Response to the Dragon Age Kink Meme.
This has got to be the smuttiest thing I've ever written. Forgive me. So note: this is rated M for language and sexual themes.
Naughtiness involving a sexy Starkhaven Prince and a wily Champion of Kirkwall ahead.
Just ahead of him, Sebastian watched as Anders reached out and touched a strand of Hawke's thick dark hair, tucking it back into place with a smile. The bandits there hadn't been very skilled, not nearly skilled enough to touch them, but as Hawke no doubt fought more than anyone else she was breathing hard, her short hair slightly disheveled.
As he watched, the apostate said something to her, something he couldn't quite hear, and she laughed quietly in response, the barest hint of a blush coloring her cheeks.
Sebastian's hands balled into fists.
It wasn't right. It wasn't his place to feel this way about her. This anger, this... jealousy...
This was a strange, new emotion to Sebastian. Even before his days in the chantry, he'd never been the jealous sort. Not with the girls he bedded, not with the girls he thought about bedding. He simply hadn't cared. But for some reason, watching Hawke with that abomination...
He often wondered how close the two really were. She was always going to visit him at his clinic, and he was always making trips to her estate.
It made his blood boil, thinking of all that Anders might do with her when Sebastian wasn't watching. Did he kiss her, run his hands over her body, tell her how beautiful she was while making love to her for hours?
The things he dreamed of doing to her?
He clenched his teeth. When Hawke asked him what was wrong, he just shook his head, telling her not to worry about it.
He didn't have to try to know that prayer would not clear his mind of these thoughts. He would still pray, just without hope of success.
He sighed, running a hand through his hair. He hoped target practice for the rest of the day would help. Perhaps if he imagined the bullseye as a certain abomination's face.
Blessed Andraste, bride of the Maker, give me a sign. Guide me from the darkness into the Maker's light. Show me my path.
What am I doing?
Sebastian sat in one of the chantry pews, his hands clasped together with his head rested upon them in prayer. Hawke had left him here hours ago, and since then he had prayed and prayed for the Maker to give him a sign of what he should do.
He didn't know how long he'd been here, but when he looked up he could see the sunset through the beautiful chantry window.
The Chantry was almost empty of people now, mostly only the mothers, sisters, and brothers about, but a few of the faithful still sat with him here. He could hear them praying sometimes.
"You know that healer with the free clinic, in Darktown?" A female voice somewhere behind him whispered. Sebastian forced himself not to stiffen. Anders? Why were they -
"The handsome Fereldan man? What about him?" Another voice Sebastian didn't recognize replied.
He heard a giggle. "He's shacking up with the Champion!"
"No way!"
"It's true! I saw him wearing a key around his neck after she visited him. He wasn't wearing it before! It's got to be hers!"
"That's so sweet! She's lucky to find such a good-looking selfless man. Why can't men like that ever go for me?"
Sebastian had already stopped listening. His mind all but shut off as he stood abruptly and almost stomped out of the chantry.
If it was true, if she had given her house key to that abomination... His hands clenched into fists, he took off at a run, dashing through the streets of Kirkwall. He knew the way to the Amell estate like the back of his hand by now; it wouldn't take long for him to reach it at this pace.
Maker protect Anders if he was there with her.
Hawke was in a good mood.
It was strange, and oddly exciting, to be at peace for the evening. The entire day had been rather easygoing; hunting thugs with Anders, Aveline and Sebastian had turned up next to nothing. At least, not in the city. The gangs must have been warned about attacking the Champion for once, because no one dared to appear.
Not even a brawl when they came to the Hanged Man for drinks that afternoon. As she had nothing better to do, Varric managed to sucker her into playing a few card games with everyone, and she won almost four times; a record she was sure.
Hawke was actually rather cheerful, a twinkle is her eye and a skip in her step as the sun began to set over Kirkwall.
And she settled in for a quiet night alone.
She ate a small dinner - Bodahn had gone out shopping with Sandal - and bathed, not bothering to dress in anything but a dressing gown afterward. It was her house, anyway; if she wanted, she could wander around naked. With nothing to do, she went to her study to go over her mail, perhaps see if Carver had written yet.
Yet once again, there was no news from her brother.
