Hey everyone! I know, I should be working on The Ghost of You (or my revision...), which I am, but this idea for a one-shot kept running around my head. It's considerably lighter than my usual stuff - I think Fenris and Hawke needed a break from all the angst XD Though there are a few heavier moments as well, I guess.
Also just to let the readers of TGoY know, I won't have access to a computer from the 28th June til the 6th July due to a college trip abroad, which means no updates. I am working on chapter 5, and will hopefully be able to finish it between the end of my exams and going away, but if not, that will be the reason for the long delay. I should also finish To Riddle Alone... I'm a really bad author XD that fic's been waiting to be finished for months, if not a year or more. Oops...
Anyway, I'll stop nattering and let you get on with this bit of silliness. It's not the same universe as TGoY, but it could be the same as Another Option. It's rated 'T', but please tell me if you think that needs to be changed to 'M'. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: Bioware owns everything.
Edit 02/05/2016: Corrected some grammar and punctuation issues that were bugging me.
He had planned to wait for Bodahn to answer his increasingly irritable knocks on the Hawke estate door, but when he heard the frantic shouting inside he frowned and let himself in, glad that he had never fallen out of his cautious habit of keeping his weapon with him at all times.
He quickly deposited the book under his arm on one of the benches in the entry hall before striding towards the main room, one hand resting uneasily on the hilt of his sword. It was late afternoon, and people knew that this was the home of the Champion. There wouldn't be a thief bold or stupid enough to attempt to rob this of all houses... would there?
The shouts were originating from up the stairs; the direction of the bedrooms and washroom. He could distinctly hear Hawke above the sound of Bodahn and Sandal, the latter of which seeming to enjoy whatever trouble was afoot. Occasionally a high, nervous voice joined theirs, whom Fenris identified as Orana.
He was about to mount the stairs, not daring to call out lest he alert whatever opponent was upstairs. Before he was up the first three, however, there was a loud bang and numerous footsteps thundering towards him.
'Stop him!'
'Fenris!' That was Hawke, spotting him as she ran towards the stairs, unarmed and looking extremely flustered, but not panicked. 'Close the front door! Lock it!'
'It's close-'
As he answered, a mass of wet fur and heavy muscle skidded around the landing and down the stairs, rushing past him and nearly knocking him over.
Bewildered, Fenris caught himself and turned to watch Dumat, Hawke's mabari, rush towards the front door only to pull up with a whimper, skidding on his rump before making an about turn and fleeing into the library.
The three servants hurried past Fenris, but he snagged Hawke's arm before she could vanish after her hound.
'Hawke, what is going on?' He asked tersely, still half-expecting a band of robbers to flood down the stairs after the last inhabitants of the Hawke manor.
She was mildly out of breath, barefoot, and her tunic seemed to be wet in places. She shook her head in exasperation and raked her hair out of her eyes with a laugh.
'We're trying to wash Dumat, but he hates baths. This is the result,' she chuckled, gesturing down at herself and towards the library. There was a dull thud from the room, followed by Bodahn cursing.
'I think that was the chair...' Hawke mused, distracted. Fenris stared at her blankly, still trying to process that the household was so disrupted over bathing a dog.
'He seems to like water well enough when we are at the Wounded Coast,' he muttered, nonplussed. Hawke, however, nodded at the contradiction.
'That's not clean bathwater, you see. Or soap. It's not so much baths he's opposed to, as being clean,' she said, wrinkling her nose. Fenris sighed as Orana squealed from the next room. He could tell that their reading session had been put on hold until Dumat was bathed.
'Things were easier when Mother was here. She'd just fix him with that look of hers and he'd creep right into the tub.' Hawke laughed; a small, sad, fond smile on her face. Fenris shifted uncomfortably, unused to dispensing comfort, before hesitantly resting a hand on her arm. She glanced up at him quickly, as though surprised, then smiled and patted the back of his gauntleted hand in thanks.
