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[troubleyan]

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[troubleyan]

She's usually quick on her feet, but even she doesn't hear him move this time until he's yanking her back around so fast that her chest bumps into him.

She was expecting him to be dissatisfied by default with the whole Halamshiral decision, but foolishly maybe she'd thought that he'd see her rationale as reasonable. She wasn't expecting him to snap and come after her.

(This bullshit is why Leliana would've wanted to be in the room, probably.)

"I do!" she practically blurts out in his face. Two breaths. Calm down, Evie. "But separately from...missions." She's messing up the explanation, but it makes sense in her head. She doesn't want him to think that she only needs him for missions, that that's where her interest in him stops. She doesn't want him to feel used, because she's already felt used by every single person who decided her existence gained value only after she closed the Rift the first time.

[firstbornstorm]

Daemon again blinked at her, more than a little confused by the entire situation. Evelyn wanted him to go with her to Halamshiral, that was clear. And he'd said that he would, but he was hardly thrilled about it. That was also clear. Then she'd spouted some nonsense about looking for excuses about something and spending time with him apart from their work, and he'd gotten lost after that.

So he just frowned at her, dropped his hands only to throw them with a huffed grunt, and shake his head, stepping back a pace, then two.

"I swear to the Fourteen Fires you make absolutely no fucking sense at all, Evelyn Trevelyan. What do you want from me, woman?" They got along well enough, he'd thought. Sure, they'd had some fiery fucking sessions here and there, no strings just like she'd wanted, and he'd been fine with that.

Now here she was, spouting something that made no sense and confusing him even more. "Make some damned sense!"

[troubleyan]

She isn't making sense right now, not when she snaps with: "I fucking like you!" So fast that it leaves her breathless, and yet she keeps going. "You drive me insane with how much I like you - fucking care about you, but I know you just want something casual and I'm fine with that but Maker help me, you're infuriating and hypnotic and I just want more and more and apparently my brain stops working around you!"

[firstbornstorm]

He'd only ever been successful at shutting her up in one way. And that was to just take her by the arms, shove her back against the hard stone, and kiss her breathless, which was exactly what he did. Because she wasn't going to just waltz in here, drop her grenades, and then run out and leave him gaping like a landed fish. No, Daemon wasn't having it.

But kissing her was always a good choice, and a task he enjoyed with unfeigned alacrity. And usually a healthy dose of smarmy charm. So he plundered her mouth with a bold tongue, determined to make her squirm then melt, so that they could finally actually talk without the bullshit getting in the way.

"...Evie, Evie, Evie," Daemon rumbled an eternity later, finally lifting his head just enough to murmur her name against her wet mouth. Calloused fingertips gently coursed over the swell of her cheek. "You don't have to be afraid of me, y'know..." His hand drifted to cradle the back of her head, mouth running along the curve of her jaw.

"...'m not gonna hurt you. Never would."

[troubleyan]

She has time to let out a surprised gasp, and then his lips are on hers and she's melting as he kisses her, dirty and deep and hard, like he always does. She pushes one hand into his hair and grabs onto the leather vest of his armor with the other, pulling him near.

She might be clinging. She's clinging. The truth is that she doesn't want to let him go, overall. That she doesn't want to be a casual tryst that happens when they have an itch to scratch.

But - do Inquisitors get to be in love? Do Evelyn Trevelyans?

She doesn't expect the tenderness from his voice, it renders her breathlessness a little shaky, her exhale shuddering on the way out, whispered against his lips.

"I'm not," she murmurs, closing her eyes for the pleasure of that caress. Trusting him. "I know you wouldn't - I trust you. I've always trusted you."

[firstbornstorm]

It would be so easy, so very easy, to just lose himself back in her mouth, pick her up and take her to bed, shoving everything aside for the pleasure they always found in the other's arms. But that was the coward's way out, and Daemon Storm had never quailed in the face of danger, fear, or even common sense. So he sighed softly and lifted his head, dark blue eyes gazing down at the woman between him and the tower wall, and arched a single eyebrow.