She sighed, the puff of air blowing her wispy bangs out of her face as she stared at a pattern on her walls. She missed him. Sometimes she just felt so alone, she wished she had him here, even if just to hear him complain.
The house was just so quiet without him and mother.
But being alone wasn't so bad, she supposed. She still had her friends. And she should really make they best of it while she could. Rest and quiet was needed, as it didn't come to her often.
When there was a knocking at her door, she absent-mindedly answered, expecting it to be Bodahn, back early from shopping.
The sound of the door banging against the wall jolted Hawke out of her thoughts, magic tingling at the tips of her fingers as she jumped to her feet and her hazel eyes flashed to the doorway where her intruder stood motionless. Stunningly blue eyes glared back at her; eyes she would recognize anywhere.
Sebastian.
His face was set in cold determination as he kicked the door shut behind him and strode up to her, stopping only a couple feet before where she stood beside her desk. He was breathing hard, his face flushed, his forehead glinting with a slight sheen of sweat. Had he run here?
He said nothing, and for a moment all Hawke could do was stare at him in a mix of shock and confusion. "Sebastian?"
"I cannot let this go on, Hawke." His voice, though angry, was rough and deep and Hawke couldn't help but concentrate on the sound. She had yet to find anyone else with a Starkhaven brogue. And Maker, did she love it.
Her brow wrinkled with puzzlement at his words. "Sebastian, what are you talking about?"
"That... abomination," he said through his teeth. "You gave him your key."
Hawke arched a fine brow at him, her lips a firm line. Yes, she had. The templars were after him, what else could she have done? "What of it?"
His eyes narrowed. "You cannot trust him, Hawke. He's dangerous-"
"So are you," she interrupted. "Should I end my friendship with you out of fear for your skills with a bow?"
"I do not harbor a demon," he argued, taking a step forward. "And putting your faith in a man who does is not wise. He is using you for his own selfish means."
"I can take care of myself, Sebastian," she snapped, crossing her arms. Sebastian's gaze was drawn down to her breasts, her arms pulling them up and putting them on display. The material of the dressing gown she wore was thin, silken material, parted low on her chest; leaving little to the imagination of what was underneath. He swallowed and wetted his lips.
"It's none of your business who I allow in my house," she added. "I am aware of the danger. Can you not respect my decision?" She knew exactly where he was looking, and for the hell of it rolled her shoulders back and tossed her hair to the side, watching with satisfaction as his eyes darkened.
They had argued several times in the past of simpler matters, but he'd never been this adamant that she change her mind. Come to think of it, they'd never been completely alone together. The fact made the air in the room more... Heated. Intimate.
"Hawke," he started carefully. "I respect you, but I do not respect him. He's irresponsible, unpredictable. He puts himself above everything else despite his promise to 'free the mages of Thedas'."
"If you had your way, you'd throw him to the templars, isn't that right?" she said, her voice raising in volume. "Is it because he's a mage? I hate to remind you, but I am a mage, too. Would you turn me in, as well?"
"No," he said truthfully, firmly.
"Doesn't the Maker say that you should?" she pressed. "That our friendship is a sin and my very existence is a sign of the Maker's hatred?"
He shook his head and didn't answer, avoiding her gaze. She huffed in annoyance, dropping her arms and stepping closer to him. So close she could almost taste his breath.
"You are defying the law just as much as I am, Sebastian. Do not act holier-than-thou."
She moved to walk away, but he caught her arm. "Do you love him?" he suddenly asked.
She sputtered. "That's hardly your business!" Anders was her friend, one of her dearest friends, but she did not miss the way his eyes wandered over her body when he thought she wasn't looking. She knew he had more than friendship on his mind. She did not want that with him, but she didn't have the heart to break his just yet.
But Sebastian would not relent. He moved forward, forcing her to take a step back. "Marian."
She blinked. He'd never used her first name before. He, along with almost everyone else, called her Hawke. She'd gotten used to it. Hearing it now, and from his tongue, no less... She bit her lip, a shiver racing down her spine.
"Why do you want to know?" she demanded breathlessly. "If I didn't know better, I'd think the Prince of Starkhaven was jealous of a Darktown apostate."
This made him even angrier, because it was painfully true.
