undwarfy | Open post

Varric could only shrug. “Maybe I just never thought someone like you would ever....”

“Never mind,” he cut off abruptly. Too real, no thanks. “So I’m an idiot.”

She would've liked to dig in deeper to that, but it didn't seem like it'd lead anywhere useful. Another time, maybe, once they were past this initial mess.

"And Bianca?" That question came out more quietly, and with a lot less heat. Bianca was, or at least had been, much more serious business than mix-ups over dwarf vs human attractiveness and years of not-really-in-jest pick-up lines and retorts. Hawke had never asked about Bianca before, not even to tease him. She knew when there were 'No Entry' signs up about someone's past.

Varric sighed heavily and ran his hands through his hair, raking bitten fingernails over his short ponytail. “I... shit, I don’t know. That was a long time ago, and I never...”

His voice trailed into an aimless whisper. I never thought I could do this again. I never expected to get over it. I never thought I would fall for someone again. There are wounds that never heal, and wounds that surprise you by healing.

Eventually he came up for air and eyes her with surprising vulnerability that he clearly wasn’t aware of showing. “Imagine being told you’ll never walk again, then years later realizing you just took a step.”

Edited 2018-01-30 15:44 (UTC)

Hawke nodded slowly, digesting this. "All right, I understand that." She tilted her head at him. "So...now what?"

“I don’t know,” he answered quietly. “Probably talking about feelings and shit.”

Varric sat back in his chair and looked at her. Shit, he was no good at this, but one thing did come to mind. “Did you hear what happened in here the other night? I got some nuglicker kicked out for cheating.”

The irony in that statement stood on its own.

Hawke laughed, as she was meant to, and the mood in the room lightened. She rested her face on one hand. "We're terrible at talking about feelings," she complained. "Can't we just kiss each other brainless for a while instead and let all the feelings sort themselves out on their own? Is that an option now? I'm not really clear on that part."

"Just- let me tell my little story," came his response, with a gentle smile and a raised hand.

"So, aforementioned nuglicker comes waltzing in the other day like a cat with a canary shoved halfway up its backside, makes himself at home at my Wicked Grace game," Varric began. It was a relatively short and uninteresting story, but he still settled in, with gesticulating and emphasis. "Then the little putz starts talking about what he's seen- some juicy little something-or-other, and the little twerp can't stop hinting that I should give two halves of a rat's ass. Anyway, so he tells me about your little, uh, incident at the Rose? Which by the way, is less of an incident than this story is, but this greasy shit can't stop patting himself on the back for it. And Then! he starts talking about you- apparently you all but ran out of there, and Maker help him, he just wouldn't shut up about, oh, 'things I'd like to do to her, blah blah blah, something something slut, blah blah blah, walking funny for days, blah blah blah'." Varric ended the sentence with more force than was necessary, and it was pretty obvious what got Skeezy McGee kicked out of the place. "A few minutes later, wouldn't you know it? I spotted an ace up his sleeve."

Varric was good enough at telling stories, but this one didn't have a planned ending. There was meant to be a point stuck on at the end somewhere, and stringing piece to part was proving difficult. He fidgeted for a moment, fingertip making circles in the grooves of the table's wood grain. "Anyway, my point is- I made an extremely public scene and possibly an enemy over that."

Over someone pissing him off- over her. Varric couldn't talk about his feelings any more easily than he could shit while doing a headstand, but he sure as hell could tell her a story that illustrated his feelings.

She pouted a little--she rather liked the skip talking about feelings and go back to kisses idea--but settles down and listens. She got the point pretty quickly. As he pointed out so often, Varric was a businessman and a storyteller, and a master of both trades, to say nothing of his skill as a gambler. All things that required...subtlety. Self-control. Keeping the reins on your temper.

Varric was much, much too careful for public scenes (unless they were planned, or just hilarious), or for making enemies he didn't need.

"Well," she said finally, "you'll have picked up by now that I'm jealous of your crossbow."

She couldn't really offer an equivalent tale of her losing her shit because of him. Something completely uncharacteristic and absurd to the point of humiliating would have to do.

Varric’s face cracked a warm, slightly smarmy smile. “What, Bianca?” A fond glance at the weapon in the corner. “C’mon, Hawke, there’s room in our marriage for one more.”

Feeling more relaxed, he got up and started pouring out two glasses of the good wine he kept for himself in his rooms. “Bianca likes you. You don’t objectify her the way Isabela does.”

"How could I? She has far too much personality." It came out a little more dry than she intended. Then Hawke did a double-take. "Wait, was that a proposal?"

Record scratch. Did you hear that, Hawke? He froze with his glass at his lips.

