A/N: Random drabble inspired by just how long a determined Anders-romancer had to wait, even for just one kiss. Stars my fem!rogue Imogen Hawke.
"... I don't understand the point of this line of questioning," Aveline said stiffly as Imogen Hawke approached their table at the Hanging Man with a tray of drinks.
"It's just for fun, Aveline," Bethany said soothingly. "Isabela is just asking hypothetically—right?"
Isabela didn't answer, her attention fully on the drink that Hawke had just handed over.
"What did I miss?" Imogen asked, sliding into a seat.
"Isabela asked who'd we rather bed," Merril piped up cheerfully, "Anders, Sebastian, Varric, or Fenris."
"Or all four at once," Isabela said with a grin, surfacing from her drink. "Though, since Anders counts as two, maybe it should be all five at once..."
Bethany shook her head. "Anders is off limits, 'Bela—ow!" She winced as Imogen aimed a kick under the table.
Isabela rolled her eyes. "Oh don't pretend like we haven't noticed, Hawke. You two make so many calf eyes at each other, it's a wonder you can stand to be in the same room without jumping him."
"I have wondered," Merrill said thoughtfully, her large green eyes peering at Hawke with curiosity. "Does Justice make an appearance when you're together? Or is it that awkward feeling you get when you want to have a private conversation but there's someone clearly eavesdropping?"
"Aw, look, you've made her blush!" Isabela crowed with laughter. "I'm curious myself," she said with a wink, leaning forward over the table. "Is he as hairy as Varric? What color is his happy trail? Spill, Hawke! We want all the dirty details! Emphasis on dirty."
Hawke fiddled with her drink, cheeks burning furiously. "I... we...haven't really..."
"Haven't really, what?"
"Yeah, Hawke, what are you talking about?
"We've never even kissed, okay?" Hawke said this loud enough that people a couple of tables away looked over at them.
Everyone at the table looked surprised, except for Bethany, who Imogen had confided a little of her feelings for Anders. Isabela looked stunned.
"Wait a minute," Isabela set down her drink and faced Hawke with narrowed eyes, "You mean to tell me that for three years—three flaming years you haven't got any? Surely you must have been to the Rose for some relief if our little apostate friend is too timid to knock boots with you. Look, Hawke, I have a paid subscription there if you want to borrow it for a couple of days. I'm sure Madam Lusine won't mind."
Hawke shot a frown at the pirate. "Honestly, Isabela, I'm not an animal. I don't want a casual tumble, so if I have to wait on Anders, I will. We've both been busy, and, well, we are a little unsure of what the situation would be like with his... little problem."
Isabela took a long drink from her tankard and shook her head, earrings jingling. "Maker's breath; three years. At least that explains why you fight like a demon—I would too if I was that repressed."
Hawke laughed. "I will admit, I have been getting a lot more blade practice lately..."
"Not even on that trip to the Deep Roads?" Isabela persisted. 'You two didn't sneak off to a side tunnel and—"
Hawke shook her head. "No; it was too dangerous to wander off and we were too busy trying to survive long enough to reach the surface in any case." She didn't mention that it was sometimes only she and Anders at the campfire. He was awake because of the incessant itch of the darkspawn crawling across his senses, and she stayed up as long as she could to help distract him. But even then, they merely talked while the rest of their company snored and dreamed around them. Not that she wasn't tempted. There were times as they sat by the fire that the longing to kiss him was so powerful that she had to get up and walk away. As hard as it was, she would respect his wish for distance. She wondered, though, how long she would be willing to wait. Right now she was... but what if it was another year? Two years?
"Speaking of the Deep Roads," Bethany said hurriedly, sensing Imogen's descent into melancholy, "Varric's going to give us our cut tomorrow. It should be enough to buy back the Amell estate in Hightown."
"Oh, really? Then drinks are on Hawke! Cheers!" Isabela thumped the table and ordered another round for the table.
A few drinks more and Hawke was laughing too hard to remember why she'd been feeling sad. Good friends, semi-good drinks—who needed anything more?
