Yes, I know, I posted this before, quite a long time ago as a matter of fact. This particular part was meant as a one-shot, for several reasons two more followed. But before you get angry with me for what I personally call "cheap-posting", let me explain I not only edited the three one-shots drastically (I specifically changed part three for a great deal. Which doesn't mean I can guarantee there will be no mistakes by the way, sorry for that.) But I also added a new chapter. Which will be followed by yet another one. The three parts always belonged together and for quite a time I've been playing with the idea of posting them as a short story. But not without some addition. So here it is. Hope you'll like it.
Oh, before I forget to mention it, there will be smut. Especially in part two but part four is also affected with it. You are warned. But then again, the story is M-rated so you can expect some, how shall I put it, well to be plain, sex.
Part 1: An unexpected kiss
They had been strolling along the Wounded Coast for the best part of the afternoon with no success to speak of. The sun was burning down on them on this hot summer's day, drenching them in sweat and leaving them thirsty at the same time. Hawke mused that they might as well could stop drinking water anyhow; the liquid seemed to transform in an instant from a thirst squelching ambrosia into an irritating itchy sheen of fluid that stuck to their skin, attracting sand and stinging bugs.
They were searching for a lost Qunari patrol which was the reason Hawke had decided to bring the whole bunch of their non-fitting group along with her on this mission. Qunari were not to be mocked with and whatever or whoever had managed to bring them down or even stand in their way should be considered even more dangerous than the horned behemoths themselves. She regretted her decision within less than a mile of toiling down dusty trails and was willing to pull her hair out after a few hours of tracking, just to shut her friends up.
So far all the dangers they had stumbled upon existed out of sand, rocks and prickly vegetation. So by lack of anything else to do, an increasing amount of heated discussions had sprung into life behind her back. Of course Fenris and Anders got in no time entangled in a sizzling row about mages, magic, magisters and lots of other things related to the Maker's forsaken cursed subject, like the fast growing influence of the tyrannical Knight Commander Meredith. (Strange how so many themes of their disputes seem to start with the letter M, Marian mused sourly, and that includes even my own name. Ugh.) They however both succeeded in sneering at Merrill (another M) for dabbling in bloodmagic. The one topic they agreed on, be it for just a short while. But then again long enough to bring the Dalish elf near to tears. Wasted time Hawke thought, because their union lasted only for a brief moment before they turned upon each other once more, leaving her with the task to comfort the desolated petite elf.
She had to admit she sympathised more with Fenris's opinion despite the fact both her sister and father had been mages. Good mages. But she had encountered too many bad intended ones, especially in this city, to believe in the total freedom Anders preached. On the other hand she couldn´t deny the healer had a valid point with his rants against the injustice of locking all mages up, treating them like dangerous criminals and condemning them for no other offence than the simple fact they were born with magic. Nevertheless she was inclined to pick Fenris's side though she was damn well aware, no matter how hard she tried to ignore it, purely because she was badly infatuated with the intriguing and besides that devastatingly handsome Tevinter elf. It gave her a headache if nothing else.
It didn't help Aveline and Sebastian almost ended up tearing out each other's throats about how the latter had taken the fight over his lost throne and murdered family to precious Kirkwall, the city the Guard Captain would defend over her dead body even though she had hardly heard of the place before the Blight broke out. Her hissed but nevertheless impassioned words left the former prince reconsidering his vows to the Chantry once again and he on his turn lashed out at Aveline simply because she had given him the opportunity to question his already wavering choice.
Hawke almost got nauseated. Bah. Taking a decision was so hard. Maker forbade you chose the wrong one. Better to cling to whatever came along to postpone the goal you were really aiming at. Like seaweed and crustaceans clinging mindlessly to the hull of a ship, she thought grimly, and if you can blame someone else in the process of doubt so much the better. Just go back to Starkhaven, kick the pretender out of the palace and be done with it, you idiot. She managed to keep her mouth shut. The upcoming headache got worse.
And among all the arguments and almost shed tears Hawke had to listen to the sexual tinted conversations between Varric and Isabela. While sounding completely innocent the two rogues managed to turn a squabble about the length of daggers – knives – whatever, into a vivid picture of the most kinky event in the Blooming Rose. She was certain they did it on purpose, just to harass her.
