Opening A/N: This tasty tidbit is from a series of fics (or possible one larger fic idea) I have simmering on a back burner just now, staring my rather amoral, aggressive/charming *cough*manslut!*cough* Mage Hawke, named Fell.
Okay. So, I'm not gonna wax particularly eloquent in my description of Fell's face in this, as there isn't really a place for it, as his appearance is established much earlier in grand scheme of things (this chunk takes place mid Act 3 by game cannon, so quite late in the overall story) so FYI – Fell is the first Hawke I've made who looks anything like the default preset character, and really the only difference is a closer crop to his face fur. So, easy enough to picture, yes? (also with any luck I'll have cover Art for this soon from my sweet Ezmer- Love ya babe!) OR if your crazy enough to write this down – : / i . models i / db / 2013 / 3 / 148342 / 148342 – 500 w. jpg – that's pretty much him... with red eyes and a bit more fur than stubble.
Disclaimer: I hate you BioWare. You own all the best stuff. I own nothing... *weeps in abject despair*
Over All Story Warnings: Language (obviously) Smut (what else?). Slash! Aka: man-smexings (Don't like it? Don't read it! Simple, no?) Kink (yeah... gotta keep it interesting right?).
Trigger Warnings: Some whiffs of dub-con in this story – but really... We're just breaking Sebastian in.
Pairings: M!Mage!Hawke/Isabela (mostly). M!Mage!Hawke/Sebastian (eventually). And, briefly, the twain shall meet (Yeah Sandwiches!).
Now onward! To the Smexin'!
Bon Apetite!
Hot Mess Hawke
Part One: Isabela Wants
Isabela watched as Hawke rose from the bed where he'd turned the poor Andriano into a quivering mess of man meat; admiring the way the sheen of sweat on his chiseled core gleamed in the candle lit room. There was really never a time it wasn't worth letting your eyes linger on the man; but naked, after he'd gone through the excretions of a vigorous fuck, was certainly one of the pirate's favorite times to sit back and admire. It was a rare opportunity; usually she wasn't this clear headed at such times – having been on the receiving end of said exertions. However, thanks to this little foray of theirs into the world of voyeur/exhibitionism, for once, when Hawke climbed out of the bed glistening with sweat and sex, she was in the ideal spot to openly admire.
Isabela's eyes hooded as she soaked up the sight and quality of Hawke's toned and rippling figure; so unlike that of any other mage she shared the sheets with.
Most mages were decidedly on the side of formless under their robes. Not terribly surprising really. After all, it wasn't as though they needed the physicality of rouges or warriors to survive on a day to day basis. So it was only natural that it was an unfailing commonality amongst circle mages, that they were positively soft. Fine where the women were concerned – Isabela considered a fair skinned, softly curvacious woman as a gift from The Maker – but... well, she had absolutely no use for a doughy, shapeless man between her thighs.
Now apostates, that's where mages got interesting. They were physically much better off out of sheer necessity; a life lived on the run, in hiding – facing the constant threat of Templar discovery. It certainly helped to keep a body trim; and Hawke was an apostate, for all that he was also The Champion of Kirkwall and a member of Kirkwall's wealthy elite. It was also true, that anyone who spent the amount of time and energy Hawke did traipsing all over the city and surrounding coastline, was hardly at risk of going to fat like some pampered noble's pet. So it wasn't as though Isabela had expected the man to be anything less than fit, when he'd first shed his leathers beneath her.
Hawke, however, was simply so much more than fit.
Fell Hawke wasn't just lean, like Anders; nor was he all wire-and-whipcord, like Fenris. No, that huge axe-blade he used to disguise the nature of his staff, and his considerable skill at wielding it, had done wonders for the man's core, chest, and back. Naked, Hawke, was a walking piece of art. His upper body rippled and rolled with even the slightest of movements; a veritable masterpiece of hard chiseled lines, carved through the soft swells of round full musculature. His torso was like a perfectly sculpted rendition of the swell and fall of the high seas Isabela loved so much. It made the pirate's mouth water every time his shirt took its leave.
And that ass! Maker! She was still tempted to simply walk around everywhere they went with a hand cupping that tight hard ass of his. But that, maybe, came across a little... possessive – for her, at least.
And Isabela wasn't one to be called possessive. Forward, absolutely! Maker knew, she wasn't above grabbing, smacking, pinching, or otherwise assaulting those mouthwatering cheeks at every given opportunity and no-never-mind to present witnesses or an inappropriate locale. Void take it! She'd even given him a solid smack on the rump in front of their entire company, and the Grand-Cleric to boot, once; right there in the middle of the chantry. He hadn't even batted an eye. No, that amazing man had just whipped her around and returned the favor, with interest, before continuing on with his conversation like nothing had happened.
Clearly, neither of them minded, nor cared, what others thought of what they got up to privately – or publicly for that matter. However, they were always careful never to hem each other in. If a pretty wench of a serving girl at The Hanged Man started giving Hawke her come hither eyes... Well, who exactly was Isabela to get uppity about it? His girlfriend? Hardly. Hawke, was his own man, and she her own woman. They rutted, and they fucked; but it wouldn't do for anyone to go getting any odd ideas lodged into their heads. There would be no talk of partnership, ownership or -Maker forbid! - exclusivity.
Hawke prowled toward her with a hungry glint in his eye that made the duelist's, still simmering blood, come to a rapid boil. A naked, hungry, Hawke was always a good thing, as far as she was concerned. And the fact that the man still had more to offer her after the show he'd just put on for her benefit was... beyond admirable. But then, Isabela had realized he was a 'Legendary Fuck', long before he let her out of his bed the first time she managed to topple into it.
The fact of the matter was that The Champion of Kirkwall was, simply put, insatiable.
"Enjoy the show?" He purred into her ear, as he leaned over where she was lounging on the Orlesian chaise he'd had Lusine put into the room for them.
"Not as much as I'm about to enjoy this, I suspect." She replied, settling back further into her seat; inviting him in. His rich, mischievous chuckle, rumbled in his throat as his hand snaked down over her breasts, continuing to sink lower till it came to the juncture of her legs; which parted for him of their own volition.
Isabela liked Hawke – more than she cared to admit, truth be told – but her cunt loved him; couldn't get enough of him. His fingers, his cock, that wicked long silver tongue of his... all he had to do was look at her with those blood colored eyes of his and a suggestive little quirk of those sinful lips and her pussy gave up the cream in a flood. And now, after watching him slowly take apart one of Lusine's premium whores... Well! Her smalls were wet enough she could drown a man in them. She felt him smile as he kissed down her jaw line when his hand discovered that little fact for itself; swiftly dealing with the sodden cloth baring it's way.
Supple talented fingers slid between her wet folds, and quickly brushed over her hard, swollen clit, by way of greeting, before promptly wandering away to explore her further. Maker he was such a tease! Somewhere along the line of Hawke's innumerable experiences, the man had learned how to turn teasing into an art form of epic proportions.
And he never relented.
Andraste's swollen tits! Even when he pulled her into a darkened alley-way, bent her over and fucked her like a jack-rabbit, he still found some way to make her beg for it. Now, in the inner sanctum of a brothel... well, it was hardly as though he was going to offer her any quarter here. No, Isabela may have been hornier than the Arishok's head, and so wet she was soon going to be able to float a boat between her legs, but he still wouldn't just go for the goods and get the job done.
