Hangover
by Jaden56
She woke up hungover and still drunk on the floor of the Hanged Man. She could tell where she was by the muffled sound of voices from the tavern below, and by the creak and smell of ale and misery-soaked wood under her cheek. She really wasn't surprised to find herself there, especially after a night of one-upmanship between the twice-damned merchant prince and the thrice-damned pirate wench she called her best friends.
Marian Hawke needed better friends.
What was new about waking up hungover and still-drunk-but-not-drunk-enough on the Hanged Man's floor was the person keeping her company there. She didn't think she'd ever witnessed Varric so drunk that he couldn't even make it to his own bed. Isabela was nowhere to be seen, so Hawke could only guess how either she or Varric had gotten to his room if they hadn't been dragged there. Hawke didn't know how much Varric had drunk, since he and Isabela didn't exactly match her shot for shot while shamelessly egging her on, but he hadn't drunk nearly enough for whiskey dick to be a thing. Or maybe that was just dwarven constitution at its finest.
Regardless, she couldn't hold anyone's morning wood against them, even when it was poking her in the leg. Varric seemed to stir and take notice around the same time she did, but he only shifted her knee with a sleepy pat before struggling up and over to the chamberpot in the corner of the room. She'd always thought the pot was some kind of ancient dwarven heirloom or artifact…until he started pissing in it.
On second thought, it probably was an ancient dwarven artifact.
Hawke didn't even try to feign consciousness as she listened for the rustle of clothing being tugged back in place, the creak of floorboards, the thump of a body hitting a mattress as he finally passed out in an actual bed, but Hawke heard none of that. Her eyes all but shot open when a low groan and rasp of skin against skin came from Varric's corner of the room instead. The sound was too rhythmic to be anything except what it was - the sound of someone jacking off. Varric wasn't wasting any time getting to the climax, perfunctory and as unsexy as her mabari, Snowflake, licking his balls, but Varric's exhales, hard enough to make a "huh, huh, huh" series of grunts, zinged straight to her crotch.
Hawke didn't have the greatest impulse control even in the best of times. She threw off the blanket covering her, which she realized belatedly was Varric's discarded duster, before shoving a hand down her pants. Like Varric, she wasted no time on foreplay as she attacked her clit with a callused middle finger that had been busy the night before making rude gestures as Varric and Isabela swindled her mercilessly at Wicked Grace. Hawke wasn't normally a noisy lay, but alcohol made her jaw lax and her tongue loose, though she tried to keep quiet if only so she could play voyeur to Varric's own brand of noises.
Varric's grunts turned into one long, low groan that was the exact same one he used when a Pride demon exploded gore and demony matter all over them...or Daisy ate something she'd found on the floor again.
Meaning, it was a sound of a dwarf not best pleased.
"Really, Hawke?" Varric said, judgy as shit, as if he had any room to talk.
He'd paused but hadn't completely stopped stroking his dick, so Hawke didn't stop stroking herself either. If anything, he only sped up to get it over with as soon as possible, but Hawke couldn't be rushed to orgasm especially when she was hungover and still oh-Maker-there-aren't-enough-drinks-in-the-world kind of drunk. Hawke didn't know if Varric was watching her, or if they were both caught up in a state of voyeuristic denial, but even doing this while in the same room as Varric made guilt sing as sweetly as lyrium to a mage, and even harder to resist.
The sounds of their grunts and the slick, sloppy noise of sex filled the room as they raced each other to the finish, competitive, despite themselves, even in this.
"C'mon," Varric growled.
Hawke couldn't tell if he was urging her on or begging for her to stop, but she pretended it was the former because the low registers of his voice was just the little extra something she needed to push her over the edge. Hawke wasn't sure, but she thought she might have cried out his name as she clamped down and pulsed around her fingers. Varric definitely did as he came, fist pounding against the wall as he repeated, less fraught with passion and more irritated, "Dammit, Hawke."
"You started it," Hawke groaned as she flung a forearm across her eyes. Her other hand was still stuck down her pants. "I can't even remember the last time I got laid."
"Can't help you there. I'm afraid humans still aren't my type," Varric said, not sounding sorry at all. From the rustling and splash of water, Hawke presumed he cleaned up and pulled his clothes back on with the same alacrity of a street vendor closing up shop.
"I'm going to the Rose and tracking down the shortest man I can find," Hawke threatened, even though she hadn't budged from her spot on Varric's floor.
"I'm not only short, I'm a dwarf. I'm afraid you're only going to be disappointed, sweetheart."
