For those of you wondering, no, my Hawke's first name is not pronounced like the Little Mermaid. And please don't hate me for this chapter.
Chapter Three: Mistakes
Hawke:
"Stupid, stupid, stupid! Should have stayed at home, left well enough alone." As her inner voice beats her up for her stupidity, her body wanders Low Town. She doesn't have many coherent thoughts as she roams the streets, and she doesn't quite know how she ends up at his place. She storms into his clinic, close to midnight, anger & frustration etched onto her face, in every plane of her body.
"What's the matter, Hawke?" He is instantly concerned, searching for wounds with his eyes. "Maybe under her clothes?"
"He. Doesn't. Want. Me! I gave him everything! EVERYTHING! And he just keeps ignoring me, ignoring that night! He just wants that wh-whore!" She trails off as her breath hitches & she knows she is coming perilously close to tears. She tends to cry when frustrated & angry. The only thing he can think of is to envelope her in a tight hug, which is exactly what he does. He rubs her back soothingly, as tears fall down her cheeks. The tears come faster & harder as she melts into his chest. She looks at him, hazel eyes full of pain and sadness. Her sooty eyelashes are wet with tears of rejection.
She hears his soft whispers against her ear as he breathes deeply against her hair. "That fucking knife eared fool. You are more of a woman than that whore will ever be. You are smart, beautiful, sweet, brave. You are everything she will never be."
She smiles as her heart warms at his words. "You think I'm smart? And beautiful?" she hiccups against his chest.
He pulls away from her to look at her in astonishment. How this woman does not know how wonderful she is, he has no clue. His warm hands smooth her hair from her face, stroking the inky black tendrils that have stuck to her face with her tears. He stares into her eyes, desperately seeking the answers his heart yearns for. But he sees only the pain of rejection, the sadness of her broken heart. He is desperate to kiss her, craving the feel of her lips against his. But he can smell the whiskey on her breath, and he knows that taking advantage of her while she's drunk and heartbroken is absolutely the wrong thing to do. He silently curses alcohol, taverns, Fenris, and elves. Turning away before he can do something he knows she'll hate him for later, he determines to help her at least get a good night's sleep. Even if it's not in the way he would like to help her sleep.
Here, " he says, "I have something that might help you." He crosses the room to a table, where he removes a pouch from a jar. He sprinkles something from the pouch into an earthen mug and fills the mug with hot water from the kettle hanging over his fire. Stirring the contents, he hands the mug to her, smiling.
"What is it?" she asks, eyeing the steaming mug cautiously. She remembers his last batch of sleeping potions and shudders with disgust at the memory.
"Something to help you relax and, hopefully, sleep. It should help with the hang-over you'll definitely have in the morning, also. I can't guarantee it'll make it go away entirely, as you smell like you took a bath in whiskey. But it should lessen the intensity of the pain. Don't worry, it doesn't taste as bad as my last batch of sleeping draughts. By the way, Hawke, what DID you drink tonight?"
"Please, call me Arielle. I don't want to be Hawke tonight. Just plain old Ari."
"You couldn't be plain if you tried."
She smiles at his sweet words. "Thank you, Anders. That's sweet. And I may have had a bottle of whiskey at the Hanged Man. And a bottle of wine with dinner."
"Maker's breath, Arielle! He's not worth it!"
She shrugs and her eyes shift to the floor. In a sad voice, she whispers "I know. I just…I just wanted to forget." She misses the desperate look that flashes over his face.
Turning away from her, his shoulders slump and he simply says,"Well, drink your tea."
Taking a small sip, she grimaces and spits it back out. "Outh! Anderth! Ith boiwing an tathe like nug pith."
Biting his lip as he smiles at her swear borrowed from Varric, he takes the mug from her, turning to his honey pot and adding a generous dollop of the amber goo. He waves his hand over the mug, cooling it with his magic. "There, you big baby" he teases, handing the mug back to her.
She takes another tentative sip, smiling as she tastes the sweet honey, and the herbs instantly begin making her body warm and relaxed. They even soothe her burned tongue. She closes her eyes as the warmth courses through her body. Anders watches the physical response her body has to the tea with pleasure. She is so tense, he thinks. She really should relax more. She's all full of knots and pain. His fingers itch to massage the pain away. He smiles as he watches the tension melting away before his eyes."Mmmm, Anders. This feels amazing. How did you make this?"