Those devilish fingers stroked then pinched; flicked then petted. Momentarily circling her opening, prodding it with an exploratory intent; then drifted lazily back to her sweet spot. A quick nasty pinch followed by a minutes worth of soft feather light strokes soon saw her moaning and bucking up into his hand. Begging for just a fraction more pressure behind his touch. It was torturous! Then just as she was sure she was on the brink of her orgasm, he was off and gone again; his fingers suddenly buried inside her, curving and stroking at the oyster of her inner pearl; where even the tiniest twitch made her cry out at this new and glorious assault.
It was agony! A desperate, wonderful, euphoric kind of agony.
He would deny her one orgasm, only to give her another from a different angle. Leaving her taught with an unstated and frustrated need, even as he made her melt from a different form of pleasure.
Thrice more, he sent that deep aching shiver of gratification coursing through her. That core shattering thrill of internal orgasm, but before each, he brought her within a hairs breath of the flash burn of her clitoral release. Now her skin was flaming for want of that particular sensation. Her tits ached, where his wicked tongue caressed the taught pebbled flesh of her nipples; and everywhere his free hand roamed, burning trails of unquenchable fire were left in its wake.
It was exquisite.
It was unbearable.
He would drive her to madness.
Once more his fingers delved deep within her, brushing over her burning tender core and making her arch her back; screaming out her delight even as a frustrated groan grated in the back of her throat.
Her eyes flew open and her gaze met that of Andriano, who had, undoubtedly, been roused from his exhausted stupor at her wild raucous cries. The whore's eyes were alight with an open appreciation for the sight before him, though he was clearly far too spent to come join in the fun. Never-the-less, the regard of another man on her, as Hawke patiently set about taking her apart at the seams, kindled an even deeper hunger within her flesh. It spoke to the exhibitionist in her, and finally she couldn't take it anymore. Her need demanded satisfaction-absolute.
"For fuck's sake, Hawke! Please!" His satisfied little growl buzzed at the flesh of her nipple, both of which were so hard with her arousal at this point, that Isabela was sure she could have used them to cut her way into any chest whose lock he demanded she pick. Then -At last!- he was sinking down her body, his hot mouth trailing over her ribs, and cutting off her stray, wandering thoughts as effectively as her silverite daggers parted flesh from bone. His tongue, pulled back till it was just the point of it drawing lazily across her sensitive surfaces; painting lines of fire and ice down her stomach, her navel... Then, with a violence more typical of him- though he'd so far kept it entirely in check this evening- he grabbed her thighs in a vice-like grip and forced them up and apart; leaving her nowhere to hide or take shelter from his relentless onslaught.
And his head -finally!- sank to her wet dripping core.
Isabela's world shattered.
One touch of that devastatingly clever tongue to her aching, throbbing, clit and Isabela came utterly undone. Her orgasm ripping though her with a force that stole her breath away. Robbing her lungs of air so completely, that though her mouth opened wide with the intent to cry out, she remained absolutely silent; literally, unable to give voice to her scream of satisfied completion. A tidal wave of her pleasure poured out of her, even as her skin flushed so hotly it left her feeling burnt and raw.
And still there was no reprieve.
He gave her only a moments respite as he lapped up the spoils of her climax -the fruits of his labors- before diving in again.
And again.
And again.
Never failing to call forth the grass fire burn of the climax he'd left her craving. For each orgasm he had denied her previously, he now repaid her two-fold.
By the time he was done with her, Isabela had been completely unmade. Now, she was nothing more than a puddle of woman and spent nerves, lying boneless-ly before him. Altogether helpless, and at his mercy, yet so exhaustively satisfied, that she couldn't bring herself to care. She felt quite content to just lay there and never move again. Truly he was the lover to end all lovers, she would be ruined for any other man after him.
Maker, what had she gotten herself into...
Vaguely, she was aware of him sending Andriano out, telling him to inform Lusine that they'd be keeping the room for an hour or so. And, yes, he realized it would cost him.
Isabela scoffed, if only in the confines of her own mind.
As though he cared about the cost. He was The Champion of Kirkwall, who'd found a fortune in the deep roads. What was a few measly silver when compared to that? Void take it! He'd bought her one of The Rose's premium entertainers for her own chapter in this, their little game of 'show and tell', and he'd done it as though it were nothing. As though two sovereigns for a few hours of entertainment for anyone but one's own self wasn't an outlandish sum in the slightest.
The sounds of him washing at the basin dragged her a little further from her fogged state of euphoria; back a little closer to reality. He certainly would need a good wash to cleanse himself of the evidence of the night's activities. Between Isabela, Andriano, and his own excretions, Hawke was a good sight more than just filthy minded at the moment.
Some small part of Isabela suggested weakly that she should probably do the same; but as things stood it was all she could do to continue breathing. The idea of her standing and walking across the room to join him at the basin was, frankly, laughable. Even as she lay there, drenched in sweat, with a sticky puddle cooling rapidly between her legs, on a chaise that was growing more uncomfortable with each passing moment, she couldn't even find the energy to shift her ass off the cold dampness beneath her. Then, just as the fog of blissful satisfaction began to be forced from her mind by the discomfort, strong arms were thrust beneath her.
With a grunt, Hawke, hoisted her from the now sodden chaise and moved her toward a drier surface. Fell Hawke, the consummate gentleman.
"Maker's Breath, Isabela, but you're heavy!" Right. This was Hawke she was dealing with. Gentleman my ass.
"Watch it, Sweet-thing. Or I'll cut that deceitful tongue right out of your handsome head." She mumbled into his shoulder. He just laughed, as he set her down on the bed he'd thrown Andriano out of. Hardly cleaner than the chaise, true; but at least it had been given a chance to dry some from the sweat the men had drench it with earlier. One might -perhaps- be persuaded to consider it an improvement. A marginal one.
"You'd never." He stated with certainty, as he collapsed into the bed at her back. Pressing his warm flesh tight up against her now, rapidly cooling skin. "You appreciate its other talents too much to do something so wasteful."
"Mmmmmm. True. Maybe, I'll have it enchanted and keep it in a box under my bed, for later. Sandal could do it." She murmured sleepily, already drifting off again, basking in his soothing heat.
"I'm sure he could." Hawke chuckle, the vibration of his voice buzzing through Isabela's back. "I'll have to be more careful in future then."
"Mmm. See that you do." For a time she just lay there, drifting on the edge of the fade; aware of his warm body pressed at her back, and little else.
"So... you never actually answered my question, you know?" His voice, though quiet, cut into the silence that had been settling around them, making the pirate start a bit, as he pulled her back from the edge of sleep once more.
"Hmm?" Isabela cocked an inquiring eyebrow at her pillow. Too sated and tired still, to dredge up the energy and make the effort to turn her head, so Hawke might actually see and appreciate the strictly visual gesture.
"About whether you enjoyed the show. Maker knows I enjoyed watching you with Katriela the other night. So was the favor returned?" He inquired as he ran his hand along her upper arm and trickled kisses along her shoulder.
"The show was lovely..." Even as the words left her mouth she realized the tone wasn't right. Maybe he wouldn't catch it. His hand came to a sudden halt and his lips were immediately removed from her skin. Shit.
"But..." He drew out the sound, and left it to hang in the air; her continuation of the statement implicit in his lack of one.
"But nothing, Hawke. It was lovely." She made her tone as light and open as possible but she could practically hear Varric crying, 'Bullshit!' all the way from Lowtown. It came out hollow; ringing false even to her own ear. Clearly, Hawke, heard the empty note as well, for he pulled her onto her back and sat up to look her in the eye.
"Maker's Breath! Isabela! You'd better not go getting jealous on me!" He said, his vermillion eyes looking more frantic than she would have ever expected of him. Not Hawke. He didn't do frantic. He didn't panic. He usually just got mad; a state which, frankly, Isabela usually just found yummy. "This was your bloody idea! Remember?" He half snarled, sounding more like the Hawke she knew.
