“Stop- Alistair, what are you doing?” Morrigan grabbed his hands and pushed him away. “I said we had to lay together. I didn’t say you could grope me.”
Alistair shrugged her off. “Well, I have to do something,” he sulked. “This doesn’t just... happen.”
Morrigan sighed. This past year had been a torment. Why Alistair had to be the only male Warden to survive Ostagar, she couldn’t imagine, but she hated him for it. She also hated him for how he teased her, and looked at her, and for his infuriatingly perfect nose.
She scowled at Alistair. “Fine,” she said, and she crossed her arms. “You can touch me. Just don’t expect me to like it.”
They stared at each other. After a moment Alistair rubbed the back of his neck. “Can you close your eyes, or something? This is really weird.”
Morrigan sighed again, and rolled her eyes before complying. The anticipation was almost too much. She jumped when he touched her, and she felt goosebumps she couldn’t explain. It must be the hate, she rationalized; she didn’t know if she had ever hated anyone so much. She felt his lips at the bare skin of her shoulder, and her eyes snapped open.
“Did you just kiss me?” she demanded.
“What, no, I just...” He looked like he’d been caught with the whole cookie jar. “I’m just trying to do what you asked. You’re making it very difficult.”
Morrigan gave him a pitying look. “Oh, does Alistair have a little problem?”
“What?” She glanced down at his smalls, and he shifted self consciously. “No, I don’t have any problems. Little or otherwise.”
This did seem to be the case, but Morrigan scoffed. “You have so many problems it would take all evening to enumerate them.” She swallowed. “You’re so pathetic.”
“Says the woman who walks around in a hankerchief!” Alistair scowled. “You know, for someone who claims to hate attention, you act rather desperate for it.”
Morrigan snorted. “Says the man who cries when his pretty hair gets mussed!”
“This again!” Alistair threw up his hands. “Yes, I cried when a man who was very important to me died, but that’s normal, you know, I’m not... wait, you think I have pretty hair?”
“What?” Her skin darkened. “No. Did I say pretty? Because I meant stupid.” She frowned. “‘Tis very stupid hair, because you are stupid, and I don’t—”
Alistair reached for her and she stopped short. Their eyes met. Morrigan thought for a moment that he had very nice eyes, before he dove forward and pressed his lips into hers.
The kiss was warmer than she'd imagined, and she felt hot, and little dizzy. After a moment he broke away, and Morrigan wasn’t sure what made her more angry: that he had kissed her at all, or that he’d stopped, but she hated him even more, if that was possible, for both offenses. She leaned into him.
“I hate you so much,” she gasped, against his mouth.
“The feeling is mutual,” he returned, before he kissed her again.
I Hate You So Much
Alistair shrugged her off. “Well, I have to do something,” he sulked. “This doesn’t just... happen.”
Morrigan sighed. This past year had been a torment. Why Alistair had to be the only male Warden to survive Ostagar, she couldn’t imagine, but she hated him for it. She also hated him for how he teased her, and looked at her, and for his infuriatingly perfect nose.
She scowled at Alistair. “Fine,” she said, and she crossed her arms. “You can touch me. Just don’t expect me to like it.”
They stared at each other. After a moment Alistair rubbed the back of his neck. “Can you close your eyes, or something? This is really weird.”
Morrigan sighed again, and rolled her eyes before complying. The anticipation was almost too much. She jumped when he touched her, and she felt goosebumps she couldn’t explain. It must be the hate, she rationalized; she didn’t know if she had ever hated anyone so much. She felt his lips at the bare skin of her shoulder, and her eyes snapped open.
“Did you just kiss me?” she demanded.
“What, no, I just...” He looked like he’d been caught with the whole cookie jar. “I’m just trying to do what you asked. You’re making it very difficult.”
Morrigan gave him a pitying look. “Oh, does Alistair have a little problem?”
“What?” She glanced down at his smalls, and he shifted self consciously. “No, I don’t have any problems. Little or otherwise.”
This did seem to be the case, but Morrigan scoffed. “You have so many problems it would take all evening to enumerate them.” She swallowed. “You’re so pathetic.”
“Says the woman who walks around in a hankerchief!” Alistair scowled. “You know, for someone who claims to hate attention, you act rather desperate for it.”
Morrigan snorted. “Says the man who cries when his pretty hair gets mussed!”
“This again!” Alistair threw up his hands. “Yes, I cried when a man who was very important to me died, but that’s normal, you know, I’m not... wait, you think I have pretty hair?”
“What?” Her skin darkened. “No. Did I say pretty? Because I meant stupid.” She frowned. “‘Tis very stupid hair, because you are stupid, and I don’t—”
Alistair reached for her and she stopped short. Their eyes met. Morrigan thought for a moment that he had very nice eyes, before he dove forward and pressed his lips into hers.
The kiss was warmer than she'd imagined, and she felt hot, and little dizzy. After a moment he broke away, and Morrigan wasn’t sure what made her more angry: that he had kissed her at all, or that he’d stopped, but she hated him even more, if that was possible, for both offenses. She leaned into him.
“I hate you so much,” she gasped, against his mouth.
“The feeling is mutual,” he returned, before he kissed her again.