He withdrew with an imposed-upon sigh, then started tugging off his gauntlets and vambraces.
'Fenris...?' She arched a baffled eyebrow, and he snorted.
'We're not going to get any reading done until that hound is clean. I may as well offer what help I can.'
She laughed loudly at that as he set his armour aside, automatically taking the scarlet band from his vambrace and retying it around his wrist. The sight made her smile, though the warmth of her expression was masked by her amusement.
'Oh, you will regret saying that, Fenris,' she chuckled, her eyes gleaming with mirth. He frowned. Surely coaxing a dog into a bath couldn't be that hard, even if said hound weighed more than the average man and had an aversion to soap.
Ignoring her sudden amusement, he led them into the library after the mabari. Apparently the hunt had led upstairs; the ground floor was devoid of sentient life. Several books had been knocked off of shelves, the chair overturned, a copy of Anders' manifesto scattered across the floor. Fenris wondered idly if he could get away with kicking it into the fire without being noticed, but Hawke was already heading up the stairs, leaving Fenris to follow, and inadvertently watch her swaying hips. She had apparently sat in a puddle in the first bathing attempt, because there was a sizeable wet patch on the back of her skirt. He bit his tongue, suppressing a laugh, and swiftly redirected his gaze before she noticed his staring.
Dumat was huddled as far underneath the wine barrel as he could get, whining pitifully as the three servants clustered around him. When he saw his mistress, his ears lowered further and he whimpered, turning his large brown eyes on her. She put her hands on her hips, unimpressed with his puppy dog eyes. Fenris' put the mabari's to shame frequently, she'd found.
'Dumat. Tub. Now,' she ordered, her tone brooking no argument. He cowered lower, slinking towards her on his belly, whimpering, before stretching his broad neck to lick at her hands hopefully. Fenris saw her lips twitch in rebellion of her stern mask.
'Now, boy.' She managed to keep the laugh out of her voice, to her credit.
Dumat whimpered again, then stealthily slid his eyes to his right, considering the gap he now had between his mistress and the servants.
With a sudden lunge that belied his hefty frame, the dog shot towards the stairs.
'You crafty-' she started to curse, only to stop dead. Behind her, Orana squeaked. Sandal clapped while Bodahn gaped in surprise.
Fenris had tackled the fleeing mabari, bringing them both to the ground and restraining the wriggling hound. Dumat was alternating between a whine and a growl as he squirmed in Fenris' grip, the elf's arms locked around his belly and neck.
Evidently they'd already wrestled the mabari into the water once; the dog was drenched, giving Fenris a whiff of Ferelden in the smell of wet dog. The elf wrinkled his nose with a grimace.
'You're right, Hawke. He does stink.' At that, Dumat's whine dropped to a growl and stayed there, twisting his head as far as he could to face Fenris, his black lips peeling back to bare his teeth. Fenris looked at him, unimpressed.
'I've faced down snarling Qunari, hound. As intimidating as you are, they are both bigger and more fearsome than you,' he stated conversationally. Behind him, he heard Hawke choking on a laugh.
'As interesting as your exchanges with my mabari are, Fenris, can we get him into the bath now?' she asked, coming around to grab the mutt by the scruff of his neck, allowing Fenris to stand and roll his shoulders. Dumat sagged, as if admitting defeat as they all plodded down the stairs, out into the main room, and up towards the bathroom.
Dumat tried to dig his heels in just outside the room, and no amount of stern talking from Hawke would convince him to move. It was only when Fenris threatened to pick the dog up and carry him into the room that Dumat, after casting Fenris a look filthier than one even Anders could conjure for the elf, trudged into the tiled room.
Hawke made sure Fenris had a firm hold on her dog before turning to the servants with an apologetic, grateful smile.
'Thank you, everyone. Would you tidy up whatever mess he'd made, please? Then take the rest of the day off. Maker knows, you deserve it.'