"Jealous! Ha! Hardly my style, Hawke." Obviously he wasn't going to let this drop and he'd roused her far enough out if her post-coital torpor, that she knew she wasn't gonna get out of this without explaining her vague disappointment to him. "Look it's just that..."
"Well?" He prodded, when it became clear that she'd stalled.
"It's just that... when I saw you bring serah Beef-Cake up here to play with us, I thought for sure I was finally going to get to watch someone take you apart for a change, is all."
"Ah." Was all he said, but that single syllable spoke volumes on understanding. "You wanted to see me topped." He rolled away from her on the bed, and she turned to see him stand and begin hunting around the room for where he'd left his trousers.
"Hawke?" He wouldn't quite meet her eyes when she tried to catch his gaze. "Fell?" Still nothing. Andraste's frigid cunt had she gone and offended him somehow? "Oh don't be like that! Is it really that surprising that that was what I was after? Look. I know how good you are at making people into little steaming puddles of goo, Hawke, you do it to me every time. But what does it look like to see you reduced to the same state? I can't hardly imagine it." Her tongue slipped between her teeth and her eyes misted over a bit as she tied to call forth a visual to match the idea. "What does Fell Hawke look like when he comes undone."
"You make me come undone." He muttered, his back to her as he drew his shirt on over his head. His sudden business-like air galvanizing her to pull herself together and start the hunt for her own cloths, even as she scoffed at his words.
"Ha! Hardly!" She barked out, a little bitterly. "I hold my own Hawke... But just. You're a bloody tiger in the sack and -I guess- Look. I shouldn't have been surprised at the direction things took really, 'cause -Maker knows!- You certainly don't give up control easily. But the simple fact is I don't come equipped with a cock; And based on you preferences until me, I'm betting that, that is what it takes to really make you melt. A nice fat cock breaching you're back door." She purred and licked her lips hungrily to show her appreciation of the imagery when he glanced her way in order to toss her boots at her.
"Really, all I want," she continued, in a lightly innocent tone, as though it were perfectly reasonable thing to admit to wanting. "is to see you beneath a nice brute of a man – that lovely neck of yours staining as he pushes into your delicious ass – and watch as he then proceeds to ravage you until you break. Is that, honestly, too much for a girl to ask?"
"Not too much," Fell said turning back to her a thoughtful look in his eyes. "but it is -as things stand- Well, it is a bit of a tall order, 'Bela." He muttered, looking almost sheepish as he said it. Isabela's eyes got roundly huge as her brain jumped to the first conclusion it could draw-up from that slightly embarrassed look on his face.
"But I thought- all those toys! - surely you must have- Hawke! Don't tell me you're a black cherry virgin!" She gasped her hand rushing to her mouth, her eyes beginning to dance with mirth. "because that would just- That would be too priceless!"
"What? NO! No, no. Maker's hairy sack, 'Bela, no! Nothing like that!" He grimaced. Then spotting her corset lying of the floor, threw it at her where she sat on the bed now clearly chortling at him. "No." He said firmly when she still looked like she might burst into gales of laughter at any moment. "Look. It's just not a position I allow myself to get into. Not unless I really trust the other man. And as things, currently, stand..."
"Ah." She said getting control of herself, a look of understanding coming into her warm gold eyes. "So I suppose it's not good enough to just have someone you trust in the room, and an experienced whore?" She asked, coyly batting her lashes at him. Hawke snorted.
"Sure, but where would we find someone I trust, I wonder?" He said giving her a sly smile. Isabela squawked and threw one of his boots at his head, making him laugh as he ducked. "Experienced, I may be, but I'm hardly a whore. No matter what Aveline says." She sniffed, as though affronted, "I never charge... and I don't do ugly men. And you, serah, do trust me."
"Oh do I? Miss, 'I-Like-Big-Boats.-I-Cannot-Lie.'" This time Isabela spotted Hawke's other boot and threw it straight at his face, with a playful snarl.
"Are you ever going to let me live that down?" She whined, to which Hawke just laughed harder.
Fully dressed, Hawke went to lead Isabela from the room but stopped her just before she was about to pass through the door. "Seriously 'Bela – you need to hear me on this – I won't bottom with just any random person." Again, Hawke's eyes did not quite meet her own.
"And like I said, Sweet-thing, it's nothing. Just a nice little wet dream for me to indulge in later."
.:xo-HMH-ox:.
What Isabela had no way of knowing, was just how much it had weighed on Fell's mind, to discover her less-than-perfectly-pleased state, after their time spent in The Rose. His desperation to make things work with the sultry rogue was rapidly turning into something of an obsession. She was one of the few women he'd ever met who could go toe to toe with him in bed; and after the debacle with Fenris and Anders, he'd woken up to the fact that he really did want someone to share his life with. True, he'd never imagined it would be a woman his eye would finally settle on; but then, he'd never imagined a woman quite like Isabela.
So, simply put: if Isabela wanted it, Hawke would move the earth and sky to see her have it. But he had to be discreet about it. If he started showering her with gifts and attention, she'd catch on and disappear like the Arishok was back from the dead. So he kept it off-hand. Casual.
When she got silly over a hat in that silly little hat-shop she loved so much, it would appear in her rooms a day or two later. Just a joke gift. Like that toy soldier set he bought Aveline, or the little hand mirrors he was always giving Merrill. What? She had actually wanted it? Well, then... the joke was on him.
Or, when she admired that new pair silverite daggers at the weapons stall in Hightown. The following day he bought them for her, and when she grumbled about charity, he insisted it was just him looking out for his team. After all, it was time they all looked into weapon replacements. Look! he even made Varric get Bianca a new rune. He needed them to be well armed if they were supposed to be watching his back when all was said and done.
And when her eyes lit up with a covetous light at the sight of Katriela sitting amongst the others premium entertainers in The Rose, he'd taken immediate steps to procure the saucy little elf for his lover. clearly, his motives were entirely selfish, right? If he was going to watch Isabela in the arms of another woman, he wanted it to be with the best for... aesthetic reasons.
Thank The Maker, there wasn't a ship on the sales block down at the docks, though. He had absolutely no idea how he would have rationalized something like that away as a triviality. Perhaps a lie about looking to expand into the import/export business? Heh, she'd never buy it.
Mind, on that one thing, he might have been able to resist the urge to spoil her; if purely out of a sense of self preservation. After all, if he supplied her with a ship, she was sure to leave Kirkwall. He knew he could keep her happy in bed for a time, but eventually she would get bored with him, and without the fantastic inventive sex to anchor her here, the lure of the open water would be too strong for her to resist for long.
That was the biggest hurdle he faced in trying to win the rouge's heart; sexual boredom. He needed to keep things alive and fresh in the bedroom. To keep her appetite sated and her desire for variety assuaged. If he couldn't manage that, she was likely to wander off on him, with or without, a boat. It wasn't too much of a problem for the moment. He was certainly willing to give her head and freedom regarding other partners, so long as she was equally open with his own wandering eyes. Though he was -gently- steering her in the direction of bringing any potential partners to his attention as well; so that they both might have a bit of fun with them.
She was right, after all – he might be staunchly bisexual, however, his eye did tend to linger a little more on the men in a room. Thusly, it wasn't as though he'd have any objections to her bringing another man into the bed. And it would certainly be harder for her to forget about him in the novelty of a new lover, if he was actually in the bed with them.
