Smut, smut, and more smut. You've been warned.

Snowstorm

The winter wind was howling outside, sending cascades of crystals rattling against the side of Alistair's tent. Normally, the group spent their evenings next to the fire but, tonight, the viciousness of the gales outside had sent them all scurrying to their tents immediately after they'd eaten. They were taking a chance having no one on watch tonight, but it was a small one… after all, anyone out in this storm would have to be crazy.

The small space inside his tent was pleasantly warm, heated nicely by the pile of stones that Neria had enchanted for each of them. They even gave off a soft orange glow—just enough light for him to see what he was doing—not that it was anything exciting. He tied off his thread and sliced through the end with his dagger, pausing to admire his handiwork. His stitches were crooked and uneven, but at least his big toe would no longer poke out through his sock as he walked. He ran his fingers along the rest of the thinning material, finding a few more holes in the heel that needed repair, too. He sighed. Maybe if he asked Wynne really, really nicely, she would do this for him?

"Alistair? Can I come in?" Neria's voice cut through the noise of the storm.

"Of course!" He hastily shoved his socks into his pack, along with his repair kit and his sheathed dagger, before scrambling to untie the tent flap.

Neria ducked inside and set two steaming mugs on the ground before re-securing the ties holding the tent flap closed. She flipped back the hood of her cloak and grinned at him. "That wind is just wicked. I thought you might like some tea." With a delicate motion, she bent down and handed him a mug before slipping off her boots.

"Thank you!" He curled his hands around it gratefully and took a cautious sip as she settled herself down on top of his bedroll. Her fingers nimbly worked at the clasp on her cloak and she cast it aside with a happy sigh, reaching for her own mug. The front edges of her hair were damp with melting snow, twisting into loose ringlets that dangled on either side of her face.

They sipped their tea in silence at first as he tried not to notice the way her leg was resting next to his, filling him up with a warmth that was now familiar, but lately was leaving him wanting… more. When they kissed, he couldn't help wondering how it would feel to touch her bare skin, to actually do all those things that the other boys had whispered about in the chantry dormitories…

"… and that's why I think I'm going to shave my head." She was looking at him with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

"Wait—you're going to—what?"

She giggled. "Where were you just now, silly thing?"

"I, was just thinking about… um… you?" He gave her what he thought was his most dashing smile, causing her to burst into laughter. "No, I was. Really!" He couldn't help the blush that crept up his neck and into his cheeks. It was technically true; he just hadn't mentioned which parts of her he'd been thinking about.

"Really? Okay then, what specifically about me were you thinking about?"

Dammit. He could do this. Say something romantic. Her eyes? Her laugh? Her smile?

"Uh, your teeth?"

Dammit, dammit, dammit.

"My teeth?" Neria carefully set her mug down and leaned in towards him, making him flush even redder. "Doing what… with my teeth exactly? This?" He could feel her breath on his neck before her lips touched his skin. Maker! He jumped as she nipped him gently, promptly spilling hot tea all over himself.

She sat back abruptly at his cry of pain. "I'm so sorry!"

"It's okay. I'm okay," he said, pulling at his shirt where the tea had soaked through.

"No, you're not. Here, take that off and let me have a look." Her brow crinkled with concern.

Take off his shirt? Then she would be running her hands over his bare chest? The thought made him simultaneously giddy and terrified. "It's not that bad. Really." Ow! Ow! Ow!

"Don't be silly. I don't bite… or, I guess I do, don't I?" She paused and then reached for the buttons. "Take it off, or I'll do it myself."

"Is that a promise or a threat?" He managed a half-hearted chuckle that he suspected came out more like a wheeze.

"That depends on what you want it to be." She winked at him. Andraste's flaming sword, she'd winked at him!

His hands trembled as he began undoing the buttons, hoping the dim light was enough to hide his blush as he stared resolutely at his hands. He focused on his breathing as he methodically undid each one, feeling her eyes on him, until he reached the last one and looked up hesitantly. "Now what?"

Neria crawled forward until she was kneeling in front of him. "Now, you take off your shirt." But, it was her hands that came up and pushed the material from his shoulders and he shrugged his arms free. "Better. Now lie down and let me see those burns."

Burns? What burns? All he could think about was the touch of her fingertips on his shoulders.

She gave him a gentle poke in the arm. "Lie down, silly thing."

Alistair couldn't resist leaning forward and placing a soft kiss on her mouth before stretching out on his back. "Okay."

