"Accept the Qun, Hawke! Accept…your better, accept me.", he needed to hear her answer him; needed her acceptance before he allowed himself to fill her, but she only cried and moan as he drilled himself dangerously into her. His claws twisted in her hair, scraping her scalp as he barred his teeth in a threatening show of dominance.

"Yield!", he bellowed; seizing her hip as he slammed his girth without abandonment, hearing her begin to scream.

Just as his body tightened – the pleasure becoming searing – she answered him as her body convulsed in a series of tremors around his erect flesh, "Y-yess…I accept. Fuh-fuck the Maker!", her voice was hoarse and shallow as she gasped while her body milked him as he came; heating her from the inside out.

Spilling his seed inside her – her words settling in his belly – was enough for him to roar victoriously. The sound of his climax ripped off the walls, loud enough to be heard over the death muted around them as his men seized the city…

…but the night was not over – for her and for him, however the Arishok only thought of that for a second before he tilted her lower body up, locking his hips to her as they dripped sweat against the heavy breeze. The amount of fitful pleasure still running in his muscles was what had his thighs burning as he held her in her suspended position; making sure his seed remained inside her for the next few moments as the last of his fluids left him.

No longer could he separate the alien inhabitant in his mind that'd fueled this coupling in the first place and the rationale he'd had which fought the desire, but none of that mattered now. He'd just seeded a human female, and the pleasure was corrupting…just as the Qun warned – but his betrayal of his code was sweeter than any victory since and her status (even as a bas) was enough that he looked upon her with little disgust or regret.

"Make-…what's happening, how do…", she was watching up his body; pupils small and darting. She had never had a Qunari's seed before – something that in his females would warm their bodies, prickle their skins, and prepare them for more vigorous bouts of coupling…but they had no time to repeat their joining so soon. Her verbal acceptance of him and of the Qun meant she now had a promise to keep. The child that may be starting in her belly now asked of her many things, and in a way…this was one of them.

"Whatever it is, Hawke, that you have done to me…now you will pay for it. After you're body accepts my seed you are mine. Under me you will fight this city…We will find our relic…and you – after this city bows to the Qun - are coming with me.", for emphasis he thrust himself in and out of her slick body, watching her eyes close and her body writhe under the sensitivity his seed had caused. His muscles ached to continue his pace, but gently – as if she were composed of glass – he withdrew his sex from her, secretly relishing in how little of his fluids left with him.

"You are mine.", he growled, tracing his claws over the back of her neck as he loosened his grip in her hair. "Say it!"

"I…am yours.", she said it with no hint of defiance, despite how her eyes shined with insolence. She was a proud creature, as he himself was, but one of them had to break…and even though he'd caved into his insatiable lust, he refused to be the one submitting in the end.

"Mine", he repeated; a satisfied smirk creeping along his lips.

Now…they had a city to conquer and only after he lopped off the Keepers head could he give into the need once more, but it was a promise...