It had honestly been a relief when she expressed an interest in watching him with another man. Not only had he been feeling a little nostalgic twinge whenever a man with a prominent package and a tight ass passed them in the street; but he had been starting to run out of new tricks to pull out of his hat in order keep her entertained. So he'd rushed to agree with her observation that, seeing as they both had an acute interest in their own genders, it would be an interesting experiment to see how each of them behaved with a partner of the same sex.
But then she'd gone and thrown that curve ball at him. She wanted him to bottom. And if Isabel wanted; Hawke would deliver...somehow.
Again, Isabela had demonstrated a rather surprising talent for insight. Her little comment regarding just what he needed to really let himself go, had been nothing but the purest truth. All the fingering and toys in the world couldn't see him really fall apart, the way a solid rogering with a hard, throbbing, cock could. Problem was: he'd be a wreck afterward. And it had only taken the one bad experience in his youth -when he'd let his lust override his better judgment- to cure him of any desire to indulge in that particular pastime with anyone in whom he didn't have the utmost trust ever again.
And there-in lay the rub.
He just didn't have that many people he trusted; not to that extent, at least. Void take it! Since becoming Champion, he didn't have that many people he would even classify as friends, let alone trusted friends. Sudden wealth and fame did a great job showing you just exactly how little others actually thought of you. The closest people to him now, were the ragamuffin members of his little band of adventurers, and of the men in that group... Well, he'd pretty thoroughly fucked up those relationships years ago.
The Fenris debacle had done a real number on him. Here he was, years later, and it still made him wince each time he thought about it. And though he still trusted the warrior with his life on the field of battle, that trust no longer extended to anything more intimate. True he might be persuaded to sleep with the warrior again. Provided, of course, someone else managed to convince the elf first. Which was far more unlikely given all Hawke had done out of spite and anger afterward. However, Hawke would never again trust the elf enough to let himself be that vulnerable in front him.
Anders would have been ideal. He certainly had experience enough to let Fell relax into the ride, and ensure Isabela got a good show out of it, besides. But, with the healer, the problem was the exact opposite of the situation with Fenris; he trusted Anders, but on an intimate level, Fell had given the healer every reason to never trust him again. Besides that, Justice would never forgive Hawke for having lead the man on out of his twisted need for revenge against the elf.
Hypocritical spirit.
But, hypocrisy or no, the fact remained – Justice was what he had been made to be, and so long as the spirit wouldn't forgive, Anders' tender heart wouldn't forget. Which essentially meant that the healer was so far removed from available, where Hawke was concerned, that The Champion might-as-well have been a corpse.
Not for the first -nor undoubtedly the last- time, Fell lamented the fact that he hadn't met Anders pre-Justice. From what Isabela told him, he would have positively adored the charming, footloose, devil-may-care man the healer use to be; before that damned spirit took his one bitter spark and fanned it into a blazing inferno – giving him a cause. Pre-Justice Anders would have -supposedly- been quite happy to jump in and out of bed with him and Isabela however many times they'd asked. He probably wouldn't even have minded being used as a slake for Hawke's lust and anger with the elven warrior – so long as the sex was good. Or so Isabela would have Fell believe. According to the pirate, before Justice, Anders had been very much about living for the moment, what with the hiding out in brothels and all.
Ah, Nug Shit.
Well, it was all a moot point now. In his anger and need to lash out at Fenris, Hawke, had done an excellent job of burning his bridges with both men. So now he found himself standing on a spire in the middle of a ravine sorely in need of a bridge. Shit. Hind-sight was a real bitch. He was fucked -in the metaphorical sense at least- for no matter how he twisted and turned the situation he just couldn't see a way clear to getting properly fucked in the physical sense.
Maker this was giving him a headache!
"You'd better be planning on serving up something from your private reserve, Varric!" Hawke half shouted as he barged into the dwarf's apartment at The Hanged Man. "My head can't take the rotgut swill they serve at the bar tonight."
"Say the word, Hawke, and I'll pull out a barrel of the good stuff. After all, what's mine is yours and what's yours is... well, still yours, but at least you let me borrow it, now and again." Quipped the dwarf as he put the final few strokes on Bianca's evening polish. Then he looked up. "Shit Hawke! You really do look sour. You sure you're up for our game tonight? I can't see that scowl helping your wicked-grace face any, and you're not that good to begin with."
"Very funny Varric. I'll remind you of that when I'm counting out my purse."
"You mean the few remaining coppers left to your name by the time me and the Rivaini are done with you?" They cheerfully lobed jibes and insults at each other along that vein for a while. The usual pregame ritual soothing Hawke's frantic thoughts in a way nothing else had since yesterday. Varric was always good for that. Hawke could count on his stalwart dwarf in even the most dire of circumstances to bring some levity to pretty much any situation. He could always trust Varric.
Hmmmm. Varric...
No. Dumb idea. Varric was straighter than one of his crossbow bolts. And to be honest, it had been years, and Fell didn't think he was up to taking on something of dwarven proportions. Sure they weren't overly long, but girth was the bigger issue here, and dwarf cocks had a reputation for being... rotund.
Perhaps if I had a couple weeks to prepare... But no. Again. No. DUMB IDEA. He practically shouted at himself. He needed to just drop it. But his mind was like his mabari with a bronto bone. It had to sit there and worry at it even though it was old and dry and cracking, and there was positively nothing of value to be had from it; but it was a bone and his brain just wasn't going to leave it.
"Hawke!" Varric's shout and a stout pair of fingers snapping right under his nose, brought the man back to himself with a little start.
"Sorry. What was that?"
"I was asking why you got here so early, but clearly you're moving on automatic. I asked over a minute ago and have just been trying to get you attention ever since. Seriously what's got you so tied up in that empty head of yours anyway?" Varric asked. His face open and intent; his copper eyes not quite managing to hide their concern. He really was an exceptionally handsome dwarf...
Then Hawke's tongue slipped its leash and made a break for the cliffs.
"Varric...You wouldn't happen to be interested in helping me and Isabela out with a little experiment..." Hawke's mind suddenly realized that his tongue was loosed and raced to catch it before it ran them into serious trouble. But the damn thing had too much of a head start. "Something private. I guess you might call it a-"
"Whoa now! Stop right there Hawke. If the next word that was thinking of coming out of that mouth of yours, starts with the letter pairing 'th' and ends in a 'some', then you might wanna reconsider finishing that sentence." The dwarf warned, his hand going down to the crossbow at his side like he was holding it back. "Bianca's libel to get twitchy."
"Right. Dumb idea." Hawke dropped his head into his hands and groaned "I knew that. I'm just... I don't think there's anyone else."
"Shit! That was actually it? Damn Hawke! You're a handsome man and all, but a bed with you, me and the Rivaini in it has entirely too much chest hair to be healthy, in my opinion. Besides, Bianca, has strict rules about me not mixing business with pleasure." Hawke winced a bit as the dwarf then came to the wrong, however more logical, conclusion. "So... troubles in the bedroom, then. What is it? The Rivaini pumping you so dry you need another set of balls to give up the juice?" Varric snickered. "Color me surprised Hawke. I always thought – on that front at least – that you and The Rivaini were pretty evenly matched." Varric was still chortling at Hawke's supposed short comings as he lifted his mug to his mouth. The Champion recognized the familiar glint in the storyteller's eyes, and groaned internally.
Varric had that particular sparkle to his gaze that meant he was considering publishing another of his poorly disguised 'fiction' books. Hawke groaned again, aloud this time. He knew he was going to regret correcting the dwarf's assumption, but better to have him know the truth, than have the tales of "The Empty Falcon"-or some other such tripe- making the rounds of the city.
