Shots
by hoorayforicecream
Foreword: Shot #4 is rated M for reals. People offended by text of two ladies in love having some real girlish fun should probably skip it. For serious. You have been warned.
"Really? But I didn't think that it could even fit!" gasped Merrill.
"Kitten, the human body can accommodate many things that you probably wouldn't believe possible. In any case, she certainly didn't complain," laughed Isabela, before taking a sip from her tankard. "... at the time," she added.
"I don't think I'll ever look at a tuber the same way," sighed the young elf.
"They're for more than just eating," grinned the pirate. "Let me tell you about the time she brought home mangos..."
Merrill sipped her ale and made a face, smacking her lips. Interrupting the Rivaini's discussion on the more salient points of ripe and soft fruits, the slim elf girl stuck out her tongue and wondered aloud, "Why does this taste so foul? What sort of possible enjoyment is there to be had from alcohol?"
Isabela stopped her tale and was about to answer, but stopped with a sentence half-formed on her tongue. She raised a single finger, and said "Kitten, I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere," before standing and walking past the lithe mage. Merrill turned in her chair, and saw Isabela practically skip to the entrance, and grasp Hawke's hands in hers. They began to speak.
"I wonder what they're saying?" she thought to herself. Hawke said something, and Isabela laughed. Merrill pursed her lips.
"Hello Isabela," she said, imitating Hawke's voice. "You're looking very lovely today. Shall we do some dirty things together?"
Isabela responded enthusiastically. "Hawke! So glad you could come. I was just telling Merrill about the sorts of dirty things we do, and I would love to do some with you right now," the elf continued in Isabela's voice. The pirate pointed in her general direction, and gestured. "She's over there, and just told me she doesn't like alcohol. Isn't that hilarious?" Isabela laughed, throwing her head back and placing a hand on Hawke's arm.
Hawke looked bemused by Isabela's comments. "That was a funny joke, Isabela," said Merrill-Hawke. Hawke waved at Merrill and gave her a dazzling smile. Merrill blushed a bit at the attention, before resuming her play-voicing. "I like the way she's wearing her hair today."
Isabela took Hawke's hand in both of hers and pulled the woman along with her. "Come on, Hawke" Merrill-Isabela said. "I want you right now." The pair moved toward the bar. "Oh, I was mistaken. I want a drink first." amended Merrill-Isabela. The pirate waved Corff over and spoke to him at length.
"I want the alcoholiest drink that you have. And something for Hawke too. I want them now, so that Hawke and I can go do dirty things," ordered Merrill-Isabela. "Hawke, pay the man for his time," continued Merrill-Isabela, as Hawke pulled a few coins from her purse and placed them on the counter. The two women approached the blood mage while still holding hands.
"Kitten, I have something for you. We've arranged for a bit of a sampler for you to show you how delicious drinking can be. Try them all, and we'll be back to check up on you shortly," smiled Isabela as she and Hawke approached.
"But Isabela... what will you be doing in the meantime?" the curious elf girl asked.
Isabela leaned in and conspiratorially whispered a single word: "Tubers." Merrill blushed.
Standing back up, Isabela waved Norah over. The surly barmaid placed five separate cups of varying sizes and types in front of the delighted elf. They were all different colors and textures. Merrill looked with wonder at each beverage, marveling at their features.
"Which shall I try first?" she asked, turning toward Isabela... only to find the pair already vanished. The elf sighed, and lifted a small glass with light brown liquid in it, with some of the heavy cream floating to the top. She sniffed it carefully, picking out the sweet dairy smell, mixed with the scent of sugarcane and alcohol. She took a sip from the cup, as the smooth cream went down easily, and her throat pleasantly warmed.
Shot #1: RUM AND CREAM
One dwarf greeted the other with a stiff handshake and a friendly smile. Bodahn, dwarven valet to the Hawke family, firmly grasped the guest's hand and welcomed him in to the manor house. The visitor strode confidently into the foyer, holding a green glass bottle in one hand. He waved the bottle at the servant, gently swirling its contents enticingly. It contained a curiously dark liquid inside, and the label simply read XXX. The beardless dwarf offered some of the beverage to the valet, but Bodahn graciously refused.
