For Isabela fan week on Tumblr.
Rating: M / R (probably could get away with a strong T / PG-13)
Pairing: Isabela/Fenris
Warnings: Fluff. Fluff. More fluff.
Of All the Flags I've Flown
They're still tangled together when the sun breaks the line of the horizon, limbs and coarse sheets on a narrow bed that belongs to neither of them. She lies on top of him, her curves fitted to his sharp angles and her breath is hot on his collarbone while he gasps raggedly into her black hair.
Fenris blinks at the ceiling, listening to the sound of Isabela's breathing slowing even as his own heartbeat steadies and stops its wild rhythm in his chest.
He strokes her side, brushing his knuckles over each of her ribs, then splays his fingers over her waist and sighs.
"I'm too heavy?" Isabela asks, tone and lips teasing his ear. She shifts on top of him, tightens around him, and he hisses something that means in a single drawn-out sound too soon, too much and stop.
She chuckles and nips at the point of his ear, but her body relaxes.
"No. Not yet." He turns his head and kisses her temple. She wears a different scent than the last time they met and although that has changed, she still tastes of the sea, of wind and sun and places just beyond.
"Ever the flatterer," she says and untangles her fingers from his hair; he's fairly certain her nails have left rows of crescent divots on his scalp. "It's a good thing you're such a fantastic lay, kitten, because your pillow talk needs work."
"Hnn," he says, sliding a hand over the curve of her hip, dragging his fingers over her skin. And he thinks it's a good thing she can't see his expression; he knows his grin would give away his intent. As it is, he's rewarded with an indignant squeal when he slaps her rear hard enough it will leave a mark.
"Bastard!" she says, but she laughs.
She moves her hands and the mattress dips as she lifts herself to look at him. He sees the welts his teeth and tongue and lips her neck and thinks of the ones she left on the inside of his thigh.
"You look too smug. Copper for your thoughts," she says. Her dark eyes are warm and so is her smile as she kisses his chin, the place where the lyrium almost scars his lip.
"How long will you stay?" he asks the question without preamble and keeps emotion from his voice as he trails his hand up the length of her spine. The pads of his sword-calloused fingers glide over her sweat-slicked skin, pausing to trace a puckered scar that winds over her shoulder.
Something shifts in her expression, closing him out before she rolls off of him with a sigh.
She sits on the edge of the bed and the air is cold against his damp skin. His hands feel empty; he resists the urge to reach out and touch her again.
"Old ground, sweet thing," she says, standing up. He watches silently as she starts to dress. She tugs her tunic on, fastening the belt with quick, angry jerks. "This is just for fun. You might think you still owe Hawke, but he and I settled up a long time ago."
Her smalls are on top of a wardrobe and she puts her hands on her hips and frowns up at them.
Fenris pulls himself from the bed. He's tired and sore in not unpleasant ways, but his fatigue runs deeper than the physical. "Strangely enough, this," he gestures between them, the space where tension is almost palpable, "does not feel like 'fun'."
He uses his sword to retrieve her undergarment, leaning the weapon back against the wall after Isabela snatches the bit of cloth from him. She doesn't answer him and he's known her long enough to recognize when she's preparing to flee.
While Isabela starts on her boots, he drags his leggings from under a chair. He dresses in silence, surprised that she hasn't stormed out yet. He belts his coat before he speaks again. "My debt to Hawke has long since been repaid," he finally says.
This gives her pause. She hesitates, fingers nervous on a buckle she's already fastened. "In case you haven't noticed, you still follow along on his mad adventures."
He picks up his chest plate. Isabela moves to his side, batting his hands away as she threads leather straps through buckles. She keeps her eyes on her task, fingers moving as surely over his armor as they had his skin.
"I…" He traps her hands with his own. When her eyes meet his he says, "I could see myself leaving. For the right reasons."
There's something in her expression he can't read. He is unsurprised when she pulls her hands from his and steps away with a small shake of her head. "That's not the way we do it, gorgeous."
He half-hopes she'll stop or look back, but she doesn't. She picks up her bag and walks out and doesn't even close the door behind her.
He should not have expected another outcome, and yet... this time, with her, he thought it could have been different.
He belts on his sword, and after surveying the damage to the room -one chair in particular is likely beyond repair- he takes a few sovereigns from his belt pouch and tosses them onto the bed.
The door closes with a solid click behind him, leaving him in the darkened hallway. He can hear muted noises from the tavern below as the early morning crowd arrives, and the smell of cooking meat drifting up the stairwell reminds him he hasn't eaten recently.
There is a whisper of sound in the dark hall behind him and he stops. He doesn't reach for his sword; he knows without looking that it's her.
"I don't fuck my crew," she says. Her voice is a smooth purr in his ear and he turns to face her; his eyes adjust to the low light and he can see the curve of her cheek and the flash of white teeth as she smiles.
He makes no reply at first, only eases his weight from one foot to the other. His armor creaks, leather straps fastened by a rogue's hand shifting against one another. He leans in close enough to brush his lips along the curve of her ear. Where she had purred, he growls. "Then it is fortunate I have no wish to be one of your crew."
She laughs and the low sound fills the narrow space between them. "That's a relief. The amount of amazing sex going to waste would be criminal."
"I… agree." They're dancing around the thing between them which has nothing to do with tension or muttered words or even a pirate's laugh and he remembers something a witch once said. If ever there was a time to leap, it would be now. "There is nothing holding me here. I will not follow where you lead, but… I would walk beside you."
Her eyes narrow. "I'm setting sail within the hour." She turns from him, and for the second time that morning walks away.
When she reaches the top of the stairs, she pauses and looks over her shoulder. Light reflects from the stud below her lip, gold flashing as she speaks. "Walk where you like… but on my ship, kitten? You'll have to call me Captain."
He gives the barest of nods. "An acceptable offer." One corner of his mouth turns up and he closes the distance between them without taking his eyes from her, lest she disappear by some rogue's trick.
"An acceptable offer, Captain," she says, her smile a reflection of his.
He lifts his hand slowly and rests his palm against her jaw, smallest finger brushing the line of her throat. He can feel her pulse beating, faster than he expects, and he gives another small nod. "As you say, Captain."
END
-o-
Title? More of my sap-tastic music, naturally. From Wynnona Judd's Only Love.
For those of you who added Silk to your alerts and/or favorites... thank you so very much. :)
If you liked the 'Highwayman' section, I'm working on the next part.