"It's not anything like that. Any whore at The Rose would do for something like that. No she wants to watch a man top me, and for that I have certain requirements." It took Varric a moment to put Hawke's words into the appropriate context. Unfortunately when they did click into place, the storyteller was right in the middle of a deep pull at his beer, and the shock made him choke on it. In fact, he spluttered and coughed long enough that Hawke was actually growing concerned and had to give the dwarf a couple of hearty whacks to help him clear his pipes.
"Andraste's puckered, nug-humping ass, Hawke! What are you trying to do? Kill me!" He finally managed in a wheezing gasp. "You were honestly about to ask me to – Bianca cover your ears! - to fuck you all so that Rivaini could get her rocks off watching?! By my ancestors you've got it bad for that woman."
"No. Maybe..." Hawke buried his face in his hands and pulled at his hair. "Look, I knew it was a bad idea." He studiously told the table "But I'm stumped. I want to do this for her. Fuck that, I've just wanted it since she went and planted the idea. It's been years since I had a good buggering. This situation has just given me all the excuse I could possibly ever need to look into it seriously. But, I have a rule about who I'm willing to do that kind of thing with, and it pretty much rules out anyone who doesn't attend this card game. And seeing as... Well... Really, you were my only option."
"Alright I can see your point there. Broody and Blondie certainly aren't gonna be in any kind of rush to help you out with that these days. But I'm afraid that means you're S.O.L. my friend. 'Cause frankly, I'm now going to make a concerted effort to get positively shit-faced drunk in order to wipe this conversation entirely from my memory. Do you even realize how much ale it takes to get a dwarf that drunk? You, serah, owe me a cask of something from your cellars for that, less-than-choice, image you just forced on me." The dwarf shuddered a bit and drained the remains of his tankard in a pull. Hawke just banged his head against the table a couple of times.
Varric was as good as his word, and proceeded to down two tankards of his private reserve in less than a minute. Halfway through his third he let loose with a belch that shook the dust from the rafters in its ferocity before setting off on a blue stripe of curses that would have made a sailor blush. Hawke couldn't help but snort, at least his frustrated misery had company now.
"Nug humping bronto piss!" The dwarf snarled as he smashed his tankard down on the table again, then pointing an accusatory finger at Hawke. "A cask of your best Tevinter wine and the full story of what happened between you, Broody, and Blondie two years ago. And I mean the full, explicit story my friend! I'm writing that book for this!" Fell groaned but nodded his consent. He'd known it was a properly bad idea, to ask the dwarf; he'd take his punishment like a man.
About that time the others started to arrive. Fortunately, everyone was too caught up in their own dramas to notice anything unusual between the dwarf and their leader. Varric was just grateful for the distraction they all provided from his overly vivid imagination and he had enough drinks in him, by that point, that he was capable of spouting his usual witty barbs. And Hawke... Well no one really wanted to risk his acerbic tongue when he was in an off mood, which he clearly was, so mostly the conversations just swirled around him as everyone claimed a seat and Varric began to deal.
"You're not still sore about last night are you Sweet Cheeks?" Isabela whispered in his ear after the first few hands of wicked grace. Her hand snaking up his thigh beneath the table. "Honestly, Sweet-thing it was just an idle fancy."
"I'm fine Pet." He said turning into the rouge and nuzzling at her neck. "Just a bit of a headache."
"I thought we were her to play cards. Not take in the latest act of 'Hawke: A Slap & Tickle' show." Groused Anders sourly from his seat across the table.
"I seem to recall you were a sight worse when it was your turn, Abomination." Fenris drawled, never taking his eyes from his hand. "It was all he could do to keep you from crawling into his lap at every passing opportunity. It was distinctly nauseating then too, as I recall."
"I'm sorry did it bother you?" Anders mocked, his voice overly sweet and innocent "I never meant to upset your delicate sensibilities Elf."
"You didn't." Fenris returned in a cool deadpan
"Of course not." Anders muttered, "A stone statue has more emotional depth than you, Mongrel." Fenris growled warningly at the Grey Warden, unfortunately only reinforcing the impression of animalistic rabidity Anders always accused him of. The mage's finger twitched in response to the threat and started to crawl with little sparks of lightning. Hawke just sighed into Isabela's neck, even as his cock stirred in his smalls. He hated to admit it but Fenris' deep rumbling growl, full of implied menace, still went straight to the root if his cock every time he heard it. And the thought of what Anders could do with those gently sparking fingers...
And with that Little-Hawke was up.
"Makers breath you two!" Aveline cut in, half standing from her seat and physically interposing herself between Hawke's ex-lovers, before things could escalate. "Can't you both just give it a rest? You only encourage them with your damned jealous quibbling. See! Now look what you've done." The guard captain waved a hand back to where Isabela was now straddling Hawke and making a real effort to swallow him whole, her hips rubbing over his stiffening cock. Isabela was never one to let and opportunity go to waste, and she positively adored making the two glowing idiots as jealous as possible at every opportunity.
"Ugh." Anders wretched, and throwing his hand down on the table in disgust. "I'm gonna go take a piss." Then he all but fled the apartment in a huff of robes and feathers. Fenris Just curled his lip in distaste as he turned toward Donnic and asked after some of their mutual friends in the Guard.
"Alright, now for you two." Aveline said reaching over the table and pulling Hawke and Isabela apart. "That'll be quite enough of that. Hawke, I don't think even Varric's up for you screwing the Whore in the middle of his table just now."
"Better that, than the other option he was trying to sell me." Muttered the dwarf, finishing his seventh tankard of the evening, a record for him, this early in the game.
"But mother dear! You never let me play with my toys." Whined Isabela at Aveline, doing a fair job replicating that particular tone of thwarted little children everywhere, and making Aveline's spine go instantly ridged. Maker! thought Hawke, that was all he needed! To have Isabela and Aveline start butting heads tonight as well. Better to diffuse the situation.
Hawke flashed his brightest most charming smile at the two women which earned him a scowl from Aveline, and a shrewd look from Isabela. "'Bela, pet? Might you still have that bottle of Antivan brandy stashed away in your rooms? The ale just isn't doing it for me tonight."
"You and me both." Groaned Varric, as he stood to refill his tankard yet again.
"Spoil sport." Isabela really was quite attractive when she pouted like that, but, despite her words and put out expression, she turned and sauntered off to fetch the bottle with a suggestive sway to her hips. No sooner was the pirate clear of the door, than Aveline declared she was going to get another round from the bar for herself and the others. Merrill quickly offered to help, seeing as Donnic was now engrossed in a conversation with Fenris regarding some drama at the barracks. So no one was paying any attention when Varric slapped down his mug next to Hawke and said with a falsely casual air.
"So...not attempting to win either of them over, I see."
"No point wasting the effort on something that's a stark impossibility." Was Hawke's murmured replay as he started to raise his own cup to his lips intending to finish the ale before Isabela returned with the brandy. Then, suddenly, the answer to all his problems made his appearance at the top of the stairs form the common room. Varric saw Hawke's mug freeze halfway to his lips and glance at the door to see what had caught The Champion's attention, just as a new voice announced the presence of a late comer to the game.
"Pardon my rudeness, Hawke." Sebastian's thick Starkhaven burr preceded the man into the room, galvanizing Hawke as nothing else had been able to all evening. "It seems I'm more than just marginally late to our little soiree."
"Nonsense Seb! It's never too late to join the rabble!" Hawke's voice was vibrant with real energy for the first time that evening. Varric looked between The Choir Boy and Hawke's newly awakened, hopeful, face and began to chuckle under his breath even as he shook his head at Hawke's folly. If Hawke thought he was gonna get The Choir Boy to break his vows he had another thing coming. He'd already won forty silver off The Rivaini based on the monk's ability to resist temptation. Fact: Choir Boy was just too boring to cheat.