Hawke knew she should call it a day but stubbornly ploughed on. She wasn't exactly afraid of the Arishok but appreciated that appeasing him would extend the time of peace and quiet the Viscount so much relished. I should bring the man along on a nightly trip through his cherished city, she pondered, I could show him some peace and quiet. He would have a heart attack.
They found the Qunari patrol in the end, very dead and surrounded by demons and abominations. They made short work of the ungodly creatures. Against Hawke's hopes it didn't stop the arguments; the fight only brought a short distraction before it all started anew. The arguments inflamed not moments after the vicious but brief battle was over.
She was about to scream at the top of her lungs to shut everyone up before she'd get the overwhelming desire to kill them on the spot and above all she was at the brink of losing her mind when out of the blue they came across a horde of bandits. And very skilled bandits at that, they found out the moment they got attacked. These men were ten times worse than the bands of nitwits that tried to bother them in the streets of Kirkwall. These were hardened smugglers who were willing to defend their illegal profits to the death. It was just bad luck, or good luck as Hawke saw it, they'd accidently stumbled upon the culprits.
It was a ferocious fight. They had to use all of their skills not to get wiped out. Taken together they were only eight plus one unleashed marbari against about twenty very determined men. (Though one should never underestimate a marbari, especially not an unleashed one.)They almost got pushed back but Hawke never ceased to encourage her ragtag group of mostly quarrelling comrades and give the good example herself. For the umpteenth time Fenris witnessed to his horror how she hurled herself without thinking about the consequences into the fray. To protect her he followed her without any hesitation, regardless the danger he got himself into.
Out of the corner of her eye Hawke saw the bluish shimmer that engulfed Fenris while he was fighting and she drew strength out of the simple fact he was with her.
And then ...
As if time was suddenly very thick and sluggish, she saw in slow-motion the dagger picking its way to Fenris's back. His unprotected back. No spell or contra-act with the daggers of her own could prevent the threat of him getting mortally hit. In a split-second she reacted and dived for his legs. She was just in time; the dagger flew only a hairbreadth over their heads and the sole harm it did was decapitate an embrium-flower. They fell together and rolled over each other a few times in the momentum. She let go of her daggers and he of his sword. She ended on her back with him straddling her. He was glowing bright blue, all of his markings ablaze in a display of anger and fear. In ferocious self-defence, she realized while she looked wide-eyed at his aggressive appearance. His clawed right hand was hovering over her heart. She held her breath, taking in his furious expression. Try to do someone a favour ... Then he seemed to recognize her; at least he stopped glowing and his hand dropped.
They both puffed out a long held breath.
'What the hell did you think you were doing,' he growled hoarsely. She tried to smile reassuringly. His rough velvet voice made her shiver and his piercing silvery green eyes didn't do anything to ease the awkward situation they found themselves in. She couldn't think clearly. Didn't even want to.
'There flew a dagger with your name on it,' she said meekly, 'it would have hit you if I hadn't dragged you down. Sorry for having startled you.'
He stared at her and she was shocked by the sudden agony in his eyes. 'You save my live and I almost rip the heart out of your chest,' he murmured.
'I'm not sure about the saving-your-life part,' Hawke babbled, almost hysterically cheerful, 'but I think it's safe to state that I at least rescued you from an injury.' She knew she should shut up but her mouth rambled on without the interference of her common sense. 'At any rate this time I did; so I won't have to patch you up. Nobody has to. No healing, no touch, no magic needed to close some ugly life-threatening wound. Think about the advantage of that!'
No touch. Yeah right. He had made it very clear on several occasions he hated to be touched but here he was, sitting on her frame and resting his hands on her chest, albeit lightly and those same hands covered with those damned sharp steel gauntlets. She was mesmerised.
Around them the fighting had ended but she was hardly aware about it. She was focused on his hypnotising eyes and the wonderful weight of his body on her stomach. At last he got up and helped her to stand. For a few long stretched moments they kept staring at each other.
Suddenly he pulled her into his arms and took possession of her mouth with a mind crushing passion. Her brain shot down except for the brainstem which became overly active and started to send very hot and disturbing signals to the lower parts of her body. Without thinking she answered his kiss while putting her arms around his neck and waist and as if he responded to her reaction he pushed his frame even more firmly to hers. Just the movements of his very skilled tongue nearly gave her an orgasm, the mere feeling of his body pressed into hers made her head go spinning, even without a functioning brain or probably because. Sweat broke out, heated shivers fluttered through all of her body parts. She felt herself getting wet between her legs; she tried not to moan but couldn't suppress a soft whimper.