With a snarl, he pinned her against the wall, one hand in her short hair, one hand curved possessively around her hip. She gave a small yelp of shock as her back struck the wall, and before she could do anything more his lips crashed into hers.
He took advantage of her parted lips, slipping his tongue past them and he plundered her mouth. Her hands came up to his shoulders, as if to push him away. He growled in protest, melding his body to hers as he shoved a thigh between hers. A muffled whimper escaped her lips and her fingers tightened, pulling him closer.
When the need for air became too great, he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. Her hands still gripped his shoulders, leaving no space between their bodies.
"Damn you, Hawke," he groaned. "Andraste preserve me, but I've waited years to feel you."
She laughed shakily, causing vibrations through both their chests. "Are you disappointed?"
"Maker, no."
He kissed her again, but this time she was ready for it. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and a rumble of approval echoed through his chest as she wrapped a leg around his hips. He could already feel the heat emanating from her core.
His rough hands forced themselves between their bodies of their own volition and with a harsh tug, ripped her dressing gown open. She cried out in shock and desire when her body was exposed to the cool air and he peeled his gloves off.
A part of him was appalled with what he was doing. This part screamed at him, reminding him of his vows, the Chantry, her friends, his family, and yet...
There was a fire in her eyes, the same fire that had always drawn him to her. She challenged every vow, scoffed at them... They were not friends. Hawke was a good woman, kind and quite charming; she inspired him to do great things, to be more than he thought he could be, but they didn't always see eye to eye. Sometimes he could swear he hated her. She was always tempting him, and on purpose or not, it drove him mad. Whenever she bent over in front of him, whenever she wore a shorter skirt, whenever she leaned down, teasing him with the sight of her... How many hours had he spent on his knees before Andraste, praying for forgiveness? How many nights had he spent, tossing and turning, haunted by her? How many times had he given in and touched himself, imagining it was her hands on him?
Too many. Far too many.
Now bare, his calloused hands cupped her creamy breasts and she tore her mouth away from his with a gasp as his thumbs rubbed over the sensitive peaks. But he didn't stop, his lips trailing down her throat to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, groaning at the incredible softness of her. His teeth grazed that spot, sucking some of that delicious skin between his lips and Hawke practically purred, her head tilted to the side to give him better access.
"Sebastian," she sighed, and her hands reached for the buckles of his armor. The protective white metal fell to the floor with a thunk, and she eagerly reached for the fastenings of his chainmail coat.
He ran his tongue over the now-bruised flesh of her neck, kissing it, feeling rather pleased that the mark would stay. Marian's hair wasn't long enough to cover it, and her robes didn't go up that far. Everyone would see. Everyone would know.
"You are mine, sweetling," he growled, nipping at her shoulder. "Anders cannot have you. No one else will have you. You belong to me."
"Yes," she breathed. "Yes, Sebastian. Yours."
With his help, his chainmail coat fell to the floor, his plain brown undershirt quickly following and he was bare-chested before her. She let her fingers trail over the hard muscles of his chest, smoothing the light dustings of hair. When she followed the trail of hair that led down below the waistband of his pants, he let out a deep breath, bracing one hand on the wall as the other traced her hip.
She reached inside slowly, sliding down his flat skin, and she took him in her hand.
He bit out an oath, his hips giving an unconscious twitch into her hand.
Her chuckle of triumph was cut off when he gingerly stroked between her thighs, finding her hot and aching for him. She shivered and murmured his name and he had to fight himself to keep from taking her right then. Her grip only tightened as she opened the front of his breeches, tossing the Andraste belt aside, and she moved her hand down his length. Later, he would laugh at the disapproving face of Andraste looking up at them from the floor, but in that moment he could care less.
"Hawke," he warned. She only laughed, startling him with a playful nip to the shoulder.
Mimicking his earlier actions, she bit down just over his collarbone almost hard enough to draw blood. Combined with the feel of her hand around him, he almost came undone. But that was not what he wanted; he wanted her, every part of her until he didn't know where he ended and she began. He wanted to mark her, to brand his name into her so that no one would ever doubt who she belonged to. He had to think of the Grand Cleric, but with great effort he pulled her hand away, and she understood, winding her arm around him to grab his arse instead. He lined his hips up with hers and in one fluid thrust, he filled her.
