Yay a Baewall prompt for @dadrunkwriting Friday! I doubled up and used a Fictober dialogue prompt as well: “I know you do.”

Read on AO3 here. NSFW smut, because that’s how we do. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Fandom: Dragon Age Inquisition
Pairing: Blackwall/Lavellan
Rating: Explicit

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Heat. Pressure. Darkness. Too comfortable, can’t move…

The warm hand travels up Blackwall’s back, sliding over his bare shoulder blade. A shifting of the mattress as another body climbs onto the bed.

He smiles sleepily into his pillow as Arya climbs on top of him. She straddles his hips, settling herself comfortably on his bum, and he feels her shifting weight as she leans forward to kiss the spot between his shoulders.

“Good morning,” she says.

Her voice is pert and bright – far too bright for how dark it is. “What time is it?” he mumbles, his mouth thick with sleep.

“No idea,” she chirps. “But it is morning. Technically.” She kisses his ear, his hair, his shoulders, sliding her palms across the muscles of his back.

He sighs contentedly and nestles his face into the pillow. He wants to ask what kept her out so late; when he’d left her in the Great Hall, she was deep in cahoots with Varric about a ‘special commission’ he was writing for one of their companions, and he can’t imagine that that would have occupied her for hours.

The question forms on his tongue, but then her hands start to knead his back. Her warm weight is just so nice, and he’s too bloody cozy…

The vague query fades to the back of his mind as the lull of sleep returns to the fore. Arya massages his shoulders, the heels of her hands pressing into knots he didn’t realize were there. Blackwall’s body is here in bed, anchored by her solid heat on his back, but his mind is floating and free, loose and wandering in the darkness of very early morn.

Arya smoothes her hands up along his spine, across his shoulders, soothing him with heat and pressure until he’s more asleep than awake. She leans forward, pressing her chest against his back, and with the last kernel of wakefulness in his mind, he realizes that she’s topless.

She rolls her hips slightly, pressing her pelvis more firmly into his bottom, and a slow stir of interest uncoils in his groin. Her hands move up along his arms, sliding under the pillow until she finds his wrists, and when she wraps her little elven fingers around them, the stirring between his legs pulses more strongly.

She rolls her hips against his bum, and her breath ghosts against his ear, and now he’s conflicted: he’s still cozy, still comfortable, but Arya’s eager body is calling him, cajoling his cock into alertness. If only he could find the energy to reciprocate…

She leans low, brushing her breasts against his back, and he shifts restlessly to let his cock straighten against his thigh. “Mmm,” he grumbles.

She chuckles softly, then lifts her chest and slides off of his back. “Come on. Roll over,” she whispers.

He presses his face into the pillow for a moment more – crystal grace and apples, it smells like her – then, without opening his eyes, he slowly rolls onto his back.

The mattress shifts again, then Arya is straddling him once more. She pushes the blankets away from his waist, and when she lowers her weight onto his hips, he realizes with a jolt of happy surprise that it’s not just her upper half that’s nude.

She’s fully naked and she’s wet, and Blackwall groans with sleepy appreciation as his shaft comes to rest in the snug embrace of her slick cleft. She slides her hands over his biceps and along his forearms to capture his wrists again, and as she leans her weight into his wrists, pinning him to the mattress, his languid lust intensifies from a simmer into a boil.

He lifts his hips, pressing his cock more firmly into her heat. “I like this,” he mumbles, then immediately regrets it. It’s vague and insufficient praise for how she makes him feel. Blackwall loves this. He loves the solid reassurance of her small and slender body splayed across his own. He loves the dominant grip that she uses to hold him down, even though he could flip her over in a heartbeat.

She chuckles, a bright and vibrant sound that rings like bells in the dark. “I know you do,” she purrs, then undulates her hips, sliding herself along his length, spreading her slippery arousal over them both.

Then suddenly he’s inside of her, sheathed in the heavenly tightness of her, heat and pressure and pleasure of a different kind than her hands across his back. She rocks against him slowly, a rhythmic in-and-out like the breath that fills his lungs, and Blackwall simply breathes in this bliss. He’s blind in the darkness of the bedroom, but he doesn’t need his vision anyway; every scrap of his mind is focused on the feel of her, her heat around his cock and her weight on his hips and her fingers biting into his wrists as she takes him deep and slow.

Her right hand leaves his wrist and she slows down even more, and without even looking, Blackwall knows exactly where her hand has gone: it’s between her legs, her fingers pressing against her swollen bud. He listens with drowsy satisfaction as her breathing grows jagged and sharp, and when she gasps, he gasps as well, his pleasure rising sharply as she contracts around him.

Her hand pins his wrist again. Her lips crash against his own in a ferocious kiss, and Blackwall moans into her tongue as she rolls against him, fucking him hard and fast as she rides out her rapture.

A few long, delicious moments later, she slows and pulls away from his lips with a gasp. “Don’t mind me if I help myself to your cock,” she quips, then laughs breathlessly against his cheek.

“Not at all, my lady,” he breathes. He’s more than happy to be her thrall, the object of her passion and the recipient of her torrid touch. Her pleasure feeds his own, bleeding into him through her skin and her slickness and her sweat.

She presses his wrists into the mattress. She rides him slow and careful, then fast and hard when he thrusts toward her. When he gasps out a groan of ecstasy, she catches his pleasure on her tongue, kissing him deeply as he shudders helplessly beneath her.

Finally Arya releases his wrists and flops onto the bed beside him, and Blackwall doesn’t hesitate: he rolls toward her, slinging his arm around her waist and gathering her into his body.

He tucks her head under his chin, and she laughs and pushes gently at his chest. “Wait, wait,” she urges. “I want to clean up first!”

He wraps his arm tightly around her. “Stay,” he mumbles. He’s dozing off already, both sated and sedated by their sex, and the comfort of her body is all he wants before falling back asleep.

She ceases in her wriggling, and he feels her happy sigh against his chest. “All right, you big brute,” she whispers. “I’ll stay.”

He can hear the smile in her voice, and it makes him smile in return. He nestles into the pillow, enjoying the scent of her hair and the heat of her body tucked into his own. “Good night, Arya,” he mumbles.

He hears the brightness of her chuckle. “Good morning, you mean,” she retorts.

A half-smile is all he can manage before sleep snatches him away. Morning, night, or afternoon: it truly doesn’t matter.

With Arya in his arms, everything is good.