She shuffled over so that she was kneeling at his side, and he could feel the rush of magic as she called her power into her hands. As she leaned over him, the sweet scent of her hair wafted over him and his hand seemed to reach up of its own accord to run his fingers through it. He closed his eyes as the wave of healing magic seeped into his chest and the pain of the burns faded almost instantly, swallowed up in the heat of her caress. The tips of her fingers were sliding along the planes of muscle and he couldn't help the gasp that escaped him when she brushed over his nipples. He felt himself growing harder and prayed that she wouldn't notice the way his trousers were now bulging.

He could no longer feel her magic—no, this was just her—her touch a whisper on his skin as she explored him, her hands sliding across his stomach. As much as he tried to concentrate on the softness of her hair, on the feel of the scratchy wool blanket beneath him, all he could think about was pulling her down on top of him. What would her bare skin feel like next to his?

"Neria," he whispered, just as her hand ghosted down over his now aching hardness. "Maker's breath!" His eyes shot open, though she made no move to pull her hand away.

She turned to look at him, and he could see the desire heavy in her eyes. "I want this. I want you."

Oh, Maker, how he wanted this, too; more than he'd ever wanted anything.

Alistair cupped her jaw in his hand, running his thumb over her cheekbone. "I love you so much."

"And I love you." She leaned over to kiss him—he could barely breathe with the light strokes she was feathering across his trapped length, but her mouth was deliciously soft as her tongue drove into his mouth. No, no, no, he was going to—

The groan that rumbled from his chest as he came made her pause as he broke off their kiss. He was shaking. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to. I just couldn't—you were—I wanted—"

She stared at him, confused. "Why are you sorry? Did I do something wrong?"

Alistair cast his gaze miserably up at the roof of the tent and wished he could just throw the blankets over his head until she went away. "No, I just… finished. I'm an idiot." The wetness in his trousers certainly made that abundantly clear.

"You finished? What does that…? Oh." He felt her hand grasp his and squeeze. "You're not an idiot, silly thing. I'm just apparently very good at this."

"What?" He glanced up to see her smile.

"I have no idea what I'm doing either, you know." She pulled his head down towards her and kissed him hungrily for the briefest moment. "We have all night. I'm sure we can figure it out."

"Really?"

"Really." Her hands crept back across his chest and down to the waistband of his trousers. "Maybe you should take these off and tidy up before we continue."

Take his trousers off?

"What? Now?" His voice came out as almost a squeak.

Neria reached for the ties. "I can do it, if you'd rather…"

"No, no, no! I can do it myself. It's okay!"

He could feel his cheeks burning as she sat back with a soft smile. "Go ahead then."

Dammit. He could salvage this. Somehow.

"Right. I'm just going to—can you move back, just for a second…" Neria edged back as Alistair sat up, wriggling the blanket out from underneath them and tossing it over his lower body. "There! Now I'll just…"

Take off my trousers in front of you.

Oh, Maker, what was he doing?

What choice did he have, though? He was certainly not about to ask her to leave, especially not after everything she'd hinted at before he'd gone and ruined everything. No thinking. Just do it. With a deep breath, Alistair untied the knot in the drawstring of his trousers. He could do this. He wanted this, and her, and he wasn't going to make a huge mess of things… well, more so, anyway. He tugged his trousers down off his hips, taking his smallclothes with them, and struggled to yank them down and off while attempting to keep everything from becoming hopelessly tangled in the blanket. Once he had them off—blanket still intact!—he wiped himself clean as best he could on the bundle of fabric before tossing it off to the side. He was sure his face was now red enough that he probably could have fully illuminated the tent by himself.

"Better?" Her voice made him jump, sending his heart rate skittering like a wary rabbit through the underbrush.

"Uh, maybe?" He ventured a glance in her direction.

"Would it help if I got undressed now, too?" She was chewing on her lower lip and he was more than a little relieved to see that she was clearly feeling a bit nervous as well.

"Yes?" He swallowed, but his throat had gone completely dry. "If you want to, that is."

"I do… want to, I mean." Neria set both their mugs down near the tent flap, safely out of harm's way, before turning back to face him. Alistair held his breath as her fingers started on the first of the tiny opalescent buttons that ran down from the neckline of her robe. He sat mesmerized as each one she unfastened revealed a larger area of smooth skin beneath. The buttons curved in a downwards arc across the front of her robes and, as she continued to work, the soft velvet panel at her chest was drooping lower and lower—

Andraste's flaming sword, she wasn't wearing a breast band!

