dirtybiowareconfessions:

Confession: There’s no way Blackwall is a top. Blackwall is a subby sub sub and probably super into boot blacking and degradation

Confession: I also think Baewall would be a subby sub sub and would want to be tied down and teased to within in an inch of his life. CUE SMUT:

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Lavellan opens the door to the guest suite to greet him, and she’s already grinning.

Rainier smiles back as he steps into the room. “Good afternoon, I take it?” he says inanely. He should probably ask more incisive questions; the Exalted Council convenes tomorrow, after all. But he can’t be bothered. Arya is retreating into the room with more slink in her step than usual, and his attention is too deeply hooked by the sway of her slender hips to spare any thought for politics.

“It was fine. But it’s about to get better,” she replies, then lifts a silk pouch from the table. He watches as she reaches into the pouch, then pulls out a long, slender length of rope.

His eyebrows jump high on his forehead. “What’s that for…?” He trails off as Arya glances at the Orlesian bed with its four ornately carved bedposts.

A sudden rush of excitement blazes from the crown of his head straight down to his groin. He only realizes his jaw has fallen open when she steps close and tugs playfully on his beard. “I take it you’re interested, then?” she purrs.

Words. A reply. He needs to find one. “Where did you…? How did you know – I mean…” He can feel his face turning red, and he snaps his mouth shut before he can look any more foolish.

“I bought these this afternoon,” she says as she slides her fist along one length of rope. “As for how I knew…” She glances at him, looking oddly sheepish. “I hope you won’t be angry, but I got to talking with Bull…”

“Bull told you I wanted to-?” He splutters to a halt as Arya’s lovely face is lit with a grin, and she slides a comforting hand down his chest. “He suspected,” she says. “He’s a former Ben-Hassrath, he knows everything. And I’ll admit, I’m… curious. So if you want to…”

Rainier cups the back of her neck and kisses her hard. Immediately she nips his lip with her teeth, and he marvels at the smoothness of her tongue in his mouth, as sweetly silken as the ropes in her delicate hands. This wisp of a fantasy was once a half-formed inkling and nothing more, but he’s suddenly violently grateful for the qunari commander’s sixth sense for sexuality. Everything Rainier didn’t dare to imagine is at their disposal: the bed, the ropes, his beautiful Dalish rogue, and most importantly, the time.

Arya slowly leans away and smiles. “I’ll take that as a yes,” she says breathily.

Rainier nods with wordless eagerness. He is lost in the glowing violet of her eyes, and when her lips move to command, all he can do is follow.

“Take off your boots. And strip from the waist up,” she says.

She slides the rope teasingly through her fist. The look she slides across his body is an equally salacious caress, and Rainier is powerless to resist. Mutely he does as he’s told, then follows her lead as she pushes him back toward the bed.

She jerks her chin at the ornate padded headboard. “Go,” she commands.

He goes. She kicks off her boots and crawls onto the bed to straddle him, and he eyes her still-clothed body with painful longing. “You take something off as well,” he pleads. “I missed you.”

She shoots him a quick grin as she holds out her hand, and he obediently places his right wrist in her palm. “I will,” she replies. “All in good time. Now let me see…” She trails off as she lifts one rope to his wrist, and he watches avidly as she twines the rope into a cuff around his wrist, then ties his wrist to the bedpost.

The silken rope is lighter and smoother than it looks, but when he pulls experimentally at his arm, the rope pulls back with a tug of tension. Rainier inhales slowly to quell the sudden surge of want in his abdomen. His cock is already heavy with lust, and he lifts his hips pleadingly as Arya shifts on his lap to reach for his left wrist.

Read the rest on AO3.