"I keep telling Lusine to get some variety. I'd even give Serendipity a try if I didn't think Bran would find a way to stage my broken neck as an accident."
Hawke let her arm flop off her face and peeled an eyelid open enough to see Varric stagger over to his bed and sit down hard on the edge of the mattress. He slumped forward with his face in his hands and didn't move or say anything for a very long time.
Oh great. Now, Hawke supposed, was time for the inevitable break down.
She rolled over and had to brace herself on her hands and knees when the world kept rolling and didn't stop. She didn't think she'd make it to the chamberpot and Varric's discarded boot seemed like a more and more viable option by the second. Hawke swallowed hard and breathed in shallow bursts through her nose until the urge to vomit all over everything Varric owned passed. When the floor finally decided it belonged to a proper, stationary building and not the roiling deck of the Siren's Call she chanced a crawling shuffle in Varric's direction. If she was going to throw up, he'd probably appreciate if she didn't do it in his boots.
She made it as far as his bed before bracing her forehead against Varric's knee while she got her bearings again. Baby steps. One of Varric's hands fell away from his face and landed in her hair, which was always a mess no matter what she did, so Hawke didn't mind when he scratched her scalp absentmindedly. In fact, she was just fine staying there forever and never moving again.
Varric had amazing hands - a fact she didn't appreciate as often as she should - and Hawke was shameless enough to take advantage until he froze. She looked up in time to catch Varric's eye and realized that she was all but kneeling between his legs. As one, like watching an oncoming disaster and unable to keep from throwing themselves in the middle of it, they both glanced down at his crotch. From this proximity, Hawke could smell the leather and musk scent of him that was stronger after he'd come. If she tried hard enough, she could almost taste him. She felt herself begin to salivate at the idea of tugging loose his laces and...
"Not on your life, Hawke."
Varric pushed her away with a shaky laugh and took his hand out of her hair to spear through his own. He gripped his ponytail and gave himself a few firm jerks, which was the kind of action that had gotten them into this position in the first place.
If Hawke had really felt up to gagging herself on Varric's dick, she might have gone for it anyway, and hang the consequences. Except the consequences might fuck up her friendship with Varric or - Maker forbid - make their relationship awkward. He'd witnessed her coming off a two week drinking binge after the anniversary of Carver's death and said nothing when she followed up with a series of bad decisions, like breaking down the doors to the Chantry to caterwaul after Sebastian like a cat in heat, or holding her back from storming the Qunari's compound single-handedly with only the daggers she'd won off Isabela in a rare triumph in Wicked Grace.
There was no amount of drinking that would push her to fuck up that far. Pretty far, certainly, but not so much that she'd jeopardize her bestfriendship with Varric.
"What time is it?" Hawke asked, clawing for a neutral topic.
"Too early for this shit," Varric said, rubbing his forehead. "Your guess is as good as mine."
Varric's room didn't have any windows, but by the waning state of Hawke's headache she'd have to guess around mid-morning or early afternoon. She couldn't remember if they had any important plans or meetings scheduled for the day, but she wasn't exactly known for her punctuality either. No one had come knocking on Varric's door, so she assumed they were in the clear.
"Probably not too early for a walk of shame," Hawke said, infusing such cheery optimism into her voice that she winced, though that could be the hangover talking. "I miss those."
"Yeah, well, take my coat with you before you go. It was chilly last night and the last thing I need on my conscience is the infamous Marian Hawke catching a cold."
"Stop being such a gentleman, Varric. Or you'll have more women than just me on their knees for you." Hawke figured enough time had passed that they could move on to the joking stages of their drunken shenanigans. "Besides, imagine the gossip if I come stumbling out of your room, clearly worse for wear, in your clothes. The scandal, Varric!"
"Fine," Varric said, finally looking her in the eye for the first time since they'd woken, though he rolled his eyes and made shooing motions as he flopped onto his back on the bed. "Freeze to death. See if I care."
"You care," Hawke grinned.
She patted his knee in consolation before using the limb to push herself up onto her feet. She felt creaky and decrepit as she took a few shuffling steps forward until she could use the wall as support. She was far too old to be getting black-out drunk and sleeping on a floor all night, but Hawke was nothing if not hardheaded and didn't bother to promise herself, or Varric, that she'd never do it again.
