SirCyanide

She steps into the room, hands running down her newest prize. It is a darling thing, all leather and polished brass, and although her hands where more used to the heavy cleft of her broadsword, she mused that there was uses for smaller weapons even in such a place as this.

This being the lavish and comfortable bedroom the Inquisition had graciously conjured up for its leader. Her bedroom in fact. Although the occupant on the bed currently was much less Andraste’s chosen then disgruntled mage.  The furious eyes that stared out at her where just as appealing as they had been on the judgement block. A little less assured of their owners wit and glib tongue maybe, a tongue that wouldn’t be trying to weasel itself out of this bargain. Now that that delightful tongue lacked a foothold to say much of anything, bound as it was in silk.

Her eyes trailed down a little Servis’ body, catching on the silk ropes and the lace that clung to his hips and legs. Shave smooth it seemed, though she didn’t know if that was just for the occasion or if it was a personal quirk of his. Her scarred lips twitched.

“What a truly tempting sight. Much more attractive then those shapeless robes from before yes?” She pads closer, grinning more widely at his affronted look. Muffled protests try vainly to escape their silk confines.

She swings her body over his legs and juts her hip out, bringing his attention shuddering downwards to her own change of attire. The brass cock gleams rather menacingly, much more conspicuous then the wooden models she has seen. Also much less likely to result in splinters she imagines.

“Nice yeah?” She wraps a hand around the generous girth “Only the best for such a memorable foe.”

Her hands pat his bound chest with casual air, testing the bonds there and soothing whatever injured pride still remained.

“Unless of course, you have reconsidered your generous offer and would like a hand back to your quarters?” Another affronted look speared her way, and her eyebrows rise. Servis’ squirm’s in his binds, before freeing enough to hook a leg over her hips. His eyes say all that really needs to be said on the matter.

“Well I didn’t mean to offend! I know this wasn’t your original plan” Her hands take their time in idle exploration, even as she keeps a prudent eye on his expression. So hard to tell sometimes, with men as used to lying as he was.

“I suspect you thought I was a soft woman, under the sword calluses. In secret want of a man to hold me gently and say soft things into my scars. “ Her own hands where not so gentle. Still he urged her on with frustrated movements; perhaps it had been unkind to leave him waiting as she finished up the last minute business of the day.

Unkind perhaps, but rewarding.

“I’m afraid I am not so deep as that. What you see, messer, is a woman who likes to take. Take control of the battlefield, take the free flowing money of a job well done, take--” A squeeze of a well toned thigh wrapped in shimmering lace has a squeak breaking past the bound lips. She grins. “Handsome men who foolishly bargain with their body.”

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