Title: Oh Captain, My Captain
Disclaimer: Dragon Age 2 and its characters are the property of Bioware. Isabela is the property of no one.
Author's Note: Another drabble that came to mind in the middle of the night. This one didn't go through my usual betas, so any glaring errors are mine alone.
Enjoy!
There is nothing better than the smell of the sea.
I stand here in the crow's nest, feeling the wind whip past my face, the gentle roll of my ship beneath my feet, the smell of salt and brine assaulting my senses. I lift my head, feeling the sun tickle my skin like a lover's caress.
It is glorious.
A raucous laugh rings out. I glance at my men, watching as they joke amongst themselves. They do their jobs well, which gives me no small amount of relief. I had thought for certain I would have to disembowel at least one to make my point. After all, we left Kirkwall in a hurry, and recruitment was a bit rushed
Hawke steps onto the deck, glancing back and forth. She is clearly looking for me, but I do not signal her. Not yet.
There. The men nod to her respectfully, according her the respect due her position. So far, they have accepted her role with little question. Oh, there was one incident way back, at the beginning. One of the sailors got too friendly with his hands as she was walking past. She broke his arm in three places, and that was that. The men accord her the same respect for her as they give me, and that's how it should be.
She, in turn, has learned her role remarkably well. Within a week she had mastered most of the basics of sailing, and now you would be hard pressed to tell she hadn't spent her life aboard a ship.
Finally, she glances up, her lips quirking in wry amusement as she catches me spying on her.
I can't help it. Not really. She's got the most fabulous ass this side of the Waking. Though, she would probably tell you it was because I was smitten by her. Or because of the sex. Or both.
She would be right, of course. Loathe as I am to admit it, she was the reason I kept returning to Kirkwall all those years. I tried to stay away, I really did. I spent months drifting from port to port, sometimes in the Free Marches, sometimes elsewhere. I spent countless coin and nights in the whorehouses, trying desperately to forget that intoxicating grin and those piercing eyes.
And if I always happened to select the tall dark-headed ones with the brilliant blue eyes? So what? No one ever called me on it.
But it always came back to Kirkwall. To her. More than anything else, that is why I didn't go to Ostwick.
Sometimes I look at my own reflection and I can scarcely believe the changes the years have brought. Sure, I am still every bit the sexy temptress I was a decade ago, but some of the edge is gone. I blame Hawke for that one. That woman has the damnedest way of getting under your skin. It's as if you can't help but be better when you're around her.
Sometimes it's damned annoying. My conscience rarely bothered me before I met her. I could easily kill a man for looking at me wrong and sleep like a baby. Now, I see those puppy dog eyes staring at me and it's all over.
And saving the mages in Kirkwall? I would have never dreamed of getting involved in something so hopeless. Really, I sailed away from the Blight in Ferelden without a second thought. But to risk life and limb saving some mages who don't have the good sense to run from some Chantry boys playing soldier?
I told her we should grab Bethany and Merrill and run. Let the mages and the Templars fight it out. But no, it wouldn't have been the right thing to do. We had to get involved. And I sure as hell wasn't going to let her have all the fun. Not that it was all fun. We almost died a few times. Okay, like twenty. She still has nightmares about the whole thing.
Those, at least, are getting fewer and farther between.
My eyes meet hers in silent challenge. She smirks, jogging over to the main masthead, scaling the mass of ropes and pulleys like she is a bloody elf. I watch those glorious arms, deeply tanned from their time in the sun, pull up her lithe body. She's wearing a sleeveless shirt, belted at the waist, showing off those delicious muscles that hover just beneath the skin.
Booted feet hit the deck behind me, and I smile as those very same arms encircle my waist, a chin resting itself on my right shoulder.
"What is going on in that devious little mind of yours?" The voice is low, seductive, and a rich honeyed laughter escapes my lips.
"Just thinking of how nice it would be to have a good spar," I tilt my head back, reveling in the feel of the sun against my face and those warm lips nuzzling my neck. I shoot a quick glance to her, my eyes twinkling with amusement. "I'm feeling positively rowdy."
"More like positively randy," came the amused chuckle, long fingertips teasing my belly. My muscles twitch under the finger-light pressure. "I wonder what the men would say if they knew what dark secrets you harbored."
"Hawke..." My eyes narrow slightly in warning. She is skirting close to forbidden territory.
"Oh come now," she smiles at me, teal eyes twinkling with amusement. "Just how many are privy to the knowledge that the great captain of the Siren's Call is ticklish?" The fingers scratch teasingly against my belly.
"One fewer if you keep this up," I grouse, darting away from her fingers and leaning against the edge of the nest. "So what have you? Ready to get hot and sweaty?"
"I'll show you mine if you show me yours." Those adorable blue eyes narrow in challenge, crinkling lightly at the corners. I smirk, and without preamble hop over the edge of the basket, fingers catching hold of the main line and sliding down to the deck.
"Showoff!" Hawke's voice trails off. I laugh, low and sultry and absolutely dripping with lust, spinning around and lifting the tip of my dagger in challenge. She is not far behind me, her hand dropping low, the sound of a dagger hissing from a boot sheath.
The fight is spectacular, all sweaty limbs and heated skin and thrusts and counterthrusts. Like a good rutting…
We are giving the men a good show, and I indulge them. It's good for morale, and a reminder that their dear captain is decidedly dangerous, should the thought of mutiny ever cross their minds.
Besides, the last time they probably saw this much action was at their mother's teats.
I make a mental note to find a port with a brothel very, very soon.
"Tsk tsk … distracted, are we, Captain?" The blue eyes gleamed as one particular thrust comes dangerously close to my jugular. My eyes narrow at the challenge, and I readily reach up, capturing her wrist with my own, disarming her before that devious little mind of hers can register defeat.
I end the battle as it began. That is to say – on top, my legs straddling Hawke's narrow hips, the tip of my dagger leveled on her throat.
I never lose a duel.
A scowl tugs at those deliciously full lips, her hips bucking slightly underneath mine. Oh no, that is a dangerous game she plays, and I'm not so eager to indulge her. Not in front of the men, at least. Keeping order is so much more difficult when one has seen their captain's bare ass swinging in the breeze.
Besides, I have to make a point.
The two fingers lift in surrender, and after a moment, I rock back onto my heels, pushing easily to my feet. Message received.
"Did you have to hit me so hard?" Hawke scowls, glaring over my shoulder at the numerous sets of eyes watching her with amusement. The men immediately return to their tasks, moods considerably lightened. I head for the general direction of my office.
Sparring Hawke always leaves me hot and bothered.
"Of course," I call over my shoulder, knowing without a second look that it is her booted feet following me to the privacy of closed quarters.
"I am the captain."