Once the three had scattered to see to the wreckage of the chase, Hawke closed the door with a sigh.
'Well, that's half the battle won,' she muttered dubiously, turning to face the odd sight of Fenris with a grim hold on a cowering Dumat.
The bath was a deep, rectangular depression in the floor, and was half filled with warm, but not steaming water. The floor around it was already liberally drenched after their first attempt at bathing the reluctant dog.
Fenris didn't look too pleased with their current arrangement. His nose kept twitching in irritation every time Dumat shifted, sending a new wave of dirty dog scent wafting towards the elf's sensitive nose.
'How do you go about bathing a dog?' he asked as she came over, crouching beside the two.
'Hope he stays in it long enough to soap him up and rinse him, and prepare yourself to get drenched in the process,' she responded with a smirk. Something about the look had Fenris' mind shooting off on a tangent, producing a vision of soaping and rinsing her off.
Fenris swiftly cut that thought short before his distraction was noticed, focussing fully on helping Hawke manhandle the massive hound into the water whilst swallowing to try and ease his suddenly dry mouth. When the mabari finally tumbled into the bath, he gave a mournful howl that reverberated around the tiled room and made the human and the elf wince at the volume.
'He's more melodramatic than Varric,' Fenris grumbled when the echoes had faded. Dumat treated him to a baleful glare and a growl. Hawke laughed.
'I fear you've made an enemy, Fenris,' she teased as the elf scowled back at the dog. He scooped a handful of water over Dumat's back as she reached for the basket of soaps.
'And as your hound, he stands a better chance than my other enemies to strike. I'll have to watch my back,' he said with an answering smirk as she knelt beside him, armed with a small bottle of oil. Dumat quailed at the sight of it.
'Oh, you big baby,' Hawke cooed, pouring a measure out into her hand before setting the vial aside and starting to work the oil into his fur, producing a white lather. Dumat squirmed and whimpered; his ears pinned flat to his head.
'Do his back for me, while I get his belly? Don't go past his neck though; I don't want to get this into his eyes or nose,' she instructed.
Fenris nodded and shifted around to the other side of the bath so they had plenty of room to move. It was odd, cleaning the dog. Fenris had rarely touched the animal, and still wasn't quite used to the feel of the rough, coarse fur on his hands. Still, after a few minutes they settled into a peaceful, companionable quiet as they worked. Dumat stopped squirming, though he still stared at Hawke pitifully, stopping only to throw Fenris a look that, if translated, would say 'traitor'.
When they rinsed him, Hawke rooted out two cups to scoop up the not-quite-belly-high water and pour it over Dumat's back. When they did, the water turned a filthy grey-brown, and Hawke laughed through a curse.
'Dumat! How do you get so mucky? This is why I tell you to stay off my bed!' At the mention, Dumat's stubby tail wagged for the first time since his ordeal began, as though the idea of muddying his mistress' bed sheets appealed to him.
'Don't even think about it,' Hawke warned, pointing her empty cup at the dog's nose. With an apologetic woof, the dog unthinkingly licked the cup in submission, only to draw back with a strangled whine and a gag at the taste of dirty, soapy water. Hawke simultaneously laughed and made soft noises of sympathy that didn't quite have the effect intended as they shook with mirth.
Fenris did his upmost to suppress his laughter, but couldn't contain a snort of amusement at the dog's predicament. Dumat lowered his head and growled at the elf, though the usually threatening gesture wasn't quite as impressive as usual, since his sopping fur was plastered to his body, making the hound look rather bedraggled, and the low thrum in his chest was repeatedly staggered by coughing retches.
'Dumat, please stop trying to pick fights with my guests,' Hawke sighed, sounding heavily put-upon even as she fondly scratched behind the hound's ears and down his neck. The mabari relented immediately, his stubby tail thudding erratically against the side of the tub in rapture.
'Thank you,' she murmured pointedly, smiling softly as though he'd acquiesced to her request.