"Not even gonna happen, Hawke." The dwarf muttered under his breath as Sebastian stopped to join in the conversation taking place between Fenris and Donnic.
"Not. A. Word." Hawke growled between his teeth in an aggressive aside to his business partner.
"Whatever you say Hawke." Varric murmured, shaking his head ruefully. This was destined to crash a burn, but a least it would be interesting to watch. Idly Varric wonder how Hawke would broach the subject now that everyone was present and accounted for. The man was brazen but he doubted even he'd be so crass as to just come out with it to a sworn lay brother, in front of all their cohorts, and his two ex-lovers besides. With a smug smile the dwarf settled a little deeper into his chair to watch the fun.
Fell, on the other hand, sat up a little straighter as he watched the monk talk with Donnic and Fenris; practically purring with satisfaction. Why hadn't he thought of this before? Sure, Seb had his vows, but he was making moves to retake Starkhaven. He'd be a king soon enough and kings needed strong lines of succession in order to really secure their thrones, everyone knew that. Which meant, those vows were well on their way to being annulled anyway. It wouldn't take more than a carefully calculated push to knock the shining example of virtue, that was Sebastian Veal, from that pedestal he'd been perched on; and back down into the real world filth with the rest of them.
And pushing was practically Hawke's job description. Well, a push and a well baited trap perhaps. He mused. Traps weren't really Seb's strong suit, and if the bait was right... The only question was: Was Seb the type of man who'd spring the trap if Fell was the bait on offer?
Only one way to find out. He thought, as he hastily stuffed the much diminished pile of coins in front of him into his purse, making Varric arch a brow at him. Hawke just gave the dwarf another look that told him to bite that tongue of his. Time to polish off the old seduction skills. Impatiently, he waited for Sebastian's conversation with the others to lull.
"Seb! Grab a seat." He called, kicking Isabela's chair out in an invitation to the archer. Hawks mouth watered as he really let his eye linger on the sway of Sebastian's pelvis as he walked toward him. How was it, he'd never really appreciated the subtle symphony of motion that was Sebastian's particular form of a strut, before? Silently he cursed that damned belt buckle and how much it obscured his view; there was really no hint of what Seb was packing under all that shining armor.
A thrill ran through him, and he had to suppress the urge to shiver. His blood firing with an excitement that had as much to do with the anticipation and the hunt, as the man himself. It had been an age since he'd attempted to get into the smalls of a man who didn't necessarily fancy other men. It was always such a thrilling challenge; to carefully tread the line between friendly and flirty, then tilt it -ever so slightly- in the desired direction.
"You seem to have offered me someone else's seat, Hawke" Sebastian said eying up the pile of Isabela's winnings.
"Just getting Isabela to sit where I want her." Hawke replied with a leer and a slap on his thigh.
"Oh Sweet-thing! All you had to do was ask." Said Isabela as she re-entered the apartment, the bottle of brandy in hand.
"Maker's Breath." Came Anders exasperated oath from behind her as he followed her into the room. Isabela just flashed the blond mage a smile, before sauntering over to Hawke and planting that delicious rump of hers down just exactly where he wanted it.
"Won't that give you a rather unfair advantage?" Inquired Sebastian, taking a seat as he watched Isabel collect her coins before uncorking the bottle of brandy with her teeth and pouring out a portion each, for herself and Hawke. "There's really no way she can hide her hand from you like that."
Hawke took the cup of bandy and downed it in a single throw, playing up his reaction just a bit so that Seb might believe he was a little further into his cups than he actually was. He answered the prince as he poured himself a second, "Nah. I'm done with the cards. This lot of crooks has taken me for all I'm willing to give them. Now I'm just here for the drink, and the fine company!" He wiggled his eyebrows at the monk, making the prince snort at Hawke's audacity. Then Hawke raised his cup in a salute to the rest of the group as well, and made as though he meant to take a sip. But, just before he let the liquor touch his lips, he paused thoughtfully and swung the cup toward Sebastian until the tumbler of fragrant antivan brandy was less than an inch from Seb's nose. "Sure I can't tempt you, Seb?" He queried, lowering his tone to the far side of seductive, then purred, "It's Antivan."
In the entire time Hawke had known him, the lay brother had always refrained from consuming anything stronger than barley water; And really, Seb only conceded to drinking that because the 'water' in the Hanged Man would kill you – or at least make you violently ill. But now, after days of being shut up with political advisers and wading through the mire that was the coup d'état he was planning, Sebastian's nose definitely twitched when confronted with the rich scent of fine brandy. Later, Hawke would even swear he saw the merest hint of tongue peek through those full succulent lips, before the monk pursed them and uttered his usual declination. It wasn't lost on Hawke, however, that it was the slowest most reluctant refusal, Sebastian had ever given The Champion on the offer of a drink. Nothing like his easy confident refusal of mere weeks before.
Oh yes, he though as he brought the cup back to his own lips and took a sip, the cracks are definitely starting to show.
The night progressed as was usual from there, but Hawke continued to play up as though the drink had gone to his head far more than it actually had. The perfect excuse as to why he was being -just marginally- inappropriate with the straight laced man sitting next to him. He oftentimes leaned over to make ass and cock laced innuendos about the game directly into Sebastian's ear; the Starkhaven Prince always chided him for it, never-the-less he continued to lean in whenever Hawke looked as though he wanted to share. It was Isabela, however, who finally gave Hawke the opportunity to get a little hands-y with his prudish friend.
"Oh that's right! I saw this fellow down at the dock today," She started after someone, probably Aveline, – Hawke wasn't really following the conversation all that closely, what with his attention being almost exclusively focused on the man siting a foot to his left – mentioned that the docks were swarming with disreputable men looking for work. "and we really must find him something to do locally, Sweetness, he is just too much of an improvement to the local scenery for us to let him get away. Remind me to show him to you."
"Oh? A looker, huh. Do tell me more." Hawke brought his nose to the pirate's neck and began to lick and nibble at the soft, sensitive flesh just below her ear, making her hum in appreciation. Still, Hawke's focus was on Sebastian who kept darting little glance out the corner of his eye at an activity he normally would have turned his gaze form entirely. Clearly Hawke had his mind working in the right direction.
"Mmmmmm. Don't stop doing that, and I just might." She lean back into him even as she threw down another wining hand on the table, making the other players groan. "Let's see. He was about six foot three. Black braid. Chiseled jaw. Neck and shoulders like a Qunari, but these nice slender hips that you know were just made to be straddled. Positively rippling with muscle." She closed her eyes as she recalled. "And absolutely covered with tattoos." Then she opened those sultry gold eyes of hers and, looking directly at Fenris, made a show of licking her lips. The elf just gave her a cold eyed stare in return, as though she were beneath his notice.
"Tattoos?" Sebastian piped up his eyebrows climbing toward his hair-line in incredulity. "That's what impressed you most? Normally I find the things a vulgar distraction. Crude and poorly done drawings cluttering up otherwise pristine, lovely skin. It's a criminal waste." Oh yes, Hawke's little game was definitely turning back the clock of Sebastian's memories to a time before faith and dedication and vows. Sebastian 'Pure-as-the-driven-snow' Vael would never have deigned to even acknowledge Isabela's shallow description, let alone offer an equally shallow dissenting opinion on it. What was more it was an incredibly tactless comment to make in front of Fenris; who was extremely self-conscious of his very tattoo-like lyrium brands.