"Then what's the matter?" Far from his usual snarky tone, his voice was quiet, plaintive, and held actual concern this time. Still holding the back of her head, his thumb smoothed across her cheekbone, encouraging her to actually talk to him, for once.

"It's not a sin or a crime to like someone, Evelyn," he told her, a corner of his mouth tilting. "Even if it is me." He knew most of her companions didn't trust him, despite his skills and his help with their great mission, and he didn't doubt more than one had warned her about getting 'too involved' with the assassin and his exotic cohorts. Fuckers, all.

Daemon chuckled under his breath, gently resting his forehead against hers. "I like you, y'know."

[troubleyan]

She nudges his nose with hers, staying close. The rapid beating of her heart is settling now, anchored in his grip. Solid and comforting.

"You do?" The question is hopeful, as softly as she asks it. She cups his face in her hands and kisses him again, quick but chaste, all things considered. "Wait - no, don't do that self-deprecation shit, I'm not ashamed of this. For the record. I just - I didn't think you'd want more."

Leaning her forehead against his again, her eyes closed, she takes a soft breath.

"I have wanted more even before we fucked the first time, but I am so used to not talking about my own desires that I thought that was the most I'd get."

[firstbornstorm]

The self-depreciation was so deeply ingrained it might as well be grafted into his spine. He was hardly the sort to take home to the family, and he knew it. Which is why he again sighed and shook his head, saying, "I'm not...I'm a mongrel, Evelyn. A mixed-blood bastard, hardly something pedigreed that you'd want to take home to your mother."

And he'd made his own personal peace with that ages ago, which is why no one on this entire continent save for his Dothraki knew it. But to the nobility of Thedas, he was just another peasant, one that happened to be skilled with weapons therefore moderately useful.

"And you're The Inquisitor. Every government on this continent is afraid of you and what you can do. The very last thing the Inquisition needs is its figurehead to be attached to some knife-slinging mercenary who's not even from around here."

Besides, and his brows furrowed as he pointed out, "--you were the one who insisted 'no-strings', remember?"

[troubleyan]

She reaches up to press her finger to his lips, shushing him effectively. "I thought that's what you wanted." Finally, her expression cracks into a grin. "We killed a dragon and you fucked me in a lake, I don't remember us having any time to discuss strings.

"And the time in the library, I wanted to talk about it but we got very...very distracted. So - misunderstanding aside, it doesn't matter to me how wealthy or legitimate you are or what you do for gold, it doesn't stop me from wanting more."

Finally, she stops to breathe, to pause. "Do you want strings?"

[firstbornstorm]

Well...that was fair. Neither of them had assumed the other wanted anything permanent, so they'd just...left it. Daemon snorted softly, biting at her finger, but inwardly rolled his eyes at both of their ridiculousness. Definitely a pair, them.

Then Evelyn asked him the Question, and Daemon paused. Thought about it for a minute. And finally shrugged and replied, "I want you. No-strings, strings, what-the-fuck-ever." He had to laugh, though. "Honestly? We'll probably all be dead by the end of this, anyway." Sobering slightly, he added, "But if we live through it, I'll still be here for you, Evie."

Daemon cupped her cheek, dropped a light kiss on her lips. "Promise."

[troubleyan]

The chances of all of them dying by the end of this were pretty fucking high, yes. She will do anything she can to prevent that from happening, but on the other hand that will bring them to the question of what comes next. How do they live after spending so long surviving?

Tenderly, is the answer. Clearly.

"Good." She kisses him again, and once more. "I want you too. Are you here for me now?"

[firstbornstorm]

Daemon's eyebrows went up. "Right this second? Maybe, but not here. The boys'll be back shortly and I'd rather not have the interruption." The Dothraki weren't at all scandalized by others having sex within earshot or across the same room, or even out in a public street; their culture completely embraced the "you only live once" maxim.

"Why don't you invite me upstairs after supper?" he countered, still holding her cheek, thumb still gliding across her cheekbone. "If this is gonna be 'offical', or whatever." Gods knew all of Skyhold would know by morning, but for once, Daemon didn't give a damn. Let them gossip.

[troubleyan]

She reaches up to grasp his hand, holding it there so she can turn her head towards his palm, pressing one kiss to his wrist, above the pulse point.