Watching, Fenris shook his head quietly, wondering at her frequent conversations with her pet. It baffled him that she would hold entire, albeit one-sided, exchanges with an animal that could not talk back, though Dumat's repertoire of barks and growls could often be easily interpreted.
There was no doubt that the hound was intelligent, but Hawke spoke with him as though he were human and capable of replying. Of course, Fenris reflected with a smirk, she spoke to Anders in much the same way, and the abomination's predictable, magic-oriented responses varied less than Dumat's barks did.
An hour after Fenris had hurried into the estate Hawke sat back on her heels and sighed.
'Right, you're done.' She hadn't finished speaking before the mabari surged out of the water, splashing the pair of them as Fenris tossed the cup he'd been using into the basket next to Hawke's.
Her curse and warning of 'oh, no' gave him enough warning to look up and see her raise her arms before Dumat started to shake himself vigorously. Fenris swiftly threw his own arms up as a shield, simultaneously glad he'd left his metal armour downstairs and grimacing as the mabari soaked them both through. When the sound of slapping fur ceased, the dog's fur had puffed out into an array of wet spikes across his body, and he stood panting happily as Hawke shook water off her hands.
'Well, despite Dumat's little contribution-' she spared a withering look for the hound, who had the decency to look ashamed, 'that was easier than usual. Thank you, Fenris.' She sighed, wincing as she arched her back, several small pops issuing from her spine as she straightened, her eyes scrunching shut and her nose wrinkled as she rid herself of the discomfort of being hunched over for the better part of an hour. Fenris stared at the unintentional display, averting his eyes only when Dumat growled at the elf, head lowered menacingly. Luckily, when Hawke's eyes blinked open and she relaxed, all she saw was Fenris drying his hands on a towel, nodding to her in mute acknowledgement.
'Come now, Dumat, be nice. He was only helping, and you really, really needed a wash,' she scolded, taking her mabari's protectiveness for a lingering grudge at Fenris' part in the bath. Unseen by the woman, Fenris smirked. That's what the mutt got for soaking the two of them.
Dumat huffed indignantly and turned to the door, pawing at it to be let out. Hawke sighed and scooped a towel up from the floor, scrubbing it over her pet quickly before letting him loose in the house. The pet bounded out of the door, no doubt heading for his favourite place by the fire to dry off fully. Hawke turned back into the room, drying her hands and leaving the door ajar to allow some blessedly cool air into the room. Although the water hadn't been too hot, the heat had still made the room stuffy and condensation beaded the walls, the heaviest drops of water racing each other down the tiles.
With a bright sigh, Hawke settled herself next to Fenris and started to pack the bottles back into the basket. Though she'd only used one whilst Fenris had been present, several were scattered across the floor, many on their sides as though knocked away, possibly by a fleeing hound. Fenris passed her the most far-flung ones, asking as he did so,
'I've often wondered, Hawke, why the name 'Dumat'? I see little resemblance between your mabari and the Dragon of Silence.' Of course, it could have been because of the strength associated with the name, as Dumat was the leader and the strongest of the Old Gods. But Hawke was smiling, a little shyly, as though embarrassed.
'We got Dumat when we were kids. Father used to tell us all stories before bed, and when we got Dumat, he'd been telling us about the First Blight,' Fenris raised an eyebrow at that, and she laughed. 'I know, they weren't the most normal bedtime tales, but he cut out the goriest bits and turned it all into a great adventure. Carver always wanted more fighting in them, of course, and Bethany more romance.' She laughed again, though her eyes creased in sadness at the memory of their loss. She quickly roused herself, however, and continued her tale. They'd finished packing away and were just sat, enjoying each other's company without having raiders or slavers or nosy dwarves and pirates interrupting the peace. 'But when he talked about the Blights, I always wanted to hear more about the archdemons. Maybe it was because they were dragons, I don't know.' She gave a roguish grin at that before continuing. 'When we got Dumat and he imprinted with me, I got to name him. Dumat had always been my... I guess you could say 'favourite' archdemon, maybe because he was the one Father told us about first, but that was the first name to come to me, and it just seemed to fit.'