"I didn't, and honestly, I'm not sure what's in it. The merchant who sold it to me said it's designed to help relax and soothe. I had meant to ask him the exact ingredients, but I saw a Templar approaching and just wanted to hurry back home. I haven't made it back out to ask him again. I only just bought it two nights ago. I haven't had anyone asking for relaxation potions yet. And your body was just screaming "TENSE!" at me, so I felt it only right as your healer, to help you."
"Well, thank you. It's definitely working. Do you mind if I sit?" she asks, motioning to his bed. His mouth goes dry at the thought of her in his bed, but he simply shakes his head. "Please, make yourself comfortable." His bed is pushed against one of the stone walls of the clinic, and she sits on the edge of the straw mattress, untying her boots and slipping them off. Her socks are next and Anders is fascinated to find that Hawke's toes are painted a deep red. It is a traditional Orlesian practice, and he is amused to find that she has done something so…girly. She scoots her bottom back until her back is resting against the wall, and she brings her knees to her chest, resting the steaming mug on top of one knee. Leaning her head back, she closes her eyes and smiles. He watches her getting comfortable, sipping her tea. "She looks so right here", he thinks.
"You really should have some of this Anders. With the honey, it's really yummy." He snorts as the word "yummy" passes her lips. She must really be drunk, he thinks.
Shrugging, he decides that he does deserve a night off, but pours himself a glass of whiskey instead. He sits on the bed next to her, sipping his whiskey slowly. They are close enough that their bodies are touching, and she rests her head on his shoulder. They sit in companionable silence for awhile, each lost in thought. She soon begins to nod off, comforted by the warmth spreading through her belly, her muscles relaxing more and more. The fire hypnotizes and all that is heard is the crackling of the wood.
"All right, drunky. Time for bed." He coaxes her to lie down, covering her with a warm blanket. She gives him a sleepy, drunken smile. He kisses her forehead, wishing she had come to him sober. He could never take advantage of her like this, much as his loins ache and burn with desire. Her eyelids drift closed and she snuggles deeper into his pillow as sleep takes her. He knows he won't be able to have a decent night's sleep for many, many nights with this image of the woman of his dreams in his bed, the scent he loves on his pillow.
He has been sitting at his worktable for Maker knows how long. The candle casts dark shadows across the room as he realizes he has been bent over for too long. Arching with one hand on the small of his back, he cracks his spine and decides it is time to sleep. There is only one bed in his small hovel, and a certain beguiling lady is occupying that. He casts a dubious glance at the hard wooden bench across the room. Sighing, he rises, and crosses to the fire. He has been standing in front of his fire, cursing his stupid luck to finally have her here, and she is too drunk for him to act on his feelings, and then he feels it. A hand upon his shoulder. He looks down and sees slender fingertips resting lightly upon his shoulder. His breath catches in his throat. "Arielle?" he asks tentatively. Turning, he sees the desire burning in her hazel eyes. His gaze lowers to her lips. Her full, moist lips…lips that he has fantasized about kissing every night for three agonizingly long years. At first it was just physical desire. But somewhere along the line, he had fallen heart and soul for his fearless leader. She rises on her tiptoes and brushes her lips against his softly. Her lips are every bit as soft as he has dreamt they would be. His amber eyes burn into hers with desire, want, and need. He closes his eyes, deepening the kiss and groans against her mouth as she fits her body tightly against him. Pressing into the warmth of his hard body, she runs her fingers through his soft hair. He feels her nimble fingers reach up, running through his hair. He threads his fingers through her dark hair, pushing it away from her face. He needs to see her face when he tells her.
"Arielle, I love you. I've always loved you." Her eyes light with joy and she smiles, capturing his lips in another kiss.
"Oh, my love. I have waited so long for this. For you…" he whispers against her ear. She runs her fingers over his tunic feeling his hard muscles beneath. His arms are large and muscular, but not overly so. Slipping her fingers under his shirt at his waist, she leans into him as she gently gathers the material and pulls it over his head. He is sure he will come undone as she leans forward, kissing his chest. Trailing her lips over his collarbone, letting her teeth lightly graze his neck. She flicks her tongue over his nipples, one at a time, making them hard.
