lyrium hatesex porn for swift :3 

This is just. It’s awful.

When he pinched the lyrium potions from Owain and some fool templar recruit, Carrow hadn’t expected this particular result. He had intended to store the lyrium somewhere hidden, to use it when he was bored to make life more interesting. He hadn’t intended to share it with anyone – least of all Amethyne. Or to consume it in copious amounts, mixed with warmed mead, until his arms and legs felt heavy and lethargic, and his brain turned fuzzy around the edges.

 Later, he’d blame the lyrium and mead for his stupid decisions. In the moment, he wasn’t thinking enough to allocate blame. One hand was in her hair, a hard fist around the ridiculous pink strands, and the other ripped at the front of her robes while he kissed her.

 If it could be called a kiss. Their lips met hard, bruising, and he hissed. The pain twisted up with the lyrium and the faint hum of magic in the air, making his skin prickle.

 He slammed her body against the nearest wall, grabbing her thigh and hiking her leg around his waist.

 “Oh, fuck you,” she snarled against his mouth, biting his lower lip. The copper taste of blood filled his mouth, and he rocked his hips against hers. She had the right idea, and it eased the fiery ache in his cock when he rubbed against her.

 Her nails tore through the neck of his robe and then her fingers were around his throat, clenching tight. Magic pushed into his body, glorious magic, turning his limbs to lead while somehow bringing nothing but pleasure. He tried to fight the paralysis – Maker take her and her damned Entropy spells – but he lost the battle to the sweet sensation of ecstasy curling in his belly.

 There was also the insistent throbbing in his cock.

 Shoving him to his knees, she tossed her head and sneered as she slid onto his lap. “For shame, Carrow,” she drawled, and she grabbed his hair, yanking him against her mouth for a brutal kiss. He felt the skin of his lip split, felt her tongue brush over it and heard her moan reverberate against his chest, caught between them. She yanked on his hair, the sharp pain translating into pleasure, a throb of electric ecstasy in his cock, and he snapped at her tongue.

 With a hiss, she drew back. “Bastard.”

 He chuckled. “Yeah, pretty much.”

 Drawing back, she slammed her hands into his shoulders, knocking him down, and he pulled at the magic deep inside him at the same time. Maybe the spell she cast faded, or maybe it was the lyrium in his blood consuming her power, but he was able to free himself as his head hit the thick carpet, and he grabbed her.

 Fire burst under his fingers, carefully controlled, and it ate through her clothes.

 She swore, trying to jerk away, but he held her close, letting the fire consume his robes, too, and he flipped her over, onto her back. He rubbed against her, through the slick slide of her arousal, teasing her and himself.

 He groaned, momentarily lost in the overwhelming sensations. Fuck, but she felt good. It’d been a while – too long a while, apparently – since he’d last taken any pleasure from someone else’s body, and the lyrium made everything better. Made it sharper, more real.

 In that second of weakness, Amethyne pushed him back. She climbed over him, dragging her fingers down his chest hard enough to leave nasty, red welts in the wake of her nails. Grabbing her hips, he pulled her over him until every move she made rubbed her against his cock.

 “Get on with it,” she snapped, leaning over him, her hands on either side of his face.

 He bit out a laugh, reaching between their bodies to take himself in hand. He guided himself to her and then thrust inside, letting out an appreciative moan. Hot and tight, she felt perfect around him, and for a second, it was easy to imagine she was someone else, another woman. Maybe a cheap whore.

 Then magic flavored the air, her magic, and the lyrium inside him burned with it. Above him, she hissed and moaned, murmured “yes, yes, harder, faster” over and over. His fingers bruised her hips as he rocked into her, chasing a pleasure he couldn’t quite grasp.

 “Fuck, Amethyne,” he gasped when she clenched her muscles around him, and she laughed at him.

 The mocking laughter almost did him in, but he refused to let her win this. He slipped one hand from her hips to the nub between her legs, that bundle of nerves that would see his victory. His finger brushed over her, and she let out a sharp gasp and then a long moan. A smug smirk curled his lips. He liked making her moan if only because it was a concession of control.

 She rocked against him, twisted her hips around him as he drew runes over her clit, varying the pressure and stroke, until she let out a long, keening wail and came. Her body rippled around him, a delightful squeeze that shattered his control – not that he’d had much to begin with.

 Yanking her hips flush to his, he thrust twice more inside her, groaning as the pressure released with electric pleasure. Little sparks of fire danced across his skin, jumped onto hers. Then she pulled free of him and slumped onto the ground beside him. They were panting, the air charged with magic and the scent of sex and lyrium.

 “Andraste’s tits,” she gasped.

 “Mmm.”

 They lay in silence for a minute before she rose and began rooting through one of his chests of clothes. He watched her arse as she moved, a stupid grin on his face. “Hey.”

 She shot him a nasty look over her shoulder.

 “Come back next week, and I’ll have more.”

 She scoffed and slid into his robe, and he doubted she’d be back. Blindly, he reached out for the bottle of mead and drained the last of it.