Summary: Siobhán's long-awaited, yet unexpected, arrival in Starkhaven offers she and Sebastian a quiet, intimate moment together.
a/n: A special holiday gift for Lady Norbert. I had wanted this to wind up a treat for the 2017 Black Emporium Rare Exchange, but it took a little longer to get around to it. She asked for some reunion fluff between Sebastian Vael/F!Hawke. I do have to caution, this is kind of canon divergent. I recently started work on a series where Sebastian's parents rather than investing him in the Chantry, granted him to the templars. The poor fool also happened to fall in love with a mage.
Inspired by a flashback scene I saw in Outlander while I was writing this pair for something else. It was the intimacy of their relationship that I really wanted to try and capture here.
Making Their Re-acquaintance
The buttery morning sun crept into the room through the open window. The spring breeze carried the aroma of early blossoms with a slight chill down from the mountains and nipped at Sebastian's bare chest. The red silk of Siobhán Hawke's robe, warmed by her bare skin beneath, brushed across his shoulder as she drew the razor blade down his cheek with concentrated care and precision.
"I haven't been pampered like this … well, since—" he mused. He didn't want to finish the thought. They both knew of the moment he meant; when she disappeared mere weeks ahead of the Seeker who turned up in Starkhaven looking for her with Varric in tow.
"As it should be." she said with a quiet laugh. Humor always had been her shield of choice.
His relaxed chuckle of agreement joined hers as she rinsed the blade. When she returned to his side, her thin fingers grazing his skin, his neck tingled—every touch threatening goose bumps as the sensation seemed to roil across his exposed skin. She brushed her hair over one shoulder and loomed over him. She bent so close he could kiss her, but her attention focused upon the lather on his face rather than his eyes or his lips, as his focus was.
"I'm the only one allowed to pamper you," she told him with a smirk. Her eyes met his as the blade skimmed his cheek, then moved along the curve of his jaw. "And don't you forget it," she warned with a mischievous grin.
"You'll get no argument from me," he replied calmly, then he flashed her a boyish grin. "Especially when you are holding a blade to my throat." She laughed with him, and his hand smoothed along the curve of her leg, reacquainting itself with the familiar terrain it had not encountered in far too many months.
Sebastian watched the way the silk wrinkled beneath his hands. With each flash of her skin beneath, the corners of his mouth tugged upward.
"Behave, Bash. I don't want to nick you," she said, inching away when the backs of his fingertips swept along the inside of her knee.
"Then perhaps you should be a bit more careful," he said, with a quick glance at the tool in her hand. "That razor holds quite the edge."
"Do tell." She stood, back to him again at the rinsing bowl.
"It's a family heirloom. One of the few which survived the coup. Overlooked by the sticky-fingered among the mercenaries." His tone softened, but his smile returned gently when her fine fingers grazed his temple and inched into his hair. Glancing upward, his found her inspecting his countenance. Sebastian detoured her fingers, wrapping them up in his own and bringing them to his lips.
Siobhán gave him a playful glare, narrowing her gray-green eyes. "It certainly is quite keen."
"It's not the blade that makes the difference, it's the lovely and skilled hand that wields it," he said, placing another kiss on the inside of her wrist. Pressing his lips to that thin skin, he could feel her pulse beneath. "Come here," he added, pulling her hand toward him and lower to get her to close the distance between them. Stretching his neck, his lips met hers in a tender kiss. His free hand sneaked toward the slit of her robe.
Siobhán broke the kiss, pulling away. "Do you want me to finish shaving you? Or should I leave you half hairy?"
A rather voracious grin curled across his lips, as he let darker memories fade once more. "Well, as I recall you always did prefer a clean-shaven face betwixt—"
Twirling behind him with great dexterity, she tipped his chin back. The blade came to rest at the top of his throat, which silenced him. "You do not need to finish that sentence."
His vibrant aqua eyes flashed toward hers as he weighed the risk and reward. When her brow quirked in warning, he relented with a smile, holding his tongue. Siobhán leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead, her velvety lips lingering against his skin. Despite their strained beginnings, his trust in her proved unshakable. He knew his safety to be more securely assured there with her, razor in hand, than anywhere else in all of Thedas, even Starkhaven.
The blade caressed his skin with a muted scratching sound; staring up at her, he let her continue the shave, content to let his fingertips roam wherever they might when she stepped into arm's reach. He ached to touch her, to hold her close. She had arrived late the night before—a hot bath and a warm meal did her in after the long, hard ride from hither and yon. As she slept, Sebastian basked in the feeling of having her in his arms again, refusing to leave the bed until she woke.