Her back arched away from the wall, pressing her breasts against his chest as Sebastian stilled, a low moan slipping past his teeth. It had been so long, too long; he knew he wouldn't last, not with the slick tightness of her around him.
"Yes," she whimpered. "Maker... Sebastian..."
His name on her lips was perhaps the most beautiful thing he'd ever heard. He decided he wanted to hear it again, over and over.
He moved back slowly, her inner walls gripping him as if they wanted to always keep him buried inside her, and rolled his hips forward again. She writhed, her teeth digging in to her lip and her nails making crescent indents in his back and arse.
He began moving, moving slowly in and out of her as she thrashed and moaned, making it increasingly difficult to hold her against the wall. She yanked his hips into hers, sheathing him in her to the hilt and he let out a hissing breath as she brought her lips to his ear, sucking the lobe between her teeth.
Then he felt her hand retract from his back to worm itself between their bodies so she could touch herself. He shuddered as she threw her head back, resting it against the wall as she struggled to move faster, meeting his every movement. Maker, she was stunningly beautiful, breasts glistening with sweat, cheeks flushed, lips parted.
Already, he was so close... so fucking close...
With a particularly vicious thrust, Sebastian was thrown off balance and fell backward, Hawke coming with him. They fell to the rug with a thump.
Thankfully, Hawke caught most of the impact with her feet, and Sebastian hadn't hit his head. He might have a bruise on his backside later, but that was the extent of his injuries.
He was about to ask Hawke if she was okay when she sat straight up, looking down at him with a wicked smirk. Slowly, she set her knees beside his hips so she was situated right where he wanted her, and she began to move over him.
This was a new kind of torture, Hawke setting the pace. She moved just fast enough to have him breathing hard and fast, but slow enough to drive him mad. And the sounds she was making...
Every few moments, she would let out a gasp which turned into a quiet whimper, slightly muffled by her closed mouth. She was biting her lip as she moved, her hands wandering from his body to her own and back.
Sebastian couldn't seem to find a place to keep his hands either. He couldn't decide whether to guide the rhythm of her hips, cup her breasts, or grip the rug.
Despite his best efforts, his end was nearing. He clenched his teeth; he refused to find his own pleasure before hers, and by the sounds she was making, she wasn't far. Just a little longer.
When her hand once again reached down to touch herself, he surprised her by pushing it away, replacing it with his own and tracing jerky circles over her clit.
Her reaction was instantaneous. She jolted and cried out, her walls tightening around him as her body shuddered. She came undone above him with his name on her lips, the greatest prayer in existence.
He followed a moment later, a string of curses mixed with her name spilling from his lips as his hips jerked against her once, twice, three times, before relaxing; leaving him breathless from its intensity.
Hawke practically melted, falling into a puddle of sleepy Champion on his chest. She snuggled against him, resting her ear over his heart, and her breathing slowed. In a few moments, she was asleep.
And though he didn't want to stay on the floor, it was rather tempting; it might not have been very comfortable, but he was warm and exhausted, and he didn't want to wake her.
To the Void with it, he decided as his eyelids drooped; they could move in the morning.
That was all he managed to think before he fell into unconsciousness.
Original prompt : in which Sebastian is all assertive and dominant and shoving Hawke up against a wall (your choice if it's somewhere public or private!) and kissing her senseless - though Hawke gives just as good as she gets! It can just be a super-steamy make-out session or it can lead to sexy-times (either right there against the wall or Sebastian hauling Hawke off to the nearest bed, both scenarios work just fine), I'm not picky.
Bonus points, but not required:
-Prior to this, Sebastian and Hawke's relationship was an UST-ridden friendly rivalry;
-Lead-up to the kiss involves a shouting match argument over something (the details of which I'll leave up to the writer);
-Jealous!Sebastian
-Mutual possessive biting on the neck in highly visible spots (I have a serious biting-and-claiming kink)
Make me swoon, anons!
Ask and you shall receive!
If you guys like, I'll make a second part where they either wake up and discuss everything or are discovered by someone. Your choice who :)
As always, thank you for reading!
~Chris