undwarfy | Open post

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.

"Mm. No," she agrees, brushing her lips over his again. "Just, you asked what he did. What he did was not be you. The beard made that very hard to ignore."

All right, so he'd probably guessed all that. She still wanted to say it. One hand tugs at the leather strap in his hair, undoing it; she's always been curious what he'd look like with his hair pulled back. She kisses him again, then leans back a little to observe the effect. "Ooh. No wonder you keep that tied back. Between the flowing locks and the chest hair, you'd have them swooning in the streets otherwise."

Varric shakes his head obligingly so his hair falls down around him, smirking a little at the praise. "Exactly. It's unfair to everyone else; I just want to give them a sporting chance."

Then he pushes her hair back, away from her eyes; it's something he's always wanted, to see her face without anything in the way. The effect is so beautiful that he feels the need to kiss her again (after he's done with his soppy smile).

The truth is with that loose hair, he belongs on the cover of one of his own romance novels. She'd better not tell him that, though. His ego's got all it can handle. Besides, mm, more kisses, she likes that, Hawke can definitely do that for a while. A few weeks, maybe. Or months. Food and sleep are overrated. She plays with his hair while they're busy with that, rubbing small patterns on his scalp and the back of his neck.

He hums contentedly into her mouth and pulls her closer, his hand wandering down her leg to the hem of her tunic. The kiss deepens once more, tongues slowly tasting, exploring, mouths sliding together in a long, languid embrace. It isn't until he dares to slide his hand up her thigh, under the tunic this time, that he breaks the kiss as well, pressing his mouth to her jaw and kissing up to that spot below her ear.

Mm, wandering hands and wandering mouth, this is getting better by the minute. It strikes her as a little absurd that she's sitting in his lap--Hawke hasn't sat in anyone's lap since she was a child, much less the lap of someone a good foot or two shorter than she is--but there's no question it has its good points.

She laughs a little breathlessly as she tilts her head back, as his hand wanders up her thigh, as her hand clenches on his shoulder. "Checking to make sure I don't actually have spider legs?"

It's a major flaw of stopping kissing Hawke's mouth: she's free to talk again. And she's never going to let him live down that spiders in skirts description.

In response to her inane-ass comment, he scrapes his teeth over that sensitive spot just below her ear, then soothes the mark with his tongue. Maybe if he does this right, he can shut her up.

A guy can dream, right?

It works for a minute. She gasps in a very satisfying manner, her fingers spasming their grip on him, and shivers at the feel of his breath in her ear.

But it's Hawke, and she chuckles again and says "And what was that about--"

He bites into a pulse point under her jaw, sucking lightly on the warm skin, laving his tongue over sensitive red marks. Meanwhile, his hand keeps slowly moving up her thigh, thumb massaging small circles onto warm skin.

It goes in that pattern. Every time she tries to talk, he does something new to shut her up. If it keeps going, he keeps kissing down her neck until he finds that spot on her shoulder, that sensitive tendon, that makes her weak.

She figures out what he's doing pretty quickly, of course, and keeps provoking him just to see what he'll do next. The results are deeply satisfying, kisses and bites and his hand on her leg doing things that are almost ticklish but not quite. She'll have a few marks on her neck tomorrow. Graffiti, Varric was here, and she points out that just before he interrupts by sucking on her shoulder, which makes her gasp and close her eyes and ball up a little in his lap, because fuck that's a potent spot.

He's pretty happy with his results- that shoulder thing doesn't work on everybody, but on her it's fantastic, apparently. Meanwhile, his hand has slid almost all the way up her thigh, pushing her skirt up, and he's almost at her smalls. His other hand threads into her hair and pulls lightly, so when he lifts his head up he can steer her to meet his eyes.

"This might sound rich coming from me, but has anyone ever told you you talk too much?"

"Frequently. And that is rich coming from you." If he wanted her to stop talking, he shouldn't have asked her a question. Though at least it's interspersed by some hitches of breath as his hand wanders towards interesting places ne'er before visited by dwarven man. Beardy hadn't gotten very far in his explorations befor she decided it wasn't going to work. "Though you're finding a few good ways to keep me--distracted."

His hand tightened irresistibly in her hair and yanked a little, pulling her head back so he could lean in and bite at her collarbone, kissing a hard line down until he was nosing at the neck of her wraparound tunic. He could undo the tie at the side and let it fall, but his hands were both busy- the other was slowly inching up to her smalls, fingers teasing at the hem, palming her gently.

Yanking and biting earn favorable noises; Hawke clearly doesn't mind having things get a bit rough, which should be no surprise to anyone who's ever met her, ever. Though the contrast between the hard kisses and the gentle, teasing fingers lower down was impressive. "You really don't do this like someone who's years out of practice," she manages, shivering.

"It's hard to forget," he murmurs against her skin. "Undo that tie. Now."

Once she pulls the tie keeping her tunic closed, the thing falls open, leaving Varric free to bite and nip down her chest until his lips closed around her nipple, tongue swirling around the sensitive nub and teeth grazing.

Farther down, his fingers teased at her smalls, dragging lightly over her slit through the thin fabric. One thumb hooked into the hem, so that the knuckle pressed against her lips. Before long, he had them pushed out of the way, fingers teasing at dark curls.

"Yes, messere," she murmured back, with mock timidity. "Whatever you say." Quiet and obedient, that's Hawke, and also she has a bridge to sell you in Antiva.

Open post

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

gently assumes she's wearing ~finery~

In the Hanged Man? Pfft no. But we'll gloss over that because removing armor is dull.

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject