Prompt: I won't be swayed by your pelvic sorcery

The Queen's hand was on his thigh.

Alistair swallowed, squeezing his hands in front of him on the table.

"We are pleased to be joined, ah, by envoys of the royal house of Nevarra. I hope—" His wife's hand moved higher. Alistair bit down on his tongue. "I hope the King's illness isn't severe?"

"No, Your Majesty. A seasonal illness," said the diplomat with practiced smoothness. "He sends word that he hopes my humble presence will suffice to at least transfer the treaties."

"Of... of course." Alistair's voice was strained.

The diplomat blinked. "I... hope you are well, Your Majesty?"

Alistair knew he had to be blushing from Elissa's... attentions and the diplomat noticing his blushes only made it worse.

"No!" he said, rather too loudly, and cleared his throat. At the corner of his gaze, Elissa had to hide a laugh with her hand. Minx. "No," he said in a more controlled tone. "I am quite well, thank you." Elissa's hand moved higher, and he abruptly slid his chair back, standing. The Nevarran diplomats followed suit.

"Well," Alistair said with forced cheerfulness, all too aware of Elissa's warm presence at her side and her cat-that-got-the-cream smile. "I shall examine these documents and return them as soon as possible. I know you'll want to leave before the snow starts."

The head diplomat bowed. "Thank you, Your Majesty."

#

"What was that all about?" Alistair said in exasperation as Elissa burst out with laughter as soon as the door to their chambers shut behind them.

"I should think it obvious," she said, a wicked smile crossing her lips, crossing the room to flop down on the bed. She crooked a finger at him.

Alistair tore his eyes away from the tempting picture his wife presented and resolutely sat down at his desk, Nevarran treaty in hand. "Not now. Later. When I've signed these documents and made sure there's not some stipulation in here that we have to give them all our cheese or something."

Elissa sighed, sitting up. "We've been talking to a parade of diplomats all week. I want a break, Alistair!"

"It'll be over with soon," he said with a cringe as he attempted to read the first sentence of the treaty which seemed to contain an alarming number of "wherases."

"You know..." Elissa said conversationally as he kept reading. "Zevran stopped by recently... he wanted to show me a rather... unique dance that's all the rage in Antiva..."

Against his better judgement, Alistair looked up and momentarily forgot everything he ever knew. The "dance" if it could be called that, certainly wasn't fit for any Fereldan ballroom. Those kind of gyrations would send poor old Bann Tipton into hysterics.

Alistair gripped the edge of his desk, intent on standing and possibly tackling his wife, when the crinkle of paper awoke something in a small, logical part of his brain. Diplomats. Treaties. Royal duties.

"No," he said, sitting back down. "I will not be swayed by your... your pelvic sorcery. I have to get this done, Elissa. I have to—mmph!" His final attempt to be productive was entirely undone by his wife sitting on his lap and kissing him until he had no room for any thought but of her.