Hawke threw open her manse doors and rushed to her room, ripping off her armor and throwing it on the floor as she went. Feddic rushed to her, "Master Hawke, a moment!"
"Not now, Feddic! I need a bath and my bed."
"But…" he croaked helplessly as she rushed past and ran up the stairs, taking two at a time. All the while shedding her armor, then clothes. All her servants had seen her in various states of undress, and she couldn't be arsed to worry about modesty right now. With her mother…her mother gone, well she had always been the one to enforce her modesty but now…now she couldn't. She shoved the thoughts away, shucking off her boots and tearing at her shirt laces. It had been a year since her mother's death and she still felt the pain sharp as ever. It wouldn't do to dwell on it now. Not after today's events.
Dealing with the Arishok for one, and getting ambushed for the other. It seemed like no matter what she did for this Makerforsaken city, it would never be enough. There was always some danger lurking, whether it was aimed at her, or just a fool group of cutpurses out for gold. She shoved open the door to her quarters, unlacing her breeches. She was stepping out of them and had just started unlacing her crudely named 'breast bags' when she heard a startled gasp. She crouched for her knife and looked to the source of the noise.
"Varric!" she croaked, relief and anger battling within (and only a touch of embarrassment). Her cheeks flamed as she watched him watch her, his mouth agape and an "uuuh" escaping his lips. She shook herself, this was Varric, after all. He had seen her in less than this. Battle wounds didn't give two shits about your modesty. On the other hand, they had never been alone like this, and not with this lovely new design of undergarment, the "breast bag" or brazier. When she wore it with her armor she could bind her breasts as tight as she needed for support, but at home she could loosen it up for comfort, and she privately enjoyed the added sexiness of the loose option.
Privately was the word here, and the brazier was as loose as could be without falling off. Varric had turned his head away, though not before she could catch the expression on his face, and the look in his eyes. Shock was there, of course, perhaps embarrassment, and more than a little bit of desire. She felt her heart skip. He had turned away his head, but not his body. She wasn't sure if it was a trick of the low light of the fireplace, but she could swear he could see the outline of his manhood, if not fully erect, at least getting there. She blushed some more and turned her head away. Now who's looking at whom?
She stood up, knife in hand, and walked towards him with a casual air that she did not feel. "You're lucky I looked before I threw, or I'd have to play doctor. Though I still might make you bleed a bit for fun." She grinned, and drug the blade of the knife down his arm, trimming a few loose threads.
"Ah, no thank you" he chuckled and brushed the blade away, grinning sheepishly. He was looking her in the eyes now, though they did make quite a journey from her toes, lingering at her breasts. "You wanted to play doctor?" he teased, "I can't say I'd complain". His eyes twinkled with merriment, though there was a strain of tension behind the mirth, and the desire. Not as hot as before but still there. She blushed as she realized what she had said. Playing doctor, something curious children did, undress in front of each other. She had done it as a child, and then as a youth it became a euphemism for sex. She sighed, put the blade down and went to her wardrobe for a bed robe.
"Andraste's ass, Varric, what are you doing here?" She asked, perhaps a bit sharper than she meant to. She was just so tired, physically, emotionally and mentally. She turned to him and smiled anyway, she didn't want to hurt him. He had to have a reason for calling on her so late in the evening, and without warning. He opened his mouth, snarky expression on his face, and closed it. He sighed and sat on the sofa, patting the seat next to him.
"You'll want to sit down to hear this".
He told her of red lyrium, and worries about his brother. While Bartrand had betrayed them, there was no denying Varric still had some feeling for him. Finding out that there was something wrong, that Bartrand might be in danger, it was a lot for Varric to bear. She felt herself soften, moved by his worries and frustrations. She knew how it felt to lose a loved one, to death or to differences in lifestyles. She wasn't sure what hurt worse, her mother's death, or the fact she might never see Carter again. When he was done she put her hand on his and sat there staring into the fire. Words were useless right now. They were both too wary to plan, that would happen in the morning. Right now what Varric needed was comfort. His hand was warm, and soft on the outside, calloused where her fingers brushed his palm. She was suddenly aware of the silkiness of her bed robe and the heat that seemed to be radiating from Varric. She shifted and her bed robe slid down her shoulder, revealing the strap of her brazier.
"Leather, eh?" Varric quipped. She let go of his hand and had to chuckle. "You have no idea how comfortable this is, Varric." It was true, the other binders worked well for battle but were frustrating to get on and off, never mind the discomfort. But this she had had special made after Isabela had recommended it. They could be made from many fabrics, but she favored leather.
"You're right, I don't, and I hope I never do!" They both laughed and she reached up to straighten her robe. "Here, let me," Varric said, his voice suddenly husky. He straightened her robe with care, pressing the lapels down, his hands covering her shoulders and barely brushing the top of her breasts. She gasped softly as heat seemed to radiate from his hands to her breasts and the growing heat between her legs. It was all she could do to not arch her back into his hands. She had never realized until this moment how large his hands were. I wonder what other parts of him are large. He was staring at her chest, she realized. But not really seeing it. She thought she saw the shine of tears in his eyes.
"It's really the least I could do after making you listen to my bitching." He looked up at her then, gratitude and desire back in his eyes. She clasped his hands, "Oh yes, just the least you could do." They sat there smiling at each other, his hands on her shoulders and her trying to regulate her heartbeat and breathing. He can probably feel it racing. She thought.
"Varric," she said huskily.
"Yes?" he replied in a low voice. She looked away, unable to stand the stark desire that raged in Varric's eyes. When had that started? Surely not just this evening. Yes they had flirted, but he was a notorious flirt, and he had Bianca. If he was as devoted to her as he was to the crossbow with the same name did that mean she was intruding? Did she care? She removed her hands from his and bit her lip. When had it started for her? Perhaps she had taken the flirting too much to heart, and they had gotten closer as time had gone on. First with butt slaps, then walking along shoulder to shoulder, hands constantly touching, but never clasping. They had had many a conversation like this before on this very couch. But today, today was different. Not just the embarrassment from earlier, though it likely moved things along. No, today every shitty thing seemed to be coming to a head. Either in memories of lost ones, or the current pain of new probable loss. He had come to her, and she realized she had needed him just as much as he needed her. She took a deep, steadying breath, which happened to move her breasts that much closer to his hands, sending a wave of heat through her body, and moisture between her legs.
"Hawke, what is it?" Varric said, moving his hand to her chin and gently turning it toward him. She felt like she was on fire. His other hand moved down her arm, revealing her shoulder once more. "That leather," he growled. Their eyes met and she whispered "oh fuck it" and crushed her mouth against his.
"Gladly" he moaned, and like that he was peeling her robe off and she was tearing at Varric's remaining shirt laces. He did like to wear them quite low.