Her armor was scattered all over the room, though she noticed past-Hawke hadn't been coordinated enough to remove her boots or her undertunic or her leather pants. Thank the Maker for small favors. The last thing she needed was to wake up naked next to Varric before pawing all over him. Hawke was tempted to just leave her armor there rather than attempting the numerous clasps and buckles that held each piece together, but one simply did not take a casual stroll through Lowtown without some sort of protective gear. She dressed and strapped her daggers to her back and felt a little more solid, a little more present in her metal and leather trappings.
"Don't forget we're meeting with Bartrand about the Deep Roads expedition," Varric called out when Hawke's hand was reaching for the door handle. He hadn't looked up or said a word the entire time she was dressing.
"Oh, fuck me," Hawke swore with feeling.
"I don't think he's your type," Varric chuckled.
"He's not the only one," Hawke muttered beneath her breath, but before Varric could ask her to repeat herself she made her excuses and left. She grabbed a drink to go from Corff at the bar and drained it by the time she reached the front door. She set the mug down on a table where a man was already surrounded by several empty mugs. He had his head down on the table while he worked on sawing logs in his sleep.
Hawke muffled a groan as she went from the Hanged Man's dark, smoky interior to daylight striking her full in the face along with a gust of icy wind that sobered her more than she cared for. Hungover or not, any kind of interaction with Bartrand all but necessitated that she be drunk first, especially when what she needed was to forget about dwarves of any kind for a while.
Hawke's coinpurse was woefully empty, save for the lonely clink of one or two silvers after her meeting with Bartrand a fortnight ago. She'd given him everything she'd earned after slipping free from Meeran's clutches in the Red Iron merc company. They were banking it all on the incredibly dangerous and incredibly fool-hardy venture into the Deep Roads for all the riches - or darkspawn - they could dream of. Dangerous and fool-hardy was par for the course as she entered The Blooming Rose, determined to make her two silvers count if she was destined to be darkspawn chow in the not-too-distant future. As she sauntered up to the front counter, she couldn't help but notice a few new faces mixed in with Madame Lusine's usual line up.
"Ah. I see you've taken an interest in Denier," Lusine said, following Hawke's line of sight to a dwarf with a ginger beard, blue eyes, and a friendly face covered with bold tattoos. "He's another one of you Ferelden refugees that managed to find their way into my neck of the woods. Care to try him out? Special offer, one night only."
"What?" Hawke snapped her head around so fast she nearly gave herself whiplash, spluttering and stumbling over herself in a manner entirely unbecoming of a Hawke. "I'm not. I mean, I don't..."
"Ah," Lusine said, eyes becoming chilly once she was no longer conversing with a potential customer. She'd been leaning against the counter separating them but stood up to a rather imposing stance, if not height, with her arms folded beneath her breasts to maintain their careful display. A look but don't touch move, if Hawke had ever seen one.
"Perhaps you're in the market for someone a little...taller?"
Hawke knew better than to fall for the obvious provocation, especially after witnessing Lusine rope more than one customer into making a guilt purchase, but she could feel her face reddening anyway. Bethany would tease her mercilessly if her sister could see her now.
"I'm just not into..." Hawke cast around for an excuse and then blurted without thinking, "...beards."
She slapped a hand over her mouth and stared over Lusine's shoulder, horrified.
Fuck.
While Hawke had been throwing her dignity away all on her own, she hadn't noticed that Varric had walked in until just then. He always managed to track her down like it was a blighted sixth sense, and it just figured he would catch her here of all places eyeing The Rose's newest dwarven acquisition.
Except...
Hawke's eyes narrowed when she saw Varric had stopped at Denier's table. He immediately struck up a conversation with the dwarf and gestured in Hawke's direction without actually looking at her. She felt her stomach curdle as both of them threw their heads back and laughed.
She'd been fucking set up.
Bad enough that she discovered over the past couple weeks that she wanted Varric just as much sober as she did drunk. She even bowed out of Wicked Grace nights and established a self-imposed sobriety to avoid a repeat of that night. But apparently she'd done such a pathetic job of covering up her longing that Varric had arranged this whole scene to…what? To see if Hawke would take the bait? Teach her a lesson? Find another dwarf whose every word she'd hang on, whose voice made her insides go tight and melty all at once, whose smug, handsome face she was going to bash in with her fist at that very moment?
Hawke stormed over to the pair, the spikes of her armor all but bristling as she slammed her palm down on the table, interrupting Varric's cheerful greeting.
"What the fuck, Varric? Do you think this is funny?" She snarled and jabbed a finger at the new guy, whose eyes went wide as he looked between them.