"Is she still drunk? This is not right if she is. But oh Maker, it feels SO right. Does this mean she no longer has feelings for the grubby knife ear? No, wait, she was sobbing in my arms over his rejection just hours ago. Or was it a lifetime ago? It feels like it could have been in another lifetime entirely. Does this mean she is ready to move on, have a future with me? Or is this just for tonight" "SHE DOES NOT LOVE YOU. SHE IS USING YOU. LEAVE HER BE." "SHUT UP, Justice! She could love me. Maybe she does…she's not the type to just sleep with any man. She's good and pure…" "YOU WILL REGRET THIS." "Then I regret it. I am not losing this opportunity. I love her. I've waited so long for this."
He is elated. To feel her in his arms, kiss those lips that he has fantasized about for so long. He revels in her. Her scent is intoxicating and he feels like he could drink it in forever. Her soft skin smells of the Harlot's Blush soap she loves. He knows she uses it for her bath, as he has watched her when she shops at the market. He knows so much about her, surely he is the right man for her. He pulls back to gaze into her eyes. The only emotions he sees are love and desire raging like a fire. She is still in her clothes from falling asleep in his bed, and his hands are shaky as he raises them to undo the buttons of her shirt. His long fingers, usually so graceful, tremble and fumble. He slides one shoulder of her shirt off her porcelain skin, lowering his lips to kiss the smooth skin hiding there. Her eyes close in the pleasure his lips bring her, sending little shivers through her. She is holding on to his upper arms, and feels herself sway with the desire building in her. Her shirt falls to the ground, and she grins, hooking her index finger into the waistband of his pants. He is determined to take his time with her as she deserves warmth and tenderness, after all the death and destruction she sees day in & out.
His hands frame her face, and the kiss they share is soft and gentle. He reaches under her knees, lifting her in his arms. Carrying her to the bed, he gently lowers her body to the mattress. It's not the silks and satins she sleeps on now in her High Town manor, but the bedding is clean and soft from years of use. The rough stubble on his chin tickles as he nuzzles her neck. He settles himself over her, gazing at her with desire glazed eyes.
"I have waited so long for this, my love. Are you sure?" he whispers and his heart soars as she nods.
"I've never wanted anything more in my life" she whispers. Every night, she visits his dreams. Every night he holds her in his dreams, and every night is a different torturous pleasure. Every morning he wakes to find himself alone in a cold bed. And every day he sees the elf and his Hawke. She is his, damn it, she just didn't know it yet. But after tonight…after he had shown her how much he loves her, how he could care for her, things will be different. Better. She will see. She HAS to see. He unhooks the top button of her pants, and she wriggles her hips to help him as he slides the material off her body. The movement of her beneath him nearly kills him. He cannot wait to make her writhe and cry out his name in passion. Her smalls are now the only things she wears. Two small, very thin pieces of fabric separating her bare flesh from his. He sees her nipples, taught against her breast band. He slips his calloused fingers under her breast band, finding a nipple. He rubs his finger over it, loving the feel of the hard, pert tip. His hardness presses against her leg, and he aches to slip inside of her.
She moans softly and unhooks the clasp on the breast band, letting the material fall slack. He removes it, as reverently as if he is unwrapping a priceless gift. Which, to him, is exactly what he is doing. Her full, perfect breasts greet him and he lowers his lips to caress one nipple, then the other. Her breath catches in her throat and she runs her fingers through his hair, rubbing his ears as she does so. She trails her hands down his back, lightly stroking down his spine to his very well defined buttocks. She arches her hips and slides her panties off.
"Your turn" she commands, huskily. He grins, raising himself up and off of her just long enough to nearly rip his pants from his flesh. Anders clasps her to him, feeling her naked warmth against his body. She is so tight, every muscle taut. Her body is sculpted from years in the field, and yet she is all woman. His breath is sweet and warm and it whispers in a husky voice the things he wants to do to her. Kissing her lips, her cheeks, nibbling at her earlobes…he trails hot wet kisses down her chin, her neck…stopping at her fingers, he takes the tips in his mouth one at a time, sucking & biting gently. She gasps as little waves of pleasure spark through her.