The glass came down slowly. "Um, as much as I like you, Hawke, I don't think Bianca and I are ready to make that kind of commitment. For now, the two of us will settle for opening up our marriage."

"Oh. Okay. Good." She could have been insulted but frankly was more relieved. The evening was bizarre enough already. Up was down, left was right, Varric had kissed her, in public, any minute now the Knight-Commander would come in wearing a frilly pink dress and singing about how everyone should just get along.

Moving back a few steps, then. "So...she won't try to kill me in my sleep if I kiss you again?"

"Oh no," he replied mildly, taking a sip from his drink. "She approves, don't you, sweetheart? Hm, what's that? Oh," he added to Hawke, translating his aside conversation with the crossbow, "She thinks we should just get on with it already. As long as there are no other named weapons in our lives."

"So now's the time to tell you my daggers are actually named Jack and Wilhemina, and there's a long, tragic tale about it?"

He'd handed her a glass a minute ago; she reached for it and drank deep. "Hey, I already suggested kissing each other brainless. You're the only one left to convince, if Bianca and I agree."

Which was sort of an unspoken agreement to crossbow-Bianca being a third party in whatever the hell it is they were doing. Not that she really knew what they were doing.

"Hey, I told my story," Varric says, an eyebrow cocked. "I'm ready to go."

With that, he grabs her hand and tugs on it sharply, pulling her closer with a roguish grin.

The grab-and-pull actually catches her by surprise, which is how he gets away with it. But she runs with it, or rather stumbles with it, and lets herself be pulled onto his lap. Which...works, actually.

"So no kissing until storytime is over. I should've figured that'd be a rule." Maker, his face is right there. She reaches up and runs fingers down his stubbled chin, mostly to see if she can. The entire evening still feels unreal.

The stubble feels real, though. Prickly. That's actually comforting. Her mouth quirks. "So, no interest in Jack and Wilhemina?"

"Hm, let me guess," Varric muses, letting one hand creep up her back and onto her neck- Maker, her skin is soft. "Something something long lost loves, or possibly some lazy shits you swore to protect, then you insert some tragedy about darkspawn or angry bears."

His other hand pulls at her knees and arranges her more comfortably on his lap. It very conveniently lets him rest a hand on her waist, which may or may not have been his plan all along.

Her breath catches when he touches her neck. There are goosebumps. Actual goosebumps. She's got it bad. The hand on her waist is nice too, but it's the skin-on-skin thing that's really distracting. She fingers brushing his face run lightly over his mouth. "Something like that. Also bloody vows of vengeance, epic quests, and shiny loot."

She has no idea what she's babbling about, to be honest. There other two kisses happened so quickly that it feels like she's getting three times the awkward anticipation for this one.

Varric sees that. His thumb starts making feather-light circles at the base of her skull, ghosting gently over delicate skin. Maker, he wants to pull her close and kiss her now, but this anticipation is sweet.

"And did the hero of this tale find what she was looking for?" he asked quietly, lips moving under her fingers. It's hard not to catch those fingers in his lips and kiss them. "I hope she was... satisfied."

She shivers. Not just a little, but an all-over, full-body shiver that he can't possibly miss. "I don't know," she says, a little dizzily. She tugs his lower lip down a little, her gaze now just fixated on it. "The story's not over yet."

He lets her toy with his lip a little before catching her finger in his lips and kissing it gently.

Hawke crosses what little distance remains and joins their mouths, slowly brushing her lips against his before teasing them apart with her tongue. Their first two kisses were so abrupt and confusing for her that this feels much more like the real one, the one that counts, and she savors it accordingly, relaxing into it and into his embrace.

Varric hums low in his throat and pulls her in closer with that hand on her neck, letting it wrap warm and heavy around soft skin. His lips part easily, his tongue greeting hers and sliding along hers gently, slowly enough to almost torture. Oh, and she tastes perfect, it feels wonderful- softer and more intimate than the other two kisses, sudden and adorable though they were. His other hand curls around her waist and holds her a little closer, almost cradling her on his lap.

Her contented sigh as he pulls her in is almost a purr. He tastes like ale, of course, but also warm and leathery and with that particular Varric smell that goes right to her head, and to other places.

But now that she's here, she's in no hurry. It's all slow exploration, appreciative, and she likes that. Terrible drinks you quaff down in a rush, to get past the taste and straight to the pleasant drunken state that follows, but good things should be savored. And Varric is a rich, heady thing to imbibe.

The kiss is interrupted suddenly by her chuckle. "Beardy?"

He looks at her reproachfully, though the effect is somewhat lessened by his hand gently massaging her hip.

"Oh no, no sodding way are we talking about him in the middle of making out," Varric protests.

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