"Whoa, sister. I think you're barkin' up the wrong tree. Varric and I are-"
"Shut up. I'll deal with you in a minute."
"Hawke. Sweetheart..."
"Don't you sweetheart me, Varric! I can't believe you would throw this stupid-" Hawke flailed for a second, gesturing between them in a lame pantomime for the feelings she had for him, "-thing in my face."
The feelings were unrequited, sure, but Varric was usually the tactful one in their relationship. To Hawke's horror, she felt her eyes start to burn, which only pissed her off more. She crossed her arms over her chest and hoped her height that was so off-putting to Varric would also keep him from seeing her splinter around the edges.
"Is this some kind of payback for the other night? Because if so, I get it. I fucking get it. I'm sorry, all right?"
"Whoa, hey, no. Hawke, Denier's my cousin. Second or thrice removed or whatever, but I helped him find a way into Kirkwall after he managed to piss off some seriously dangerous people back in Orzammar. Talent like that must run in the family." He gave a weak laugh, trying to diffuse the situation like he always did.
Hawke stared at him, shock and mortification freezing her face into a mask of rage that she hoped hid her growing panic. She began to realize that she had made an ass of herself for no reason - and she'd made an ass of herself for plenty of reasons before – and in front of witnesses, no less. She had no plan of retreat. Her shoulders sagged and she slapped a hand over her face as she groaned. This month was simply not her month.
She dragged her hand down her face and plastered on a too bright smile, saying as cheerfully as she could manage, "Hello, Varric's cousin. It's very nice to meet you. If you'll excuse me, I just realized it's a lovely night to take a long walk off a short pier."
She turned and walked - not ran - out of the brothel, and didn't plan to stop until she was one with the refuse and brine at the bottom of the docks.
"Dammit, Hawke!" Varric called, jogging after her, but he had nothing on her long-legged lope. "Would you just wait?"
"Go fuck yourself, Varric!" Hawke called back, not breaking her stride.
She didn't actually expect Varric to shoot at her, but she really shouldn't have been surprised by anything he did anymore. Varric didn't do warning shots, and this bolt found its way home as surely as any target that he'd gotten locked into Bianca's sights. It was an echo of the first time they'd met, except Hawke was the one pinned to a brick wall by an arrow instead of a cutpurse.
The sting of a cut through her shoulder armor surprised her most of all. Varric never missed, and he would never hurt her. Not on purpose. The blunder was a testament to how rattled he was. She caught the paleness of his face before he stopped in front of her and bent over to catch his breath.
"So we're shooting at each other now?" Hawke said, mouthy to cover up the fact she was equally rattled. "If I'd known that was on the table, I wouldn't have bothered with the show back there."
If Hawke could have she would have crossed her arms over her chest, but as it were she was pinned rather securely, forced up into an awkward stretch on her toes that would get tiring soon. The arrowhead had only grazed her skin and would likely come out with a few hard tugs, but she left the bolt where it was as a statement as she stared Varric down.
"I was trying to get you to stop," Varric wheezed.
"Maybe try saying 'stop' next time?"
"Would you have listened?"
"No, but a girl likes to be wooed, Varric. Not assaulted with deadly weaponry."
"Shit, Hawke. Hold still. I cut it pretty close."
Varric reached up and snapped the end of shaft so Hawke could slip free. She hissed and pressed her hand to her shoulder. Varric pulled her hand away and stared at the red smear on her palm that matched the one across the bridge of her nose. He swore a blue streak and all but dropped Bianca in his haste to dig out a handkerchief for her to bind the wound, but she waved him off.
"Unless you're poisoning your arrows now, I'll be fine. I've gotten worse scrapes climbing through the neighbor boys' windows in my youth."
"Doors too good for you? C'mon, let's at least go back to my place and get your shoulder patched up, just in case."
"I'm fine, mother. But if you want to drown my pain in a bunch of free booze, who am I to refuse?"
"Hawke, I'll buy you free booze for a year if you shut up and come with me."
"See, Varric," Hawke said, looking at him fondly until he turned and dragged her away by her wrist. "You do know how to woo a girl."
Varric helped her out of her armor once they'd shut themselves up in his room with a roll of bandages and several bottles of Corff's "finest" brew. Hawke could have managed well enough on her own, but she wasn't above wringing every last bit of groveling out of Varric while it lasted. She sat hunched on Varric's bed in nothing but her breastband and leather pants while he patched up her shoulder. They were nearly the same height with him standing and her sitting. Apology was written in every careful touch, every anxious look thrown her way when he thought she wasn't looking.