He could see the soft swell of her right breast, still mostly concealed, but her left breast… Maker, her left breast he could see everything. Despite having tentatively brushed his hands against them a few times when their kissing had grown into something more fevered and demanding, he could hardly take his eyes from them; her nipples were the most delicious shade of pink. He wished he could reach out and touch, but that would mean relinquishing the blanket and Neria was still working determinedly on the last of the buttons that ran down her side and hip. Wait, was she blushing? She never blushed!

"That was the last one…" she said softly, looking up at him a moment later.

She was kneeling just out of his reach, so Alistair edged forward carefully, still holding the blanket in place around his lap. "May I?"

Neria nodded. He slowly pushed the material down over her shoulders, his fingers running down the length of her arms as he freed them from her sleeves. "You're so beautiful," he whispered.

In response, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled herself up to kiss him, long and full of promise. The feel of her breasts brushing up against his bare chest made him groan, and he swept his tongue into her mouth, devouring her whimper of desire. His hands slid up to cup her breasts, and discovered that she made the loveliest sounds if he rolled her nipples lightly between his fingers. Beneath the blanket, Alistair felt himself beginning to grow hard once more, nearly overcome by the primal sensation of need.

Neria pulled back and he was powerless to do anything but watch as she lifted herself up on her knees and shimmied her robe off the rest of the way. His eyes widened as he drank her in, the pale plane of her stomach down to—

Holy sweet Maker, have mercy.

"You're not—wow—I mean, you're, uh, not… wow." His brain utterly failed him. No smalls. She'd planned this—wanted this—right from the beginning.

She wanted him.

Oh, Maker, did he want her.

"Are you all right?" She was studying him with a look of concern and he realized that he must have been gaping at her.

"More than all right." Uh… wow?

"Good." She grinned. "So, were you planning on giving up that blanket any time soon?"

Alistair glanced down at it with a hint of reluctance, but she was naked and he supposed it was only fair that he should be, too. He pushed himself up on to his knees and untangled the blanket from around his waist and legs before taking a gulp of air and forcing his hand to unclench. The blanket dropped to the ground.

Her eyes snapped immediately to his length, fully erect once more. "Can I—can I touch it?"

He nodded, not trusting his voice.

Neria shuffled forward, still on her knees. Alistair flinched as her fingers connected with his skin, dusting down his chest until her hand lightly encircled his hardness. He groaned, secretly praying that he wasn't about to repeat his embarrassing predicament from earlier.

"Is this okay?" She stroked him lightly, her fingers wrapped around his shaft, studying his face with a sense of wonder.

"More than okay." It was an effort to keep his hips from rocking forward, desperately seeking the friction that her hand was providing. Her touch felt so different than his own, just grazing across the surface of his skin as her hands drifted down his length and back up again. He wished she would grip him harder, but how was he supposed to ask her that?

"Will you show me what you like?" she asked as she rubbed her thumb over the tip, making him shudder.

"I like that!" Alistair's eyes had involuntarily closed and he couldn't help pushing against her hand.

"What else?"

Her fingers were curving around to explore the underside of his shaft making it extremely hard for him to concentrate. "Can you... grip me tighter?" Did he actually just say that?

"Like this?"

Sweet Andraste, this was the best thing ever.

"Yes," he managed to get out—a choked sort of gasping sound of agreement—as her hand slid firmly up and down his hardness. "Oh, Maker…"

Neria leaned forward and kissed him, her arms coming up to wrap around his neck. Her fingers toyed with the hair at the nape of his neck as he cautiously allowed his hands to drift down past her hair to the small of her back. He broke away from her mouth to press a series of heated kisses down the column of her throat just as his hands settled on her hips. With a gentle pressure, he pulled her fully flush against him, each of them gasping at the contact. The feel of her nakedness next to his bare skin brought a breathless moment that left him slightly incoherent, lost in the sensation of warmth and wonder. His length had slid neatly between her thighs and the heat and dampness of her core filled him with an almost maddening desire to grind his hips mercilessly against hers. There was a jolt through the haze as she reached down to grip his backside, yanking him even closer.

"Alistair…" It was barely a breath in his ear, but it made his groin throb painfully as he nipped lightly at the base of her neck. Did he dare go lower? Was that what she wanted now? It was certainly what he wanted… Sensing his hesitation, she leaned away from his mouth, opening her eyes to look at him. "Is everything okay?"

Alistair stroked down the side of her jaw with his thumb, grazing her lips gently. He had no idea what he had ever done to deserve this, and he was not going to screw it up. "Will you—will you show me what you like?"

Neria smiled, kissing the tip of his thumb as it traced over her mouth. "Of course. Lie down with me?"

