Hey my love @littlesnowarrow​! 

I’m really vibing Baewall and the Hot Broody Elf™ these days so I dearly thank you for these prompts! The Abelas one will be filled in a separate post ^_^ 

So this is the prompt fill for Blackwall: grace, dark, holding. It is NSFW. This should surprise no one. 

Read on AO3 instead.

---

Her fingers clench between his own, her fingertips pressing into his knuckles.

Blackwall squeezes her hand in kind. The heel of his palm gently presses her hand back into the mattress. “I’m watching,” he whispers. He strokes the angle of her naked hip with his other thumb.

“Good,” Arya gasps. Her eyes are shut and her erratic breaths are escaping through her parted lips. He watches her besottedly, his adoring gaze sliding from her angled eyebrows to her beaded nipples, over her trembling belly and down to the juncture of her thighs where her fingers are diligently working.

She slides her fingers low to dip into her own slick heat, then back up to circle her clit, and Blackwall swallows hard as he watches the movements of her hand. Her elegant archer’s fingers dance between her legs, a masterful play that matches their dexterous dance across the string of her bow.

Truth be told, that’s what brought them to this moment: the pleasure he takes in watching his Dalish lover’s talented hands.

It started with his gallant confession of admiration while she was training in the courtyard at dusk. He watched from a distance as arrow after arrow struck her targets with an easy grace. When her quiver was empty, he approached and took her hand.

“You’re a pleasure to watch, Your Worship. You put every archer in Skyhold to shame. But don’t tell Sera I said so.” He dropped a chaste kiss on the back of her hand.

The corners of her amethyst eyes crinkled in a smile. “Well well, Ser Blackwall. I didn’t know I had a spectator.”

“You’re the Inquisitor,” he reminded her. “There’s always someone watching.” He glanced around at the mostly empty courtyard; most of Skyhold’s residents were eating supper at this hour. “But it looks like I’m your only admirer tonight.”

“Hmm,” she acknowledged, then took a step closer. “A solo admirer watching me from afar… sounds rather dirty, don’t you think?”

Her hands were folded innocently behind her back, but the tilt of her chin was coquettish and her eyes were sly. Instantly his cheeks started to warm with a combination of excitement and embarrassment. “Not at all, Your Worship,” he stammered. “I just meant-”

“I know what you meant,” she interrupted. She stepped closer still until her chest brushed against the base of his sternum. “You like watching me pulling my bowstring, setting off my arrows to strike their targets.” She raised one auburn eyebrow. “What else do you like watching me do?”

Minutes later and here they are: stretched naked on her bed in the half-light, his right hand holding her glowing left hand captive and his greedy eyes scanning the lean length of her body as she strokes the swollen bud between her legs.

He watches the swirling of her fingers for a moment longer, then lowers his mouth to her ear. “I like watching you, my lady,” he murmurs. “I like to see you touching yourself.”

“Mm-hmm?” She moans an encouragement, her voice strained as she arches into her hand.

“That’s right,” he confirms, then drops his voice to a low growl. “I like to see you stroking your clit. I like watching while you make yourself wet, getting yourself ready for me.”  

She whimpers and nods furiously, and Blackwall’s cock pulses with excitement as her fingers circle her clit more quickly. He traces the pointed edge of her ear with his tongue, then brushes his lips to her cheekbone. “You want me to stroke my cock against you. Push inside of you and fuck you hard.”

“Yes!” she gasps. Her nails bite convulsively into his knuckles, and she tries to lift her pelvis toward the heavy bulge of his groin, but he pushes down with his hand on her hip to keep her still.

“Easy, Your Worship,” he murmurs. “I can’t give you my cock until you scream for me.”

She opens her eyes and pins him with a furious glare. “And if I command you to fuck me?” she snaps.

Blackwall smiles. Her ferocity rivals that of a hungry dragon, but her fingers are still rubbing the sweet spot between her legs and her breaths are short and sharp. “I can’t disobey a direct order from the Inquisitor,” he replies with mock gravity. “But I know that’s not what you want.”

“No?” she demands, her voice sharp with frustrated desire.

“No,” he confirms. “I know you want to come. I see how close you are. You’re imagining my mouth between your legs, aren’t you? You’re thinking about riding my face. You’re thinking about fucking my tongue with that sweet pussy.”

She arches her back and whines, her desperation sharpened by his filthy voice in her ear. He’s never really been one for this kind of talk, and he’s not sure where his confidence is coming from, but with every gravelly word he whispers against Arya’s cheek, her body arches further, her fingers swirling faster over the swollen bud of her pleasure until – until…

She throws her head back against the pillows and cries out with pleasure. Before her climax can fritter away, he’s between her legs with his cock stroking against her slippery heat. She’s mewling with need and grabbing for his hips, he’s grasping the root of his manhood to slide inside of her and oh-

He groans as her wetness envelops him, so hot and so fucking tight. Arya plants her feet on the bed and lifts her hips with a vicious force, taking him so deep that their hips smack together with the satisfying sound of skin-on-skin.

He gasps helplessly, trying hard to keep up with her frenzied pace, but it’s difficult when the perfect heat of her is so damned distracting. She claws at his arms, her breasts jumping as she fucks him hard, then she growls with frustration and shoves his shoulders.

He rolls off of her, then suddenly he’s flat on his back with his Dalish lover rising over him like a goddess reborn, her body undulating gracefully against him like a tidal wave. Her grips the smoothness of her hips, guiding her against his cock as she takes him in a fast and rolling rhythm.

He stares unabashedly, drunk on the sight of her and the feel of her and the hot and salty scent of her. The column of her neck is craned back, and his eyes draw a smooth line from her chin to her sternum, lower across the dip of her belly, and straight to the spot where his body joins with hers.

“You’re still watching?” she asks breathlessly, and he slowly lifts his gaze to her face. Through the haze of his rising pleasure, he manages to smile.

“Always, my lady,” he pants. “I could never look away.”

She grins briefly at him, her hips still rocking relentlessly against his own, and he’s finally forced to close his eyes as his climax builds in his core, swirling and growing until it bursts into bloom in his belly, his calves, behind the darkness of his eyelids.

He gasps for breath, then releases a happy little oomph as Arya’s weight collapses across his chest. Her shoulder is pressed to his lips, her fingers sliding into his sweat-dampened hair as her lips brush his temple, and Blackwall beams in utter bliss.

There’s certainly a time and place for watching. But Blackwall has never been so glad that Arya prefers to act.