The cut had bled quite a bit, but it looked worse than it was until Varric wasted perfectly good whiskey washing the wound clean until Hawke snatched the bottle from him and chugged down a few mouthfuls straight from the bottle. Fuck sobriety.
If he would just stare at her tits like a normal man then maybe Hawke could stop feeling so bad about getting hurt in the first place. Compared to the previous injuries and scars she'd gotten over the past few years, this little scrape was nothing. The fact that Varric was the one who'd given it to her was the anomaly that kept making the whole situation so fucking surreal. Varric would blackmail the Viscount himself for just looking at her wrong, and would help Hawke storm the Gallows the second Bethany seemed to be in danger of discovery. Hawke and trouble went hand-in-hand, but still Varric was here, patching her up and making sad eyes at Hawke until she decided to forgive him.
"So, how did Denier manage to find himself working for Lusine? Are you pimping out your own family now?" Hawke asked. She was a master of changing the subject, even when nothing was currently being discussed.
Varric let out a breath that almost sounded like a laugh. "Can you imagine Bartrand in a brothel? He'd insult all the clientele and then extort them for everything they had just for stepping foot in the place. He'd never even have to drop his pants once."
"Sounds like a pretty successful venture. I might have to consider a change in careers..."
Varric's hand tightened on her shoulder and Hawke hissed. She glanced up at him, but Varric's face gave nothing away, which was partly why she was so bad at reading him at cards.
"It's not as glamorous as you think," he said, easing up his grip. "In Orzammar, prostitutes there are called noble hunters. They target the noble or even the lower working classes with the intention of either siring or bearing the noble's child. Since most of these noble hunters are casteless themselves, the only way for them to get a higher status is if they have a child the same gender as the noble."
"That...sounds more complicated than it needs to be," Hawke said. "And what if the child is the same gender as the noble hunter?"
"Then they're both fucked. Which brings us to my cousin. Denier was a noble hunter and got a woman in the miner caste pregnant, but when the kid turned out to be a boy - thereby casteless like Denier - he ran for it and ended up here."
"And his son?"
Varric winced. "Chances are he was either dropped off in Dust Town or in the Deep Roads. Hard to say which is worse."
"That's barbaric!" Hawke exclaimed, outraged. "And your cousin just left the kid to die?"
"Hey, I never said I supported his decision. We've all done some stupid shit in our lives, and I don't think we're in any position to judge."
"I've never condemned a child to death," Hawke hissed, and was gratified when Varric flinched. She was suddenly very, very glad she hadn't taken Madame Lusine up on her offer earlier.
Varric had more in common with the humans on the surface than the dwarves in Orzammar, whether he wanted to admit it or not. He'd even helped her smuggle Feynriel, a half-human, half-Dalish boy to the Dalish clan on Sundermount without a second thought. She was pissed that he wasn't more pissed at Denier and even decided to help him land a job in the same position he'd run away from in the first place. Hawke was on her way toward working herself up into a full-fledged fume, when Varric startled her by leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her bandaged shoulder.
His breath brushed against her neck and Hawke shivered.
"Don't do this to me, Varric," she pleaded. She was weak-willed and giving her hope was the worst thing Varric could do, even if he was only trying to give her comfort.
"I can't stand seeing you at The Blooming Rose, Hawke. Someone like you should never have to pay for sex."
"Someone like me, huh? And who's that exactly? A violent drunk? Someone too stupid not to fall in love with their best friend? Don't answer that," she snapped, and Varric's mouth obediently clicked shut. He pulled back, but he didn't go very far.
"Besides, I was there on business, not pleasure," she lied.
"You ever wonder why Isabela and I keep beating you at Wicked Grace?"
"Because you cheat?" Hawke said in what she thought was the obvious answer, but Varric shook his head and leveled her a grin that lacked his usual cheek.
"It's because you're a terrible liar."
"Fuck you. I'm a fantastic liar." Hawke pretended to be affronted. She sniffed and tossed her short, black hair wishing it was long enough to hit Varric in the face.
"Yeah, okay," he said, clearly humoring her.
"You...uh...wanna give me some personal space, Varric?" Hawke asked, after the silence had gone on for an uncomfortable amount of time and they'd just been sort of...staring at each other and not saying anything. Silence of any kind while Varric was in a room was always a bad sign, in her experience.