They stretched out side-by-side on top of his bedroll, an awkward air settling over him once more. His gaze lingered on the dark curls where her thighs met, mysterious and frightening and oh, so, tempting.

"Maker!" His eyes shot to her face as her hand closed on his length, giving it a short, tugging stroke. "Hey, this part is supposed to be about what you like!"

She gave him a looked of feigned innocence. "But, this is what I like."

Alistair removed her hand, pressing a kiss into her palm, and slid closer to her. "I want to please you. Show me how."

Neria grabbed one of his hands and placed it on her breasts. "I liked it when you touched me here. Before."

"Like this?" Alistair massaged the soft mounds of her breasts, pulling each nipple in turn between his fingers.

"Y—yes." She rolled on to her back, and Alistair, feeling bold, leaned in and took a nipple into his mouth. "Exactly like that!"

He suckled gently, then a little harder, as she moaned. He stretched across her to do the same to her other breast, feeling a strange sense of pride that he was the one doing this to her, that he was the one making her feel this way. When he finally leaned back, she whimpered a little at the loss of contact.

"What else?" he whispered. Unable to stop himself, his fingertips trailed down the smoothness of her stomach to lightly brush the curls that been captivating his attention.

She opened her eyes, a faint flush creeping into her cheeks. "When I touch myself, there's a spot near the top… Here, let me show you."

When she… touched herself?

He was going to combust with the surge of desire that coursed through him, he was sure of it. Neria delicately slid her hands down, parting her folds, and lightly stroking at the apex. "Right here."

Alistair sat up, positioning himself so that he was kneeling between her legs.

Maker, please, let this not be a dream…

He replaced her hands with his, hoping she wouldn't notice how much his were shaking. Alistair could feel the tiny nub under his fingertip and he circled around it slowly. Everything was so unbelievably soft and moist. "Did you ever… think about me when you did this?" He had certainly thought about her—a lot—during his own… explorations.

Her eyes were closed, her hair splayed out around her head as her hands clutched the edges of the bedroll beneath her. She was a goddess. "Of course I did. Sometimes, I imagined it was your fingers… or your tongue… or," the last part was a whisper, "your cock."

He was on fire. He had to be. Nothing else would explain the heat that was scorching through him, pooling in his groin. Bending forward, he placed a gentle kiss on the spot that his finger had been stroking. Would she like that? She whimpered as his mouth came up, arching her hips in a vain attempt to follow him. Even he knew, in all of his non-existent experience, that was a 'yes.'

Dipping down again, he flicked his tongue over the spot she had showed him, mimicking the actions of his fingertip, stroking and circling. Her fingers threaded through his hair, holding him in place as she ground up against his mouth. She was writhing beneath him as he swept his tongue lower, tasting her center. "Is it okay if I touch?" He brushed the opening with his finger.

"Yes." Her breathing was coming in shallow gasps as he stroked her, careful to pause at the top of her folds for a more concentrated circular motion before dipping down once more. Alistair eased his finger inside of her. He was so hard now that everything ached. The sensations along his finger were exquisite—so hot, perfectly smooth, wet... His whole being was taut with want. "Can I—"

"Maker, yes. Now. Please."

He edged up between her legs, stretching himself out over top of her. How was this supposed to work? He was going to crush her… "Maybe you should be on top?"

"Okay." Alistair shuffled back into a kneeling position as she sat up, giving him a bashful sort of smile. "Who knew this was so complicated?"

Alistair lay down, feeling more vulnerable than he had ever felt in his life, as Neria moved to straddle him. "Maker, you're gorgeous," he said as she settled against him. His length was pressed firmly against her backside, the moist heat of her center burning his skin. Her breasts were now delightfully within reach and he reached up to caress them. Her nipples had hardened into delicious peaks, and he pulled her down so he could claim one with his mouth. She began to rub against him as he suckled.

"Alistair, I want you. Please." Neria angled her head in next to his and nipped at his earlobe, making him yelp. She sat up slowly, one hand tracing down the center of his chest. "Are you ready?"

"Oh, Maker, yes." He couldn't take his eyes off her as she slid back and lifted herself up, her hand feeling for his length. Alistair knew he was trembling—so was she—as she positioned the tip against her core and took a deep breath.

She was so hot, so wet, so incredibly tight, as she eased him inside of her. He forgot to breathe, an animalistic groan emerging from his throat. His hips snapped up uncontrolled, suddenly overcome with desperation to push himself completely into her. Neria gasped. "Careful."