"She loves a man with a bit of ink." Hawke said, taking his mouth from the pirate's neck and he turned and leaned into Sebastian before continuing in a staged whisper. "Made me get one." He was so focused on the monk, Hawke, didn't notice the identical looks of shock that suddenly whipped across Fenris' and Anders' faces, their eyes widening with something that looked, almost, like regret. "It's a tiger. Wraps all the way around my hip. She's says she made me get it because I'm a real tiger between the sheets." Then he leaned in – just a little closer – till his lips were almost brushing the shell of Sebastian's ear lowering his voice to a real whisper, one positively dripping with suggestive implications, "Want to see?" And at that precise moment Hawke pretend to overbalance in his chair.
And Fell, fell – right into the other man's lap.
The move actually did over balance Isabela, and sent her tumbling onto Varric; effectively distracting the other card players from the much less dramatic seeming collision of Hawke and Sebastian.
Had Varric not been suddenly preoccupied by a lap full of inebriated Isabela, he certainly would have been witness to Hawke, as he finally made his move. After all, the dwarf had been watching the two men intently all night. But as things played out Varric missed the pivotal moment in their game. He didn't see how Hawke's hand shot out to stabilize the mage, landing conveniently on Sebastian's thigh; neatly finding its way under that shiny armor skirting, to the much less effective barrier of the silk trews beneath. Nor did the dwarf witness Hawke's mouth ending up pressed directly into the monk's ear. Yet even if he had caught a glimpse of these things out of the corner of his eye, he could hardly have been faulted for missing the much subtler actions which happened next as Hawke took advantage of this new position.
Nor the equally subtle but very telling reactions of the soon again to be Crown Prince of Starkhaven.
No sooner had his lips made contact with Seb's ear, than Hawke, opened them a little wider and let his tongue snake out and tease at the opening of the archer's ear canal making the other man gasp. A lovely little complex gasp, full of shock and confusion and just the barest note of intrigue. That exquisite little sound was lost to the rest of the company who were now all laughing at the two inebriated rouges as they struggled to untangle themselves; but it was clear as the Chantry's bells to Hawke's ears.
Startled by the unexpected contact, Sebastian jumped away from The Champion, turning to look at him in a startled kind of disbelief. Surely Hawke hadn't just shoved his tongue into his ear on purpose! But when his bright corn-flower eyes met Hawke's murky red ones, there was no denying the heat and intensity of them. There was also no disguising the fact that those eyes were a great deal more sober than the man had been pretending to be. The monk shifted, further twisting in his seat, to better take his poor blushing ears as far as possible from that devilish tongue which was licking The Champion's lips like it had just tasted something especially delicious.
It was the wrong move. That twist might have removed his ear from immediate danger... But it exposed something much more vulnerable.
For you see, when he twisted, his one leg moved, but the other remained stationary; pulling his knees farther apart from each other. Effectively, Sebastian had just spread his legs for his attacker.
Still in shock over the sudden warm and moist intrusion into his ear, the prince hadn't noticed the hand on his thigh until the moment Hawke shifted it even further up the monk's leg. He tightened his grip, applying just enough pressure that there was no way Sebastian could miss its presences now. Those fingers dragging up his inner thigh in a crude kind of caress; sliding over the silk trews right up to his groin. But there they stopped. Hawke's fingers gave another slight squeeze as he looked directly into Seb's eyes, and then, he let go.
He allowed his retreating fingers -just- to ghost over the bulge of Sebastian's prick. His one indulgence for himself, never mind the risk of it being, potentially, the step that went too far. But he kept that delightful little taste of a touch light enough that Seb would later question if he had actually felt the contact or simply imagined it. He did it to satisfy his own desire, but as it turned out, it was the move that tipped the balance. In that moment of barest contact between Hawke's fingers and the prince's cock, Hawke saw what he needed to see: Sebastian's azure eyes blown wide with the first glimmerings of arousal.
And with that one look, Sebastian's fate was sealed. The push had been made, and the prince had nowhere to turn but to continue to stumble in the direction Hawke wanted him to go. Now all he had to do was, bait and set the trap, then sit back and enjoy the spoils.
And what spoils they would be.
Hawke let his eyes rove over the rogue prince once more. Imagining the man under the armor, and had to restrain himself from breaking into an entirely predatory smile. Yes, this was going to be delicious.
.:xo-HMH-ox:.
"All right Hawke, spill." Isabela demanded as she closed the door to her room behind her and leaned up against it.
"Whatever do you mean, 'Bela?" He asked, his voice brimming over with mock innocence.
"Don't play coy with me Messere. You were up to something with that little stunt you pulled that had me all but drowning in Varric's chest hair. Not that I minded that, but I want to know what you're up to. And what was that bet with about." She said prowling over to him like a cat stalking a mouse. Closing the distance between them and then backing him into the bed where she promptly cupped the raging hard-on he'd been suffering from ever since he'd seen that flash of heat in Seb's eyes.
The rest of the card game had been almost tortuous for Hawke after that. He knew he had to back off then; play it straight, and leave the man guessing. Everything Hawke had done up until that last bit of physical contact could have been dismissed as nothing more than the usual lewd behavior of a slightly drunk Hawke. However, those last few moments – seconds really – had clearly been deliberate. The circumstances may have seemed accidental, but the moment Seb had met his gaze, the other man knew that Hawke was sober and his actions had been wholly intentional.
The moment Hawke knew the message had been received he withdrew himself utterly.
For the remainder of the game Hawke had sat there and altogether ignored the prince. He kept his eyes and attention trained on the card game – or Isabela, whenever the monk's flushed and flustered state proved too tempting for him. He never let on that he was highly aware of the other man's every shift of position; Every fidgety movement.
For five more hands he had joked and conversed and drank with the others at the table as though the Starkhaven prince didn't exist, and pretended not to watch with hungry anticipation as the man slowly fell apart.
He didn't let on. He knew the best way to keep him where he wanted him was to make Sebastian question himself. To make him wonder and worry at just what had actually happened. How much had been real? How much had he imagined? Why by Andraste's Light would he imagine such things? These were the questions that he wanted the monk to be asking himself every time Hawke came to mind. He needed the man off balance if he was going to lure him off the straight and narrow path.
Oh! But it had been excruciating to do.
Hawke's ass had seen the light at the end if its tunnel in the monk's eyes and it -along with his cock- had been barraging his mind with all the things they wanted him to do to that want-to-be-saint. All the things they would do to him, and all the thing they would drive him to do to them. The resultant boner had been pressed into Isabela's ass until he was damn near ready to scream with the need to just shove down his trews, hike her smalls to the side, a fuck her right there; sitting at the table in front of their entire company.
He'd refrained from taking any such action... barely.
Slowly, one by one, the others left. Fortunately Sebastian had been the first to go. His absence had helped Hawke get a handle on his raging thoughts some. But still... he now seriously needed to get off, or his balls were going to be bluer than that handsome bastard's eyes come morning. Finally! Merrill had tripped off toward the Alienage and Hawke had been free to grab Isabela's hand, and start hauling her back to her room; desperate to bury himself in that luscious ass of hers when Varric had called out to them.
"I don't know -hic-what you managed to -hic-do to make him all twit-hic-chy like that, but it still ain't -hic-g-hic- gonna happen Hawke." Varric said, staggering over to the keg of his good ale and tried to fill his cup again. He was extremely put out to discover the barrel was now empty.
"It'll happen, O-friend-of-mine." When Varric just snickered at him, Hawke had a genius idea "Care to try a little wager on it?" Varric was never one to turn down a betting opportunity.