He cocked his head and regarded her with the same look he used on an incriminating letter, or when he was sighting down a target in Bianca's crosshairs. She'd been on the receiving end of that look enough times to know - as her aching shoulder could attest.
"No, I don't think I do," he finally answered, after making her squirm first.
"Well, that's just too bad."
Hawke placed her hands on his chest - his very broad, very muscular chest - and gave a firm push so she could stand up, but Varric was like a fucking mountain and didn't budge. He caught her wrists, loosely enough that she could pull away if she wanted, but damned if she wasn't curious. She flexed her fingers and narrowed her eyes in a dangerous game of chicken as she massaged his pectorals. The hair on his chest was as thick and luxurious as the hair on his head, and Hawke lost all train of thought for a split-second as she marveled at the texture and strength coiled just beneath her hands.
"Feel free to stop me at any time," Hawke murmured out of the corner of her mouth as she tugged on the tail end of the "v" in the opening of Varric's tunic, trying to peek underneath his careful wrappings. She was practically naked, so it was only fair if he was too. Hawke tugged at the belt around his waist just to see if she could.
"You're kind of quiet for a...what'd you call 'em? A noble hunter," she said when Varric just let her poke and prod at him without calling a timeout.
"Oh? I didn't know you wanted me to talk," Varric said, deliberately obtuse. Hawke snorted. When did she ever not want Varric to talk?
"When do I ever not want you to talk?" she said. "I'll have you know the Amells were…are…a very respected noble house. You'd be lucky to land me."
She tugged more forcefully on his belt and only managing to get the damn thing more tightly knotted until Varric batted her hands away and undid the ties himself. Huh. It seemed like they were really doing this then. Her hands started shaking so badly that she had to clasp them between her knees - or at least she would have if Varric hadn't been standing between them. She set them on his hips instead, but realized her error when Varric paused in removing his duster from his shoulders to take her face between his hands - his warm, strong, wonderful hands - and tilt her face toward his so he could look at her.
"We don't have to do this, Hawke."
Hawke took several short, gulping breaths and managed to croak out with not nearly the amount of composure she was going for, "And what is this exactly?"
"Sleeping with my best friend, who I also happen to be madly in love with."
"You do realize I'm still human, right? I'm afraid that's something that's never going to change."
"You know, that doesn't exactly bother me as much as I once thought it would. Besides, I'm not about to take my chances and let you slip away with someone like Denier."
"Hm. He did have all those tattoos. I can get behind a man with a couple tattoos."
"Hawke, I will tattoo your name on my ass if you shut up and take the rest of your clothes off already."
"Promise?" Hawke said, sounding too interested by far.
She laughed when Varric shoved her back on the bed and attacked the ties to her pants. She lifted her hips and helped him drag her pants and smallclothes off, though they both cursed when they caught around her boots, effectively hobbling her. Hawke lost sight of Varric when he knelt, presumably to remove her boots, but her breath stuttered and failed her when she felt his hands slide slowly up her thighs instead.
"Varric," she choked out, staring at the ceiling while trying to will her heart to calm the fuck down before she had a heart attack and died. She could have an attack after, which would likely come hand-in-hand with a panic attack when she felt Varric's lips whisper in the wake of the path his hands had taken.
"This okay, Hawke?" Varric asked. His voice was already so wrecked that it sounded like he'd been guzzling shot after shot and smoking like a chimney.
"If you stop now, I'll be forced to shoot you with your own crossbow," Hawke half-threatened, half-laughed, and half-sobbed, because fuck fractions when she had Varric kneeling between her legs and threatening to follow through.
"As m'lady commands," Varric joked, and then put his mouth to work.
Hawke's entire body spasmed at the first touch of his mouth on her cunt, and she spared a moment to be grateful that her legs were tied up because she probably would have kicked him out of sheer shocked pleasure. His hands kept her steadily pinned by her hips, but she wanted his hands all over her. She struggled with the clasps to her breastband and flung it somewhere overhead with a shout of triumph when she finally got her breasts freed. She didn't have much to look at, but Varric seemed appreciative - if the way he spread her lips and speared her with his tongue was any indication.
"Boots," Hawke gasped, grabbing fistfuls of Varric's hair to put a temporary pause on the amazing things he was doing with his mouth. Fuck, but she wanted his fingers. His cock. His everything. "Now."