"I'm sorry, you just feel so good…" His hands grasped her hips tightly as he struggled to leave her in control of the agonizingly slow descent.

She stopped moving and Alistair could feel some sort of resistance preventing him from sliding in further. "Are you all right?" he whispered. "It's not hurting, is it?"

Neria stretched down to kiss him tenderly. "No, I feel very… stretched, but it doesn't hurt. This is the part that's supposed to hurt."

"I don't want to hurt you. Do you want to stop?" He reached up to caress her cheek.

"No, silly thing. I most definitely do not want to stop. Besides, there's a trick."

"A trick?"

"Well, it only works for mages." Alistair felt her draw on her power for a moment, and then she seated herself fully on his length, making him cry out in surprise. Inside, she was suddenly very cold; the abrupt change from hot to cold distinctly uncomfortable. "Directed freezing spell," she said through clenched teeth, "for numbing. And now, healing."

The tingling warmth of her second spell chased the chill away instantly, the waves emanating through her core lapping along the surface of his shaft. The sheer pleasure of it had him holding desperately on to her hips. He had to hold on. Not yet, please, not yet. The spell stopped, and he couldn't help the moan that escaped him. He wanted to move. His whole body was shaking with the effort of staying still. Opening his eyes slowly, he saw she was watching him. "Are you okay? Does it hurt?" he asked, barely able to speak.

Neria shook her head. "It did at the very beginning, but it's fine now, I think. Let's find out." Balancing on her knees on either side of him, she lifted herself up and then slid back down. "Feels good to me," she whispered. "You?"

Holy—sweet merciful, Maker—Andraste's bloody sword…

"Yes?"

This was amazing. She was amazing. If the Archdemon came by and squashed him flat, right at this exact second, he would die happy.

She moved again, rocking forward and then back, and he was lost. For once, there were no words, only the feeling of their bodies moving together in a perfect rhythm. He guided the pace of her movement as he clutched her hips, thrusting himself up to meet her as she pressed down against him. She had arched back, her hands on his thighs for support as she rode him.

"Touch me, please," she said softly. She tugged one of his hands away from her hip and guided it over to where their bodies were joined.

Touch her? She wanted him to—Oh! He could do that!

He slid his hand over the spot she had shown him earlier and traced a slow circle there with his thumb. "There! Don't stop!" She shuddered and threw her head back, the edges of her long hair brushing against his legs. Alistair groaned, unable to stop himself from thrusting up harder and harder, wanting more contact, more friction, more heat… more of her. Her whole body was quivering now as she ground against his thumb, lifting herself up and nearly off of him each time before driving his full length back inside her. He wasn't going to last much longer—thank the Maker for his accident earlier, and he never thought he'd be thankful for that.

He was so close now that he could hardly breathe. Neria suddenly tightened around him and pressed down with a loud exclamation of pleasure, and the shock sent him plummeting over the edge as well, slamming into her with a hoarse cry as he came.

Neria slumped over on his chest as they panted together, and it was some time before he could string together any kind of coherent thought. "That was amazing. Incredible. Incredibly amazing. Please tell me that was just as good for you." Alistair pressed a kiss to her forehead and smoothed away the few damp tendrils of hair that clung to the edge of her face.

Neria lifted her head to look at him and gave a half shrug. "It was okay, I guess." His sputter of indignation was interrupted by her laugh. "It was lovely, you silly thing. Did you even really have to ask?"

"I just wanted to make sure."

"I know, and that's why I love you." She clambered off him and cuddled up next to his side, her head resting on his chest.

"I love you, too." Alistair fumbled around until he found the blanket, tossing it over both of them as she snuggled back in happily. It was getting harder and harder to keep his eyes open as he traced a lazy pattern on her shoulder with the tip of a finger. "So, how long do you think this storm is going to last?"

"Hmm… maybe another day or so?" Neria answered sleepily. "Why?"

"Just wondering." Alistair signed contentedly. The wind blowing around the tent was strangely comforting, like being wrapped up in the arms of the storm. Inside, they were warm and safe and together. He could feel his thoughts drifting, becoming loose like the tiny flakes of snow ghosting down from the sky. Neria's breathing was growing slower, deeper, as he pressed a kiss into her hair.

Maker, please let it snow for days.

A/N: The muse demanded smut after writing Snowfall, so I had no choice but to comply. It's been a rough week, so I really needed to write something light and fluffy. For anyone following Scars That Bind, I apologize for the delay. The next chapter is already in my trusty beta's hands, so I'll get that posted as soon as I have her feedback. Thank you!