Alistair wondered about the logistics long before he ever got the nerve to kiss her. The top of Katrinn's head didn't even come up to his chin – how would the whole thing work? Would he have to bend down to meet her? Given that he was usually wearing armor (which didn't exactly bend all that well), that might be a problem. Would he have to get down on his knees? Would it be rude to ask her to stand on a tree stump?
(Sometimes, he wondered if he should really be spending so much time contemplating kissing. But then Katrinn would smile at him, and he realized it was useless to resist. It was like being told not to think about brontos. Making yourself forget a bronto was impossible, not when you were constantly reminding yourself of it. And maybe he shouldn't be thinking about Katrinn and brontos together, it was kind of a weird image.)
He tried asking her about it once, without really asking her. "So, there must have been plenty of guys who were interested in you," he said, as they walked a few steps behind everyone else. "You know, because you were a princess."
Katrinn raised an eyebrow at him. "Maybe, but I rather hoped that any man who was interested was so despite the royal thing, not because of it. Haven't we had that conversation before?"
Oh. Whoops. He walked right into that one. "That's not what I meant!" Alistair explained hastily. "I just meant that you must have met a lot of men because of ... and that sounds bad, too," he realized in mid-sentence. He sighed. "I just ... was wondering if there were any men. Who were special." Who were allowed to kiss you, like I want to.
"Special is relative. Have I been with men? Yes, a few. But only one I'd consider special." She looked away. "My brother took that away from me, too."
Katrinn walked ahead, and Alistair realized he'd miscalculated. Reminding her of another man was as good as telling her to think about brontos. Or not think about them. Whatever, the point was, it wasn't what Alistair had intended at all. And, he thought too late, it wouldn't have even answered his question properly, because all the men in Orzammar were dwarves. They wouldn't have his problem.
In the end, though, it was Katrinn herself who solved the problem – unsurprising, Alistair thought later, as she was the one who solved most of their problems. After their first attempt at a kiss – with her on her tiptoes, him bending as far as his rigid armor would allow – ended in the briefest brushing of lips, Katrinn cursed under her breath. "You know what?" she said. "This is dumb." And Alistair panicked for a brief moment - Maker, no, this isn't dumb, I just want to kiss you, please don't say you don't want me now -
Suddenly, he was falling backwards.
His arms flailed outward, but he couldn't regain his balance, and he ended up flat on his ass – which actually hurt worse than it would have had he been unencumbered by armor. "Ouch," he said, as Katrinn grinned down at him. "That hurt."
He might have complained further, but then Katrinn climbed into his lap, and he forgot everything he was going to say. She straddled his legs, frowning as the metal scraped against her bare skin. "Next time," she said, "you're getting undressed first."
"Next time," he countered, "you could warn me first."
"Now, where's the fun in that?"
And then her mouth was on his – finally, thank you sweet Andraste, because she tasted even better than she had in his fantasies. Her tongue immediately teased at his lips, drawing them open so she could touch the tip to his tongue. And wow. That was something she could do again. And again. When he groaned into her mouth, she wriggled closer. When they separated for a short moment, Alistair looked down, and immediately cursed his armor. Her generous breasts were pressed against his chest, but he was denied the feeling by several layers of metal. "Yes," he mumbled. "Definitely undressing."
One of her hands tugged at the short hair at the back of his neck, causing him to tip his gaze upward again. Katrinn was nose-to-nose with him, her eyes bright and mischievous. "Less talking," she said. "More kissing."
Well. That was certainly a directive he didn't mind following. Over the next bit of time, he learned that she giggled if you used your teeth, and that his vision blurred if she kissed just the right spot on his neck ...
... and he was pretty sure neither one of them thought about brontos even once.
Don't Think About Brontos (Alistair/f!Aeducan, PG)
*
Alistair wondered about the logistics long before he ever got the nerve to kiss her. The top of Katrinn's head didn't even come up to his chin – how would the whole thing work? Would he have to bend down to meet her? Given that he was usually wearing armor (which didn't exactly bend all that well), that might be a problem. Would he have to get down on his knees? Would it be rude to ask her to stand on a tree stump?
(Sometimes, he wondered if he should really be spending so much time contemplating kissing. But then Katrinn would smile at him, and he realized it was useless to resist. It was like being told not to think about brontos. Making yourself forget a bronto was impossible, not when you were constantly reminding yourself of it. And maybe he shouldn't be thinking about Katrinn and brontos together, it was kind of a weird image.)
He tried asking her about it once, without really asking her. "So, there must have been plenty of guys who were interested in you," he said, as they walked a few steps behind everyone else. "You know, because you were a princess."
Katrinn raised an eyebrow at him. "Maybe, but I rather hoped that any man who was interested was so despite the royal thing, not because of it. Haven't we had that conversation before?"
Oh. Whoops. He walked right into that one. "That's not what I meant!" Alistair explained hastily. "I just meant that you must have met a lot of men because of ... and that sounds bad, too," he realized in mid-sentence. He sighed. "I just ... was wondering if there were any men. Who were special." Who were allowed to kiss you, like I want to.
"Special is relative. Have I been with men? Yes, a few. But only one I'd consider special." She looked away. "My brother took that away from me, too."
Katrinn walked ahead, and Alistair realized he'd miscalculated. Reminding her of another man was as good as telling her to think about brontos. Or not think about them. Whatever, the point was, it wasn't what Alistair had intended at all. And, he thought too late, it wouldn't have even answered his question properly, because all the men in Orzammar were dwarves. They wouldn't have his problem.
In the end, though, it was Katrinn herself who solved the problem – unsurprising, Alistair thought later, as she was the one who solved most of their problems. After their first attempt at a kiss – with her on her tiptoes, him bending as far as his rigid armor would allow – ended in the briefest brushing of lips, Katrinn cursed under her breath. "You know what?" she said. "This is dumb." And Alistair panicked for a brief moment - Maker, no, this isn't dumb, I just want to kiss you, please don't say you don't want me now -
Suddenly, he was falling backwards.
His arms flailed outward, but he couldn't regain his balance, and he ended up flat on his ass – which actually hurt worse than it would have had he been unencumbered by armor. "Ouch," he said, as Katrinn grinned down at him. "That hurt."
He might have complained further, but then Katrinn climbed into his lap, and he forgot everything he was going to say. She straddled his legs, frowning as the metal scraped against her bare skin. "Next time," she said, "you're getting undressed first."
"Next time," he countered, "you could warn me first."
"Now, where's the fun in that?"
And then her mouth was on his – finally, thank you sweet Andraste, because she tasted even better than she had in his fantasies. Her tongue immediately teased at his lips, drawing them open so she could touch the tip to his tongue. And wow. That was something she could do again. And again. When he groaned into her mouth, she wriggled closer. When they separated for a short moment, Alistair looked down, and immediately cursed his armor. Her generous breasts were pressed against his chest, but he was denied the feeling by several layers of metal. "Yes," he mumbled. "Definitely undressing."
One of her hands tugged at the short hair at the back of his neck, causing him to tip his gaze upward again. Katrinn was nose-to-nose with him, her eyes bright and mischievous. "Less talking," she said. "More kissing."
Well. That was certainly a directive he didn't mind following. Over the next bit of time, he learned that she giggled if you used your teeth, and that his vision blurred if she kissed just the right spot on his neck ...
... and he was pretty sure neither one of them thought about brontos even once.