Varric, bless him, knew better than to argue. He had her boots off in record time and Hawke rewarded him by wrapping her thighs around his neck and grinding against his face. He didn't seem to mind her urgency or lack of manners. In fact, he grabbed her ass and tilted her pelvis upward so he could have better access, and Hawke all but fell apart when he wrapped his lips around her clit and sucked. She came so hard that she couldn't have stopped it if she tried, but the first orgasm only took the edge off. Varric managed to untangle her legs from around his neck before she inadvertently strangled him, but he left one of her knees hooked over his shoulder and pushed her other thigh to the side so she could feel herself parting for his gaze without a touch on her.
"Maferath's Balls, Hawke," he breathed, chilling the slick and spit on her skin and raising gooseflesh. "You are so beautiful."
"Admire later, handsome," Hawke said, all but squirming under his examination, but loving every second. "I heard someone say you were good with a trigger."
That someone was Varric himself, and while he might have been talking about his crossbow's trigger at the time, Hawke had no doubt his tactile talents extended to other areas as well. She wiggled her hips invitingly and Varric laughed, turning his head to kiss her knee and scrape her skin with his stubble. He mouthed his way up her inner thigh, and while Hawke knew where this was going, she couldn't help tensing in anticipation again. Varric bypassed her soaking wet sex and kissed the curve of her belly instead. Hawke's leg slid off his shoulder as he kept moving upward. He braced a knee on the mattress when their height difference made reaching a challenge, but Hawke was there to meet him when he kissed up her abdomen, across the swell of each breast, and along the column of her throat until finally reaching her mouth.
Varric kissed her like he was savoring a fine wine neither of them bothered with buying when the cheap stuff got them drunk just as fast, and Hawke's head spun all the same. She could taste herself on him, but rather than repulse her she only wanted to delve deeper until all she could taste was him. Maker, she wanted him so much, and if the dick poking her in the belly through Varric's pants was any indication - the feeling was equally mutual.
"Varric?" Hawke murmured against his mouth. She didn't want to separate for a second, even to allow him to respond.
"Hm?" he said, tongue teasing the swell of her bottom lip before nipping hard enough to sting. Hawke thought she deserved an award for not letting him distract her with that move.
"Your pants offend me. I think you should lose them."
Varric chuckled, leaving her mouth woefully bereft as he kissed along her jaw to her unbandaged shoulder. "They do, do they?" he said, but obliged.
Hawke shifted up onto her elbows as Varric moved off the bed and finished stripping off his remaining clothes. She licked her lips as she watched him unabashedly, reaching up to cup one of her breasts in her hand. She knew he was just as appreciative of the view since his eyes darkened and he all but pounced on her, both of them gloriously naked together for the first time ever.
"Yep," Hawke said when she wrestled Varric and straddled his hips as victor a few minutes later. "I think you should lose the pants and all clothing permanently."
"You make a very convincing argument," he said. He tucked his arms behind his head and made no effort to unseat her.
"I can make an even better one," Hawke promised.
She shifted back so she was seated right over Varric's cock and started a slow slide back and forth as she scratched her nails lightly down his chest. She was too wet to allow for much friction, but there was enough to make Varric's eyelashes flutter and his mouth fall open in a soft 'o' of pleasure. She hadn't gotten a good glimpse of him earlier, but she could feel how thick he was and ached for the stretch of him inside of her. She was content to tease them both for the time being.
She arched her back and threw her head back, groaning when Varric proved himself unable to resist temptation as he reached out to touch. He could only reach as high as her breasts at this angle, which was just fine, because he could also reach as far down as her cunny, which was even better. He got a thumb on her clit and Hawke wailed, shattering as she came. She slammed her hips against his until he winced and flipped her over onto her back while she was still riding out the aftershocks.
"You play dirty," Hawke slurred approvingly, but she sprawled out like a starfish for Varric's perusal. Her long arms and legs didn't seem so off-putting as Varric had once made them out to be, and Hawke had to wonder if he'd been trying to fool her or himself.
Varric hummed and slid a finger into her, and then Hawke was done talking for a while. He was just as talented with his hands as she'd always imagined. He played her like a fucking harp, and Hawke obligingly sang for him when he added two and then three fingers, stretching her until all she could feel was him. There was no way to tell how much time passed, but Hawke felt as if Varric strung her out for eternity until he finally, finally swiped a hand wet with her slick down his shaft and positioned the head of his cock against her entrance.
"Still sure about this, Hawke? No takebacks." Varric sounded as if it pained him to ask, to wait even a millisecond before plowing into her, but he was Varric so of course he'd always follow her lead whether she wanted him to or not.