As sudden as he had started to kiss her, he stopped and recoiled, leaving her completely enthralled and struggling for breath.
'I'm sorry,' he murmured. He turned, picked up his sword and strode away with his long paces; frankly, he as good as ran. Her arms fell down and she almost staggered. She made a heroic attempt at collecting herself.
'Sorry?' she muttered, 'You're sorry? If this is your way of being sorry, you can be sorry for the rest of your sorry life for my part, you sorry son of a whatchamacallit ... thingy – oh whatever.' Slowly the world started to return and spin in its familiar tempo although still a bit askew and with some hiccups. Only now she became aware of the reactions of her companions; they were all staring in various stages; from an angry glare (Anders), through utmost but cheerful bewilderment (Merrill), via a bright as good as blazing red flush (Sebastian) and a dark stern look (Aveline) to a dazzling beam (Varric). And of course a very hot if not igniting look (Isabela). Her hound just barked. It almost sounded appreciating, like a doggish thumbs-up.
'I must say, that was one hell of a show! What was that all about?' the dwarf enquired breathlessly.
Hawke's brain was still a little foggy. 'Beats me. He insisted I have saved his life,' she mumbled, 'I think I would do that any moment again. I mean with such a reward and all.'
'Weeel,' Isabela cooed, fanning herself with her hand, 'if his performance in bed is even half as good as his kissing, I wouldn't hesitate one second to drag him between the sheets. You lucky bitch. Go after him!'
And that brought Hawke definitely back in the here and now and the cold though still stifling heat of the present. She shot the pirate a venomous look. Bloody wench. 'And have my heart ripped out after all?' she sneered, 'He was obviously not thinking and is as we speak beyond doubt very busy with regretting his action. We can look forward to at least three days of heavy brooding.'
'Not to speak of moping,' Varric agreed, 'glowering and sulking. And don't forget fretting. In other words, there will be al lot of bad mood and probably worse temper.'
'Don't let yourself being carried away,' Hawke grimaced. Her look became a little clouded. 'I don't know about you,' she said to no one in particular, 'but I could use a drink. Desperately so.'
'To wash away the taste?' Anders offered rather sourly. She glared daggers at him but didn't reply. She just turned and marched determinedly off to Kirkwall. The Hanged Man couldn't come in sight soon enough.
Halfway the city she changed her mind. She started running.
Bloody hell what had he done! Fenris was restlessly pacing the room he more or less lived in, all the while cursing himself for his brash and precipitated deed. Venhedis! Blasted woman! It was all her fault, saving his life, what was she thinking! Bloody hell once more! He groaned loudly and banged his head against a wall. What was it with her that made him feel this way? That made him act like a brainless idiot? He could still sense her warm body pressed to his, taste the hot, sweet flavour of her mouth, smell the intoxicating aroma of her skin and hair ... Fasta vass! He punched said wall with frustrated viciousness.
He had been behaving like an utmost fool. Like some, some ... what was the opposite of a bitch in heat? A wound up obtrusive male hound? Something like that. He cried out in desperation. He had forced himself upon her without any excuse. Damn! He had to go to her to offer his apologies. At this very moment. But the worst part was that deep in his heart he knew he didn't want to apologise. The worst part was what he wanted, really wanted was to have more of her, to have all of her. Merda! No! Don't think it!
He turned sharply at the silent rumour at the entrance to the room. And there she stood, her face flushed, her hair dishevelled, panting heavily as if she had run all the way from the Wounded Coast to his mansion. Her eyes were shining with – what? Fear? Expectation? Hope? Want even ..?
It didn't matter, she was here; she had come to him and that was all that counted. And she didn't look like she wanted to scold him, no, she looked anxious though somewhat frightened but besides that definitively more divine than ever. Her sheer appearance shook his panicky rambling train of thoughts to an abrupt halt. He stopped thinking altogether and again acted pure on impulse. Within a heartbeat he closed the distance between them and drew her into his arms. As before she melted against his frame. She didn't protest when he claimed her mouth again. She didn't protest when he claimed her body. And she was all too happy to let him carry her to his bed.
In case you've read this before, I hope you noticed the differences (I assure you will find more of those), and more important appreciated them. If this was your first encounter I hope you liked it.
Anyway, thank you so much for reading!