Fenris nodded, understanding the sentiment. He guessed it was a little like naming a weapon; there was a name that fit it, and it wouldn't feel right to call the weapon by any other name.
He wasn't quite sure what happened next. Perhaps the dog had heard his name being spoken, and came to investigate. Maybe he had been harbouring a grudge, and had waited for them to relax before acting. Or he could have just been an opportunist. First, the two were kneeling next to each other at the side of the bath, smiling at the childhood tale, then there was a swift clicking of nails on the tiles, and Dumat was barrelling his way into the room, rushing the pair of them.
Fenris barely had time to turn before the dog had cannoned into his back, knocking him forward but pulling up short of the bath himself. Instinctively, Fenris lunged sideways for something to stop his fall, and found Hawke's arms already reaching for him. However, the mabari had hit both of them, and her hands were reaching for support, just as he was, and they both tumbled into the bath. For a moment, there was nothing but confusion in the dirty water as they both twisted, trying to establish which way was 'up' and whose elbow was hitting whose rib and attempting to untangle their legs so they could move to sit up. Finally, they both pushed themselves out of the water, gasping. Hawke found herself pressed against Fenris, her arms braced against the floor of the bath either side of his torso. She was almost nose-to-nose with the elf sprawled on his back, propped up on one elbow to keep his head clear of the water lapping at their shoulders, the other wrapped securely around her waist.
There was a single moment where they both blinked, Fenris' gaze level with her parted lips and purposefully lingering there, her eyes dropping to his as colour swept across her cheeks. She shivered as the hand at her waist slipped up her side and around to brush her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair as his thumb slipped along her jaw. It took very little encouragement to bring her mouth down to his, her body relaxing against his chest as she trusted him entirely and lifted her arms free of the water, one hand cradling his jaw, the other resting on his chest over his heart.
She felt the first questing flickers of his tongue when a soft voice from just beyond the half-open door made them freeze, both pairs of eyes jolting open but unable to move otherwise.
'Mistress Hawke, are you-oh!' Orana's shocked squeak finally freed their paralysed limbs, and the two jumped apart as best as possible in the confined space of the bath, turning guilty eyes towards the crimson-faced servant. Orana had heard the splash from the main room, then saw Dumat almost flying down the stairs, skidding to a stop on his mat and curling up as though he had been asleep for hours. Concerned that her employer or friend had fallen and was hurt, Orana had come up to investigate. She was now silently berating herself as she stuttered out an apology and hastily backed out of the door, almost slamming it behind her in her haste and leaving two stunned adventurers staring after her, their own faces now flooding with colour as the reality of what had just happened occurred to them.
'Oh, Maker,' Hawke groaned, sitting up and dropping her face into her hands. What could be seen of her face and the tops of her ears were as red as the band around Fenris' wrist. 'We've probably scarred the poor girl for life! I'll have to go and apologise and – oh, that's going to be so awkward-' He couldn't help it. To hear her fretting over something like this drew a grin from him, then a laugh. He'd tried to stifle it, but she'd stopped her rambling abruptly when she felt his torso jump and he finally laughed aloud. This woman never ceased to surprise him.
'Why are you laughing?' She sounded both plaintive and exasperated, her hands dropping to rest loosely on his chest. Despite Orana's interruption, they hadn't moved much; neither wanting to risk breaking their neck by slipping on the wet tiles in their haste to be separated by a publically decent amount of space.
With some effort, he quelled his mirth, though the remnants of a smirk lingered around his lips as he finally sat up, picking Hawke up off his lap and setting her on the side of the bath, then clambering out himself and reaching for a towel to settle around her shoulders as he explained.