"I can't…I can't go any slower, love. I need you now." He whispers apologetically. He so very much wants this to be perfect, but it has been so long since he has been with anyone, and he is trembling with need. Her legs wrap around his hips as she takes his rigid cock in her hand and guides it inside of her. She is perfection. It is all, and more, than he has ever dreamed of and wished for. She is unbearably tight and wet. He enters her slowly, kissing her neck as he does so. She gasps at how big he is. But it is not enough. She grasps his firm buttocks in her hands and squeezes, whispering, "More. I want…I need more."
"How much?" he asks.
"All of you. I need you inside of me. All of you."
He gasps in pleasure and surprise as she takes all of him, wrapping her legs around his waist tighter. Her cries of pleasure echo off the walls and in some part of his mind, he is happy they are in Dark Town where no one gives a shit if she screams with all the force her lungs can muster. He lifts her legs from around his waist, moving them up by his ears, filling her even more completely. He pounds into her, relentlessly. Suddenly, he withdraws, leaving her gasping in displeasure.
"Wha…" before she can finish the sentence, he turns her onto her stomach, jerking her hips back against his throbbing manhood.
"On your hands and knees," he commands gruffly. She complies, sticking her delicious ass in the air. He enters her again from behind, plunging his rigid cock back inside of her wet pussy, hammering hard and fast. His calloused finger rubs her clit back and forth, then in circles. She moans, biting the pillow in front of her as she tries to stifle a scream. His magic sparks from his fingertips as he nears his orgasm. He withdraws again, turning her, wanting to see her face as she comes. He slips into her, gently this time, and slides his warm hands under her back to grasp her shoulders. She wraps her legs around his waist and arches her back.
"Ahhhh! FUCK ME!" she screams, grabbing fistfuls of the bedclothes. Grunts and incoherent screams are heard from the small clinic, but again, it is Dark Town. No one cares. Her orgasm hits him and he feels her tighten around him. He wants to do more, so much more, to her, but the intensity rocks him and he cannot hold back. His own orgasm rocks through them both, and he explodes into her, crying out her name in the dark. He whispers that he loves her as he presses a soft kiss to her lips, pulling her closer to him. Cradling her against his chest, he spoons her as he falls into a deep sleep.
Hawke:
The Fade had claimed her quickly after the tea had warmed her belly and relaxed her mind. She wasn't sure what had woken her from her slumber, but she thought she smelled him in her room. That delicious, intoxicating scent of leather and that soap he uses. Breathing deeply, she is almost certain she smells it. Opening her eyes slowly, she turns in her bed and sees him across the room. Bent over her desk, reading the latest book she had given him to practice with. He is unaware of her eyes watching him, and he tucks a strand of snow white hair behind his ear. He is so adorable when he is unobserved, she thinks. He would hate being called adorable, she smiles. She watches as he lays the book on the table, and stands, cracking his back. He crosses to the fire and she cannot contain her desire. She rises, crossing the short distance to her beloved. Perhaps she can convince him to stay? She wonders why she fell asleep during their lesson. She needs to make up for that, she thinks slyly.
His broad back to her, she boldly steps to him, resting her fingers on his shoulder. "Arielle?" he asks in that beloved, gravely tone. He turns, and she knows he can see her feelings in her eyes. As he stares at her lips like a drowning man seeing a cup of water, she knows now is the time. No more hiding behind fear. As they melt into each others lips, she sees his eyes burning with the desire ripping at her soul.
"Arielle, I love you. I've always loved you." She melts, knowing that these words are so hard for him to utter. She would be content to kiss him for hours, loving the feel of his hard lips pressed to hers, and then he asks if she is sure this is what she wants! How can she make him see how much she loves him? It has been so long since that other night. And she has had no lovers since him. He had been her first, and she feels a bit of pain as he enters her. But the pain is nothing compared to the bliss she feels in being in his arms, feeling him inside of her. But he…feels different…somehow. Her brain is fuzzy as she tries to remember the last time. Wasn't he…bigger? No. It must have just been because it was her first time with a man. As he pounds into her, she screams her orgasm until she feels she can go no longer. He flips her over, and his lyrium glows brightly in the dark. On her hands and knees, she reaches between his legs, grasping his balls, squeezing and massaging as he continues to plunder her from behind. Too soon, he whispers his apology and comes inside of her.