"Not while I'm on duty, messere, tempted though I might be," he said. "The lady is in her office. Shall I announce you?"
"No thank you, my good ser," grinned Varric. "I'll find my own way."
"Very good, messere," nodded Bodahn, waving him in.
Varric strolled through the foyer and through the hall, noting the new carvings on the banister. Isabela had apparently etched what looked like distaff portions of anatomy into the handrail. He glanced at them. Whoever they belonged to was certainly a healthy woman, he thought. The dwarf turned a quick left, and walked through the carpeted hallway. He passed Leandra's old room and uttered a silent prayer for her soul before reaching the heavy oak door to Hawke's office. He thought he could hear mumbling on the other side, but the sounds vanished when he knocked. He heard another mumble from behind the door, and he pushed it open and sauntered into the room.
As he entered the office, Varric couldn't help but notice the ruddy pink of Hawke's flushed cheeks as she pored over the various scrolls and papers spread out over her massive wooden desk. The hardwood desk had been fashioned from ancient oak trees, and lacquered for a glossy finish. The shiny, reflective surface had been nearly covered by all of the various parchments and papers Hawke had strewn about the surface. She tilted back the last of the amber liquid in her glass and swallowed, before putting it next to its mate on the small ceramic plate in front of a half-full bottle of Antivan brandy. She had separated the assorted papers into several piles - one of unbroken envelopes with festive decorations, a second of parchments with hastily scrawled lettering. Hawke finished writing out her response, folded the page, and placed it on a smaller stack nearby. Sadly, the pile of finished responses seemed woefully small compared to the 'still to do' piles. Hawke groaned as she set her quill down.
"Varric, what a pleasant surprise," she smiled, shifting in her seat.
"Long day, Hawke?" he smirked. "I thought you could use a little pick-me-up." He swirled the contents of the bottle in a slow, circular motion.
"You always say the sweetest things", replied Hawke, smiling wearily.
Varric poured a shot into each of the glasses, accidentally dribbling a little of the amber liquid onto the parchment. Hawke frowned.
"That was Lady Janice's dinner invitation," she sighed.
"Is she still trying to marry you off to her son? Jenner, I think it was?" chuckled Varric. "That boy would probably be a lot more attractive if he ever pulled that finger out of his nose."
"Every time I see him, it looks like he's mining for gold in there," she giggled. "He's always at least a knuckle deep."
The dwarf laughed at the thought, and raised one of the shot glasses. Hawke raised hers in response. With a nod, they each downed a shot in one gulp. As soon as the fluid hit her throat, her eyes widened in shock at the burning sensation searing the tender flesh. Hawke looked like she had just swallowed liquid fire, and the pain told her exactly where it was as it traveled down to her belly. The Champion burst into a fit of coughs.
"What's in this stuff?" gasped Hawke, squirming a bit in her seat.
"Isabela really likes it. It's a special dwarven blend called Nug Juice." Noting Hawke's look of horror, Varric laughed again. "Don't worry, Hawke. No nugs were harmed in making this fine beverage," he added, refilling both shot glasses.
They raised their glasses a second time in mild salute, and this time Hawke took a deep breath before downing hers. The heat spread quickly, but more pleasantly this time, as Varric felt the gentle pressure in his ears reminding him of the drink's effects. He set the glass back down on Lady Janice's slightly stained invitation.
"So, do you have the time in your busy schedule to come play cards with us tonight? We're playing diamondback at the Hanged Man," invited the dwarf as he refilled the shot glasses a third time.
Hawke groaned. "I think the nobles have gotten wise to my visits there," she complained, leaning back in her chair. "They've begun ambushing me at the bar whenever I go to see Isabela."
"I've noticed that the raised nose population there has gone up significantly. Not that I mind, they actually pay out good coin to hear tales of your bravery instead of just buying me drinks like the usual crowd does," snickered Varric.
"If it means that much to you, I will be there," nodded the Champion, the flush growing on her cheeks.