'You have faced down darkspawn, raiders, bloodmages, slavers, even the Qunari Arishok in single combat, yet you are flustered by the prospect of apologising to a servant for walking in at the wrong time. You're an odd woman, Hawke.'
She managed to glare at him with one eye from underneath the towel he was running over her hair, though the effect was utterly lost as, rather than threatening, Fenris thought that she resembled a grumpy, thoroughly soaked kitten sulking in the laundry. The mental image made his lips twitch, though he managed to still the amused grin before she noticed and shoved him back in the bath.
'The Arishok didn't walk in on us kissing in the bath,' she grumbled, resting her hand atop his to still it, before stealing the towel out from under his fingers and draping it across his own skull instead. The strands of hair that hung below the cloth were whiter than the towel, and still running with water, his ears creating mountain peaks in the landscape of the cloth. The towel hung heavy on his head, and he was about to remove the offending piece of flannel when he felt gentle fingers through it, softly massaging through fabric and hair to dry the latter. He closed his eyes with a sigh and relaxed under her nimble hands. They were both still soaked, of course – one towel and half-dry hair didn't change that, but neither seemed overly concerned with wet clothes and were quite content to sit there in the lethargic quiet all day, until Hawke started shivering.
Rousing himself from the pleasant luxury, Fenris dropped the towel to the floor and helped her up. They slipped across the landing into her bedchamber, only now starting to feel the discomfort of waterlogged clothes.
With the door closed, Hawke left Fenris' side and started rifling through her armoire, tugging out a simple shirt and leggings, before standing with her arms crossed in thought. After a second she nodded, then turned away from the open doors of the wardrobe and fished a key out of a drawer in her desk, before crossing to the small chest to the right of her door, unlocking it and carefully sifting through its contents. Watching, Fenris thought he saw a few pained smiles cross the side of her face that he could see, before she extracted a man's shirt and trousers from the bottom of the chest. She stood and slowly handed the carefully folded bundle over with a small, almost reluctant smile.
'Carver's,' she explained with a shrug, not looking at him, but instead towards the lit fire, her eyes lowered. 'There are a lot of things from Lothering in that chest. When we arrived in Kirkwall we sorted through it, but...Mother wanted to keep just a few of his things. They've never left that chest since, but I guess just knowing they were there gave her some peace of mind.'
Hawke briefly touched a small bump in the neck of her shirt; one Fenris realised was her mother's locket. She'd worn it since Leandra's death, and he'd seen glimpses of it when they'd taken rest breaks whilst tramping up and down the Wounded Coast. She'd occasionally pull it out from under her armour and just hold it for a moment, when she thought the others weren't looking. He guessed that she knew what Leandra had felt when she had wanted to keep some of her dead son's clothes.
Then Hawke shook herself, turning to smile slightly at him.
'Anyway, they're doing no good in there. You can change into them and let your clothes dry. They might be a bit big, but I'm sure I can find a belt somewhere if you need one-'
'Hawke,' he cut short her rambling, tender concern showing in his eyes as he hesitantly held up the clothes. 'You're sure? They were your brother's...'
She paused, staring at the bundle with a distant look in her eye, as though remembering her brother in the garments, then focused with a more certain smile and a resolute nod. 'Yes, it's alright. Thank you, Fenris.'
With a nod of acknowledgement and thanks, he ducked out of the room to change in the washroom, leaving her to mutter curses under her breath as she peeled off her soaked garments and replaced them with blessedly dry ones.
Fenris returned, with a wary knock on the door, to find her rooting out a clothes horse from a corner of her room to hang their wet clothes on in front of the fire. She'd turned and half-suppressed a smile at the too-wide and too-short clothes on him, before digging around in her wardrobe for a belt to lend him.
Thus attired, they finally headed downstairs to commence the reading session that should have finished by now. Dusk was falling outside, and Bodahn had already been out to light the lanterns for the night before retiring to his room, though the slowly worsening rain attempted to smother the small glow the lamps gave off.