"Didn't he last longer last time? Huh. Well, Isabella had said that men, if they wait too long, cannot hold it very long. So much for that famous elven stamina", she chuckles to herself quietly. She hears his gruff whispered "I love you" as he slips into sleep holding her gently from behind. As sleep begins to claim her, she realizes that somewhere, deep inside her, a small voice inside her mind had been telling her to stop the entire time.
The sun has not yet risen when she wakes with a start. Her body is sticky with sweat and she is shivering. She is unnerved by the sex dream she has had about Anders. "Gotta lay off the whiskey, Arielle," she thinks with a wry smile. She sighs softly. The world has finally righted itself and Fenris is hers again. She shivers again in the chilly early morning air and she is pulled closer to Fenris's warm, bare chest in the dark. And in the dark, as his chest rises & falls against her back as he sleeps, she realizes that something is very, very wrong. Her head is pounding, her brain feels fuzzy and her mouth has a foul taste in it. And there is a smell that is very wrong. It is fire, elfroot, and something else she cannot place. It smells like…Anders. As her befuddled mind races to clear the fog, she realizes that the arms around her, the chest behind her…is NOT Fenris. "Who the FUCK is this in my bed?" She panics, and realizes she's not in HER bed. These sheets beneath her bare skin are…oh Maker. Her heart races as she turns her head and is met with the sleeping face of Anders.
Her breath catches in her throat and her heart thuds to a stop. "No. No nononononononononono NO! This is NOT possible! What happened last night? Oh shit." She shakes his arm, desperate. His eyes open slowly and they are filled with love. "Oh SHIT."
He smiles sweetly. "Hey." His voice is thick with sleep. "Another go round? I suppose I could accommodate you." He smiles again and pulls her head down for a kiss.
"NO!" She pushes against his chest. "Anders! What happened last night?"
"The Maker answered my prayers. My wildest dreams came true. Literally." He grins, looking like the dragonling that ate the miner. "You, my darling, were…marvelous."
"It's obvious we had sex, Anders. But HOW? How did this happen?"
He rises on one elbow, a frown on his face. "Maker. You must really have been drunk. I'm so sorry Ari. I asked you…I thought...oh sweet Maker." He flops down on the bed, hands covering his face.
"Anders, I thought you were…" she bites her lip as she remembers how clear it all was. Was she really that drunk? Could drinking that much wine and whiskey do that? Not being a big drinker, she didn't know.
"What? You thought I was what?"
"I thought you…were Fenris." She hates seeing the anger and hurt cloud his amber eyes.
"Oh. Of course. You wouldn't have given yourself to ME. I'm not good enough for you. You have to be a dirty, filthy KNIFE EAR to be able to fuck the illustrious Champion. Should have known you'd never slum it in Dark Town unless you were out of your mind. You prefer the ambiance of corpses to candlelight."
She slaps him, hard across the face. "You're a bastard. You did something, didn't you? What. Did. You. Do. To. ME? You used magic, didn't you?"
"Ouch!" He holds his hand to his face, where an angry, red mark in the shape of her palm is forming. "NO! I would never use magic to…to…"
"Then why did I SEE HIS FACE and hear HIS VOICE? Feel HIS body in my arms?"
"I DON'T KNOW! I just gave you some tea…"
"YOU DRUGGED ME? I WILL KILL YOU!"
"NO! I don't know what was in the tea…."
She drags her clothes on, fuming. "Thanks Anders. You may not have meant to, but you gave me something and had no idea what it was and it caused me to sleep with you inadvertently when I wanted someone else. What would you call it?"
"The best night of my life!"
She storms out, running, cannot get home fast enough. She has to wash this night off her as soon as possible. As she runs home, she prays to the Maker two things: that no one stops her as she really cannot fight right now, and that Fenris never finds out.
He would rip Anders' heart out with relish.