"Glad to hear it, Hawke. It just wouldn't be the same without you," said the dwarf fondly. He refilled the shot glasses again. "Now when will you let me write the official story of the Champion of Kirkwall?" he continued smoothly.
"Really Varric? Don't you get enough of telling my story at the tavern?" asked Hawke wearily, after downing her shot.
Varric swallowed the contents of his own glass before responding. "I know you've told me no in the past, but Rivaini's been pretty persistent," he replied. "I think she wants to take advantage of that notoriety of yours." He refilled the glasses again.
Hawke drank, and the flush on her cheeks darkened. She blew out a frustrated sigh, and crossed her arms. "If she really wanted to be famous, she'd stop avoiding these parties I keep inviting her to," she huffed, sticking out her lower lip. Varric heard a thump from the heavy oak desk, and the Champion winced in discomfort. The dwarf grinned.
"Oh, I had almost forgotten. Hawke, I owe Rivaini two sovereigns from diamondback last time," he added, almost as an afterthought. He reached into his pocket and drew out two golden coins. He tossed them into the air and watched them glint in the light, before catching them and placing them gently on the desk before Hawke. The smile never leaving his face, he knocked twice on the desk. Hawke's entire face went scarlet as a deeply tanned arm that did not belong to her reached out from under the desk. The gloved hand groped around the parchments as the fingers quickly searched for their prey. Finally finding the coins, the hand tested them for shape and size, grabbed them both, then flipped into a thumbs-up before vanishing back underneath the desk.
Hawke looked like she was ready to die from embarrassment. The dwarf grinned. "I'll see you tonight then," he said as he left the room chuckling.
After she finished the contents of the first glass, the young elf frowned. The first drink had a bit of a surprise at the end, when the cream was gone and it was almost purely rum. It wasn't as unpleasant as the whiskey she had tried before, but it did leave a bad taste in her mouth. Merrill looked at the remaining four cups, and selected a prettily-colored goblet with bits of fruit in it. The contents of the goblet were a deep red, with a thin layer of froth on top, garnished by a bit of orange. The mage popped the orange chunk into her mouth, and took a sip of the drink. The flavors mixed in her mouth, and she smiled as the sweetness of the red liquid washed over her tongue.
Shot #2: HURRICANE
The steady drumming of water on the roof beat relentlessly as the winds outside continued to howl. The Hanged Man buzzed with more patrons than usual; many of them were simply seeking shelter from the storm. Isabela snuck a glance as the door swung inward, and a collective groan came from the people nearest as another soaked dock worker entered the tavern. The spray of wind and water pelted those unfortunate enough to be near the entry, and they shielded their eyes and drinks as best they could from the blast. Corff, sensing a captive audience, had his barmaids working as quickly as he could. Unfortunately for Corff, neither Norah nor Edwina were in the mood to move any faster than usual. Isabela's amber eyes darted from the door back to the crowd of young men and women near the fire, circling stories of high adventure and romance, often punctuating them with exaggerated hand motions as if they were swinging imaginary swords. Not a one of them could have been older than twenty-five. Each was fresh faced, bright-eyed and innocent, much like Hawke had seemed at their first meeting. She laughed to herself; spending time with Hawke had quickly disabused her of that particular notion. Any innocence on Hawke's part had long been eroded, and in no small part thanks to Isabela herself.
The youths sharing wine and stories, however, were not the ordinary folk who dreamed of making their fortune in the world. They were all dressed in velvets and furs, with silly hats, gaudy colors, and hose befitting young noblemen and women. The young women were pretty, and the men handsome, and they carried themselves as if they hadn't a care in the world. Once upon a time, she might have taken one or two of them to her bed. It wouldn't have been the first time she taught a strapping youth his right from his left, or demonstrated the delights of womanhood to a young ingenue. But that seemed a lifetime ago; now looking at the gathered youths, she only wondered what they were doing at the Hanged Man. The door opened again and she glanced at the newcomers, the nobles momentarily forgotten. Another groan erupted from the poor blighters near the entrance as they were once again wetted and chilled by the storm outside. More dock workers, soaked and sullen, shuffled into the bar.