"Daemon, I would love it if you came to my quarters for dinner tonight." And every other night, judging by the way her heart beats wilder with him here.

"I hope you know, this is separate to you working for the Inquisition, okay? You're - you're not obliged to do this, or risk your standing among my inner circle. You'd be in there either way."

She has been gently rebuffed by Cullen before, back in Haven, under flustered claims that it wasn't right because he was technically her commander, and that had made her hyper aware of the differences in power. She would rather eat her own nails than abuse that power; her feelings for the man whose hand is cupping her cheek now happened naturally, over months of gruelling travels and bloody battles, and electric chemistry.

She might have to make him a set of wicked daggers in the forge now.

[firstbornstorm]

"Then I'll be there." He wasn't an ounce worried about any abuses of power; he knew she didn't see him in that sort of light. Nor did he need to warm her bed to do his job. And any miscreant that dared whisper so within his hearing would choke on their own teeth, damnit.

"I know, Evie," he assured her, rolling his hand in hers to thread their fingers together. "If I didn't want you, I'd have let you leave a minute ago." Then his mouth slanted, a huffed chuckle escaping. "And I've seen you fuck up more than once, remember? Illusions of power don't mean shit when it comes down to the mud and the blood and the fire."

[troubleyan]

She lets out a low little chuckle, leaning forward once more, until her forehead rests against his again. "You certainly have a way of making me feel like a real human being, don't you, serah Storm..."

She looks up at him from beneath her eyelashes at this angle, her green eyes focused and warm.

"I like it when you call me Evie better than when you call me Legs, I'll admit. You sound like an affectionate grumpy cat."

[firstbornstorm]

Daemon laughed with her, low and warm. "It's good for you," he teased back. "Can't let all that authority go to your head, now can we?" Even though he knew that was hardly the case; being at the forefront of this giant institution scared the shit out of her, and rightly so.

Once again his grin slanted, and he slyly wedged a muscled thigh between her knees, blue eyes twinkling. "You like it when I call you a good girl, too." Oh, but he hadn't forgotten that. "The mighty Inquisitor's got a bit of a praise kink, doesn't she?"

[troubleyan]

All the outrage gets choked out of her when he pushes his thigh between her legs and it sends a bolt of arousal, sharp as lightning, up her spine.

"Oh, Maker," she groans, ducking to press her face against the crook of his shoulder and neck. "Correction - Evelyn had the praise kink before the whole Inquisition thing happened, for the record." She huffs, blood rushing to her head. "Are you going to do something about it?"

[firstbornstorm]

"Mmm, maybe." His amusement was colored with his own heady desire for her, but Daemon, at least, had enough experience and self-control to make it worth her while. Blessed be all of those Dothraki war matrons who'd taught a wild Westerosi bastard-prince how to please a woman.

Evelyn pressed her face in his neck and Daemon gently held the back of her head, letting her rock and move as she needed, pulling her a little higher astride his thigh. He'd give her enough to hold her until dinner, he wasn't quite bastard enough to leave her miserable and aching for the next several hours.

To that end, the swarthy assassin slipped his free hand between the Herald's spread thighs, skillful fingers finding their way into her trousers. A shift, a hitch, and he gently sank teeth into her earlobe as two of those roughened fingers pressed into her, thick and tight, just to make her writhe.

"Ride 'em, Evie," he purred beneath her ear. "Buck all you want..."

[troubleyan]

She knows he'll answer her challenge as soon as she feels the hand curl over the back of her neck, a soft inhale betraying how much that affects her. A softer moan escapes her lips when he brings her more firmly again him, her legs spreading naturally, her weight pushes onto the tips of her toes just to stay astride him like this.

"Oh fuck," just whooshes out of her, as his hand slips inside her pants - thank fuck for the pants she wears in Skyhold, devoid of the usual laces and belts to get in the way, because she has a whole fortress between her and any possible enemy; thank fuck, too, for the fact that her smalls are abysmally thin, and easy for him to navigate into.