"Heh. I've won -hic- enough silver off that -hic-one's will po-hic- power, already. Eighty silver says this time next month, you'll sti-hic-ll be walking straight." The dwarf finally managed through his hiccuping
"Come on old man! let's make this interesting. Three gold pieces says he'll cave by next week."
The dwarf had just laughed. "Always a pl-hic- pleasure taking money from you h-hic-Hawke-hic-"
Now, alone at last, Hawke really didn't want to talk about plans, or bets, or Varric. He wanted to fuck. But Isabela had her stubborn face on. Well maybe if he led a horse to water...
He caught her up in his arms and dragged her down into the bed with him, kissing her senseless in the process. She broke the kiss, gasping for air.
"You. Talk. Now." She ordered even as her hands started in on the fastening of his leathers so that she might get at his under tunic and trews. After all, her need was nearly as great as his own. She been sitting on top of that rock hard prick of his for almost an hour, unable to do anything about it. Her skillful fingers were flying in their haste to see the man naked. Hawke lay back and relaxed into the rogue's capable hands as he sorted out exactly what part to tell Isabela first.
"Well. First let me ask: When you said you wanted to see me underneath a 'brute of a man'... Was the 'brute' part of that statement a necessary requirement?"
"Again with this?" She said, shaking her head even as she pulled his shirt over his, leaving him lying naked beneath her. She leaned in and left a fast, dirty, kiss on his lips before sitting back and making short work of removing her own- granted not overly abundant- clothing. "I told you Hawke I don-"
Hawke cut her off. "Cause Sebastian isn't exactly beefy..." Over top of him, Isabela froze, her arms still crossed over her chest, her tunic pulled up just enough to give Hawke a tantalizing view of the under side of her spectacular breasts.
"You're joking." She said, her eyes as wide and round as he'd ever seen them. Hawke took advantage of her surprise to grab her hips and line her up with the head of his cock before slamming her down over the whole of his length. It was brutal and rough and they both cried out in shock as much as pleasure.
"I never joke about these things." He panted as he rejoiced in the sudden shock of her sweet hot cunt. "Now move that sweet ass of yours or I won't tell you how we're gonna do it." That was all she needed to hear. With a swift movement the tunic was gone and her awe inspiring bosom was set free and she began to rock and pump on his cock; biting her lip and closing her eyes as she hunted down the motion that would see him hitting against that sweet spot insider her; that place where the center of her pleasure lay hidden.
Hawke lay beneath her, hypnotized by the swaying motion of her tits as her rhythm stabilized. Reveling in the soft smooth feel of her cunt wrapped around his aching prick. He waited till she went rigid above him with the first wave of her orgasm, before he started to take a more active role. His hands came up and took hold of those ample tits, digging his finger into the soft, yet firm, flesh. Bringing his thumbs around to tease at the stiff puckering of her nipples, until her orgasm broke over her again.
Each time she brought herself to completion on top of him he escalated his attentions. Until finally he took a leaf from Anders' book and called the tiniest spark of lightning to his fingers and just has she slowed to embrace the crash of her fourth climax he lay them over her breasts and watched as her world exploded at his touch. The sparks of electricity zinged through her sensitive breasts and straight down her spine to her core. This time, when her orgasm came, every muscle in her body went rigid with it. Now, her pussy clenching hard around him – perfectly in time with her racing pulse, Fell felt his own need swell to its peak and he had no more time to let her see to her own satisfaction.
In a practiced move, Fell rolled his hips and over balanced her so that she collapsed to the bed as he rolled on top of her; never letting the flesh that connected them part. She writhed beneath him, nails digging into the flesh of his shoulders as he settled himself between her legs. She knew what was coming, and her body tried to arch up to meet him, even as her arms and legs warped around him and tried to pull him down to her. Trying to hold him close so that she might feel every inch of him.
He, shrugged off her efforts like they were a gentle breeze, then he set to work. He began to drive into her with a ferocity that could only be described as savage. Hard, fast, brutal thrusts that saw his, spectacular length sheathed within her to the hilt; and each time he slammed home, saw Isabela's voice singing out for more. Her cries gaining in volume as his grunts became louder, their two voices elevating until half the common room below could hear them. Then, with a roar and a scream, Hawke drove Isabela over the edge for a final time. With her last gratified wail, Fell finally relaxed his strangle hold on his own climax; shuddering with each pulse of his cock as it jettisoned its load into her. His seed pouring out of him in wave, after hot wave, of blessed release; making his muscles quake in the aftermath.
Spent, the two lovers just lay there gasping. A Gregorian knot of tangled limbs and bedding.
Isabela, catching her breath, sighed contentedly. That was the closest they'd yet came to what she might have been willing to described as making love. It hadn't been quite there. The need had still been too urgent -the pace too brutal- but this had felt almost... equal. For once they were, both of them, equally sated. It was shocking how appealing this feeling of... contentment, was.
Isabela shook her head to rid herself of these sentimental thoughts. Whatever this thing with Hawke was turning into, she needed to get a hold on herself before it turned her into some lovelorn fool. She wasn't meant to have that sort of life.
To distract herself she rolled so that she could look Hawke in the eye. "Okay. Now that, that's out of the way." She chuckled. "Tell me just exactly how you plan to convince our dear sweet Choir Boy to break his vows. And, be warned, I've tried. I lost a good amount of coin to Varric already on this, as well as the cost of the two whores I paid to be making womanly love in his bed when he got in after evening vespers. And that's not even to mention the bribes I had to pay to sneak them into the chantry sleeping cells in the first place."
"Well that was the first place you went wrong." He said chuckling sleepily up at her, his face still wearing a contented post coital half smile that made him look incredibly young, almost soft. Maker but she forgot how young he was some times. She actually had to look away from his face as she continued, uncomfortable with where her thoughts were taking her again.
"Right after evening prayers, was a damn fool time, 'Bela. I know you think the chant is duller than putrid dish water, but you have to understand that to Sebastian... hmm, how to put it? Ah – to Seb, the chant of light is like the first fresh rain of spring on the parched dessert ground of his soul. He derives sustenance from it. He's rejuvenated by his faith. No, if you want him to crack you need to keep him as far away from the chantry as possible, for as long as possible.
"So starting tomorrow, -you and me- we are gonna put our ears to the ground and find ourselves a nice juicy bit of trouble as far up The Wounded Coast or Sundermount as as feasible. And on our way to and from it you, my pet, are gonna get just as handsy with my ass as you've always wanted to. The whole way there, and back. He's not gonna be able to look my way without seeing your hand being positively rude. Think you can manage that? We'll make a little show of it for him." Isabela was now looking at her man as though he'd just told her there was a ship in the harbor with a bow on it and it was her birthday.
"You sailor-types are supposed to be good with elaborate knots, right? Good. But we'll get to that bit later 'cause first we're going to need to buy some wine..."
Closing A/N: Ahh! I'm sooooo sorry. I promised you man-smut and we haven't even gotten there yet! Did I mention I have a bad habit of turning little ideas into epics? Well it turns out even little ideas that are suppose to reside within ideas can get unreasonable huge. (What can I say, anticipation is my version of writer's foreplay.) I was going to post this as a oneshot but when I took it from my tablet to my computer saw the page count and ran a word counter over it I sort of had an 'Oh Shit!' Moment. So I'm breaking it up into a threeshot(trishot?) instead (what didn't you notice the big 'Part One:Isabela Wants' at the beginning? it was kinda of a clue...), part two, will be up as soon as it get back form my betta, I promise. Next time: 'Part Two:Sebastian Caves'.
Till then my darlings!
(Please review! Seriously – I don't care if all you say is'TOO LONG!' I just want to hear back from you, so that I might make things even better next time)