They'd swiftly learnt to steer clear of books on magic, since they had spent more time discussing – rather loudly and passionately on both sides – the debate of mages and the Circle than reading the actual book. So as they settled into the righted seats in the library before the fire, Fenris' book in hand, they continued the 'Study of the Fifth Blight', occasionally laughing over remembered embellishments of Varric's from when he recounted the tale, pausing only when Fenris came across a word that he didn't recognise.
'Ren-dez-vus?' The doubt in his voice was palpable as Hawke leant over to look at the word hovering above his finger. The rain hammered, unnoticed, on the roof and windows.
'Ah, that's rahn-day-vou,' she corrected mildly, smiling when he glanced at the word again, still looking mistrustful.
'It looks nothing like how it is said. Would it really have been too troubling for the creators of the written word to spell something the way it sounded, without their impractical flourishes?' he grumbled, scowling at the book as though personally offended. Hawke just snorted.
'That's Orlesian for you. Mother tried to teach me it, once. All she succeeded in doing was making me speak gibberish for a week, insisting I was speaking Orlesian. She gave up on the lessons when I got Bethany and Carver to join in. Father found it amusing, even if she didn't.' Malcolm had been a true Ferelden, and had heartily encouraged his children's innocent mockery of their country's occupiers, much to their mother's annoyance.
'You make yourself out to have been such an angelic child,' Fenris observed dryly. Hawke grinned.
'And now look at me. Whatever went wrong?' she sighed dramatically, as though despairing at her own fall from grace. Her wickedly delighted laugh rapidly dispelled that illusion.
Fenris couldn't help his own low chuckle, shaking his head slightly at her theatrics. 'And yet people adore you for it...as do I,' He murmured, his small, appreciative smile enough to paint a flush of colour across her cheeks.
'Oh, I'm sure Gamlen would prefer it if I were nicer. I might actually pay his debts for him then.' She tried to wave away the compliment, but she couldn't dismiss the way his gaze caught hers, holding it tightly as though in a physical grip.
'Are you done reading?' she asked softly, her voice sounding distant to her own ears, not even glancing towards the abandoned book on the arm of his chair. A silent flash of lightning highlighted his mute nod, and her surprised glance at the window. She turned back to him with a small smile.
'You can't go home in this weather, Fenris. It looks like you'll have to stay the night.' The slow, predatory smile that spread across his face set her heart pounding, each heavy beat echoed in her throat and her unconsciously parted lips.
'How... hospitable of you, Hawke,' he murmured, starting to lean across the short gap between their two seats, his gaze dropping to her mouth, freeing her from its grasp as the first, belated peal of thunder shook the sky. Her lips, an inch away from his, curved up into a mischievous smirk and she dexterously slipped out of her chair and spun around it without touching him, walking briskly towards the door.
'I'll just go and set up the guest room then,' she chimed innocently, biting her lip on her smug laugh at his stunned silence.
Then she heard a low growl, the scuff of a chair being shoved back too quickly, then a hand capturing her arm, spinning her around. His hot, demanding mouth on hers, the wall rushing up to meet her back as his long-fingered hands got lost in her hair.
He growled against the smile on her mouth, nipping at it until it hitched into a soft moan. 'No guest rooms,' he bit out, stifling a groan as she trailed a short nail up the shell of his ear.
With some effort, she pushed away from the wall and they staggered towards the stairs, still entwined and immensely grateful that the servants had retired.
'As you wish,' she whispered as they ascended. Dumat jerked awake as they fell through the door to her bedchamber, his head snapping up at the sudden intrusion. Hawke barely spared the hound a glance.
'Out. Now,' She ordered. Dumat nearly flew off the bed and out the door before it slammed shut, blissfully ignorant of the silent, mutual agreement between the two that they were definitely going to have to bathe that dog more often.