"Oh - oh fuck," again, breathy this time, leaning away from his shoulder to meet his gaze with hers, the green of her eyes almost emerald dark now. If the way her lips part, her skin flushes with a blush, her eyes wide as he fills her isn't telling enough, then the fact that he slides inside so easily, her cunt slick since the moment he first kissed her, should convince him.

He tells her to ride his fingers, and she sucks in a breath and rocks her hips forward, rubbing herself against his thigh and rocking against his intruding fingers. "Maker - please..."

[firstbornstorm]

Daemon's own eyes are just as dark, nearly cobalt instead of their normal bright sky-blue hue. Dilated and hazy, they met hers without waver, not even when she began to rock back and forth on his impaling fingers, pressed deep in her heated slick.

She already began to beg, and he soothed her gently, soft easy kisses as he guided her further, in no hurry to make her climax but wanting to prolong her pleasure, to make her writhe so prettily in his arms. "Easy, my girl," he whispered, feather-light against her mouth. "Ain't gotta rush, Evie, just let go, baby - I got you."

Just to tantalize her further, to make her head spin, he sinfully rubbed his thumb against her clit, sharp little strokes in contrast to his softer words.

[troubleyan]

Her breaths come out in soft, almost quiet pants, close to his lips - close enough that when she feels a moan coming, she closes the distance between them and kisses him again to muffle it, the sound coming out needy regardless.

This has happened before. Her not realising just how tightly wound up she was until he touched her.

She tugs at his bottom lip with her teeth, rocking against his fingers again, riding him as he told her to. What was that thing he mentioned about his men being close to returning from whatever errands had them away? What would any of them say to find him with the Inquisitor pinned against the stone wall, his fingers inside her, the slick sounds of her filling the room?

Oh - who cares? At this point, she might even tell them to stay and watch or fuck off. If she manages words, that is.

"Fuck, y-yes, right there, that's - mmmmmhh..." That might be the full extent of her verbosity right now.

[firstbornstorm]

In all actuality, none of Daemon's companions would have lifted an eyebrow at the scene currently progressing in their adopted tower. Qotho, for one, might have hedged to join in if given the chance. And to be honest, their impending return was the last thing on Daemon's mind at the moment.

He was far more focused on the armful of squirming woman currently undulating against him, her lips pressed to his, nipping at his lower lip like the siren that she was. He licked at her mouth in return, thrusting his tongue in and out of her mouth in the same rhythm that his fingers penetrated her slick cunt.

Feeling her clench around his hand drew a sinful chuckle, and he pulled his mouth from hers only to growl, "That's a good girl, Evelyn. Such a good girl for me..."

[troubleyan]

There it is, finally. The praise melts into her, and she clamps around his fingers tightly, hips twitching, her throat tight around a moan as she tries frantically to get more friction, more fullness, more anything.

"You - yeah - all for you," she breathes out, not all together quietly. Dennet might have heard that one.

"I love...mmhh...love being a good girl for you..." slips out of her mouth unbidden, exhaled as she gets closer to the edge of what promises to be a very good orgasm.

[firstbornstorm]

His chuckle was pure velvet and sin, slithering from quirked lips. Feeling her getting even closer, Daemon lifted his knee, shoving Evelyn even higher astride his thigh. His other arm slid around her waist, arching her back, and he added a third finger to the two working inside of her, and scraped his thumbnail roughly across her clit.

Then, "--come for me," left his mouth, a guttural command that brooked absolutely no disobedience. "Right-fucking-now, Evie."

He was hard as a foundation rock in his own trousers, but nothing was more important than making her reach that peak with just his hands and his voice. He'd have her screaming, by all the gods.

[troubleyan]

Screaming is exactly how he has her. Her hands grabbing desperately at his shoulders, one leg coming up over his hip to open herself more - to make easier the range of movement his hand has inside her trousers - and it all couldn't be better timed. Her breath catches when the third finger fills and stretches her, then releases with a sharp cry.

Right-fucking-now -- she lets out a keening sound and arches into it, head thrown back as much as the wall behind her will allow it, her slickness dripping around his fingers as she squeezes him tight and comes and comes and comes.

On command. Fuck, she's not hearing the end of that one.