"Andraste's fucking ass, Varric. I fucking swear if you don't fucking fuck me right the fuck now-"
"I'll take that as a yes," Varric laughed, pushing forward with his hips and sliding into her until he bottomed out.
"Yesss," Hawke hissed. She reached up to grab his biceps, which bulged and flexed under her hands - the show off. He didn't ram her like she wanted, but took his time and let her adjust around him until they found their rhythm together and moved like they'd been doing this for years. Fucking Varric. They could have been doing this for years, but at this point Hawke would take what she could get because the wait had been oh-so-very worth it.
"Varric, are you making love to me?" Hawke balked when she realized Varric had been maintaining eye contact and putting feeling as well as force behind each thrust.
"Hawke, when two people love each other very much..."
"Nooo," Hawke protested, clapping her hands over her ears as she laughed and tightened her thighs around Varric's hips.
He patted her side and blissfully didn't finish that sentence or stop, because...oh.
Hawke let go of her ears to scrabble at Varric's shoulders as he hiked her leg up higher and angled in at a trajectory that instantly absolved him and his ancestors of any wrongdoings.
Except Bartrand…and probably Denier, too.
Hawke wondered if Varric had any living relatives who weren't a bag of dicks, and had to reconsider her earlier statement until the next time Varric angled in and slammed against the exact spot that wiped any coherent thoughts from Hawke's brain in an instant.
"Maker, Varric! Shit. Fuck."
Varric smirked, the smug little shit, and got a thumb on her clit that led Hawke to a level of swearing that would make even Isabela on her best day jealous.
"Oh, fuck! Varric, yes, fuck don't stop!"
"Are you gonna use that kind of language around the children? Because, I gotta tell you, Hawke..."
Hawke reared up like she'd been goosed, nearly knocking Varric off the bed. "Children? You had better be kidding, Varric."
Hawke was too fucking young to even consider having kids, and getting pregnant while in her line of work would be asking for all kinds of trouble. She'd taken precautions, of course, but even those were never a guarantee.
"I'm kidding," Varric said, smirking.
Hawke punched him. In the shoulder. Hard. And then she flopped back down and held onto the headboard for dear life while Varric made it up to her in a variety of different ways and positions.
Children. Andraste's tits. Next, he'll be proposing marriage.
Hawke buried her face in her arm and tried to disguise the flush of pleasure that thought provoked. Fuck, Varric made her stupid sometimes, but there wasn't anyone else in all of Thedas that she'd want to be an idiot with. Hawke was damn certain she was going to get her money's worth out of Varric just in case this night ended up as one more bad decision in a lifetime of bad decisions.
She fucked him on every available surface in his room - and on some surfaces that weren't available until they'd broken something – and kept going until neither of them could move any more.
"How do I keep waking up like this?" Hawke groaned.
Her cheek was mashed to the floor in what she hoped was only a puddle of drool. Her arm and leg was flung over Varric while his half-hard morning wood prodded her bare inner thigh. If she wiggled a few inches lower, she'd be able to affirm with total certainty that last night hadn't been a dream, or some alcohol-induced hallucination. At least she wasn't hungover this time, but she still felt pleasantly wrecked and sore in the best ways.
Except for her back. Her back and Varric's floor were going to have words.
"I think it was around the time you rolled us off the bed, but decided to climb on me and keep going instead of getting back up."
"Mmm, yeah," Hawke said, sighing at the memory.
Varric's dick gave a weak twitch, so she knew she was recalling the same. She dragged herself to the left a few inches so her cheek was nestled against his shoulder while he wrapped his arms around her, casually possessive in a way that she could quickly get used to.
"I don't know about you, Hawke, but I could get used to waking up like this," Varric said after they'd spent an inordinate amount of time gazing at the ceiling or listening to each other's heartbeat.
Hawke was pretty sure she had a splinter in her ass and a bruise on her hip from the impact of falling off the bed, and of course the state of her back won the floor few favors. But all in all, Hawke could think of worse things in life than being in love with her best friend and getting to fight alongside him every day and hopefully have wild and crazy sex every night. Whether or not they survived the expedition into the Deep Roads was anyone's guess, but Hawke wouldn't worry about that until the time came. No use borrowing trouble, though some people - like Varric, for instance - might say it was pre-emptive planning for the shit storm they were more than likely about to walk into.
It was one of the many reasons why they made such great partners.
"Yeah..." Hawke sighed, snuggling into his side and closing her eyes when he pressed a kiss to her temple and let his lips linger there. "Me too."