Her task completed, she stepped back to the table near the window, rinsing the blade and snapping it closed. Unwilling to exercise anymore patience, Sebastian leaned forward and grabbed her by the waist, pulling pull her into his lap. He held her close, resting his chin on her shoulder. "I've missed you, my clever mouse."
Siobhán chuckled, and he knew it was because of the nickname, which stemmed from when they first met in Darktown. For years, she had remained his most elusive prey. Her hands smoothed through his hair. "And I you," she agreed, pressing her fingertips through his hair as she held his gaze.
"I'm glad you came," he said like he was admitting a secret.
Her fingertips grazed the shell of his ear, then along his jaw. "As if that was ever in doubt." He remained quiet for a time. Siobhán's strong brow creased, drawing tight over her pale eyes. Her hands rested upon his shoulders "Sebastian?"
Her gaze searched his for an explanation, and eventually his blue eyes darted toward the window as the guilt rose like a bubble in his chest.
"You doubted me?" she asked getting to her feet and backing away from him with a glaring look of surprise etched into her face. "And just how long have you questioned my devotion to you?"
Sebastian followed her, standing and taking her face in both his hands. "That is not what I doubted. I never doubted you, or your heart. And never doubt my love for you," he begged. "But I recall the way you chaffed beneath your title here and before, in Kirkwall. I worried that the lure of your, our, old life—that as adventurer, Champion might have been … too much temptation away from this, as princess."
Siobhán groaned, her forehead falling upon Sebastian's bare chest. "You just had to mention that, didn't you?"
He chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I assure you it is not completely horrible. Things here are far more settled. Stable even, in spite of the tensions."
"I know. And it was never all that bad," she said, looking up at him with a shrug and a smirk. "Plus, I'll have you by my side."
"Aye, you will. For as long as you'll put up with me."
Siobhán chuckled, her arms slipping back around his neck. "Well, you've only been a wee bit of trouble—"
"Trouble, huh?"
"Don't play innocent with me," she said, the tip of her nose brushing against his. "I know better."
In a quick tip of the head, Sebastian captured her mouth. His fingers traced the length of her neck, catching the edge of her robe. His hand slipped beneath the silk, skimming her skin—soft in places, marred in others by a patchwork of scars, but warm everywhere. His lips teased down her neck sliding the delicate crimson down her shoulder.
Thunderous knocking rang through the room, causing Sebastian to groan against her skin. "Yes!" he called, tipping his face toward the ceiling. Exasperation dripped from his tone as Siobhán chuckled against his chest.
The door opened with a rambunctious clang. "My Lord," a young male voice called. "Oh, and my Lady. Apologies, I didn't realize."
"You can realize later, Corrum. What do you require?"
"Ah, yes. Right, my lord. Seneschal Marcuse sent me to remind you that the Lord Chancellor of Tantervale should arrive shortly and will expect to be greeted in proper fashion."
"Dismissed," Sebastian said. he looked down at her, his thumb brushing across her cheek.
"Remind me how not horrible this is again," she asked him with narrowed eyes and a look of consternation.
Sebastian chuckled, a low rumbling sound that filled the room. "Perhaps, we should take dinner here tonight. Alone," he suggested.
"With visiting dignitaries here?"
It was his turn to narrow his eyes. "You're being far too practical, my bonny love."
"One of us has to be, don't you think?" she asked, pressing a kiss to his lips as she pulled her robe back on.
"I'm sure Marcuse would agree with you."
"Well, you're freshly shaven, so you're better than halfway there."
His laughter rose again, but he didn't let her go. In fact, he embraced her tighter. "Now that you're here again, I don't want to let you go, even for a moment," he said, burying his face in the curve of her neck in an evanescent bid to extend their serene occasion.
Siobhán did not help him toward his duty. Her arm remained draped over shoulders, as she petted his hair and stared up at him wearing a gentle smile. No, there was no place else he wanted to be. His hand slipped behind her neck and pulled her lips to his. Maker give him strength. "Perhaps a special dessert then. By moonlight."
"As long as you remember to bar the door."
"I swear it by the Maker himself."
Siobhán pinched his chin and stretched up to place a gentle peck on his lips. "I'll be here with bells on."
"Oh," he cooed. "Now, that does sound novel."
She pushed at his shoulder, her eyes rolling as she laughed—a bright sound that made his heart feel like it might burst. Her unbridled laughter, oh, how he had missed that sound, he realized in that moment. Indulging in one last kiss, or so he told himself, he finally let her slip from his arms to dress for the day. He'd don the same armor his father had commissioned all those years ago, though it no longer bore the sign of the Order; the flaming sword of the templars had been covered with the crest of Starkhaven.