"Would she really come in this weather?" chirped Merrill from her right.
"She said she'd be coming. Didn't she, Rivaini?" asked Varric, as he mulled over his cards.
"I would hope she is well. It is not a pleasant evening to be traveling," Fenris said solemnly.
"I think you should pay attention to your hands, and not to Hawke's whereabouts," said Isabela, squinting at her own cards. "Show," she commanded, laying her cards flat. Before Varric could put his cards down, the door opened again and Isabela's eyes snapped to the entryway after the sound of uncomfortable patrons greeted her ears. A harried trio of laborers in heavy woolen cloaks entered the tavern. Isabela returned her gaze to the cards, but caught Varric's small smirk out of the corner of her eye. Her hand of three crowns took the pot, and Isabela grinned as Varric dealt the next round. She took a swallow from her mug, then lifted her cards. The hand looked good, she had three serpents and a crown. She glanced at the others. Merrill looked disappointed at her cards. Fenris was his usual unreadable self, and Varric wasn't letting anything slip. She pushed a handful of silver coin into the center of the table.
"Thirty gets you lucky," she smiled.
Varric smiled, and pushed some of his own silver in. "Thirty might get me lucky, but sixty will be immortalized in song," he chuckled.
"Sixty it is," nodded Fenris, adding more silver to the pile in the center of the table.
Merrill frowned at her cards, but dropped her silver into the pot. Isabela followed, and they each pitched one card into the pool. Isabela's crown, Varric's sword, Fenris' two and Merrill's four. The card pool didn't help, though Merrill's smile at the latest card reveal was telling. Varric dealt out a new card to each player. Isabela reached for her card, but before she could lift it, the door to the Hanged Man opened yet again, and the crowd near the entryway once more murmured angrily. Despite the shuffling and ambient movement of the patrons, Isabela could recognize the figure at a thousand paces wearing a cloak and a mask. Hawke had arrived.
The Champion was soaked to her skin. She hadn't been wearing a cloak, and her fine silks were drenched with the rain. Her wet clothing clung to her body, hugging every curve like a second skin. Her hair was soaked and plastered to her head, but her eyes shined as brightly as sapphires, even across the distance that separated them.
Isabela swallowed.
Hawke glanced about the crowd nervously, grimacing when she spotted the crowd of nobles near the fireplace. When her gaze locked on to Isabela's, a warm smile spread across the Champion's face. She raised her hands and pointed at the bar with both, followed by a drinking motion, then moved toward it. Isabela nodded, and looked back at her cards.
Varric had dealt her the fourth and final serpent. She glanced at her table mates. Varric was drumming his fingers. That was an excellent sign, he had a tendency to do that when he was bluffing. Fenris was a wild card. He liked playing the game, but had no head for strategy at all. Whenever he had a good hand, he always bet his best, but was always bad at choosing which card to throw into the pot and often didn't quite realize what he actually had. Merrill was frowning at her cards again. The poor girl had no concept of a diamondback face at all. Isabela smiled to herself. It was time for her to take the pot.
"Forty more will make it mine," she said, pushing in more coin.
After a moment, Varric said, "I think that eighty will make it mine."
Fenris silently put in his coin without looking at his cards. Merrill kept looking between her cards, the pot, and how much coin she had in front of her. Matching the bet would mean she had to win it. She put her cards down and shook her head.
"I'm going to enjoy taking your money, Varric. Two sovereigns for the purchase of a new hat," the buxom pirate laughed as she pushed two shining gold coins into the pot.
Varric paused to look at his cards again. "I think you're bluffing, Rivaini. I'm not going to let you buy yourself out of this one. Bianca needs some shiny new platinum firing rings, and she'll thank you for the generous contribution to her cause," he grinned, tossing in two golden coins. "In fact, she also needs a set of new sights. Let's make it interesting, shall we?" he smirked, adding a third gold coin.
Fenris opened his mouth to speak, but over the clamor of the patrons and the Tevinter elf's voice, a sweet, melodic sound grabbed hold of Isabela's attention with the force of one of Bianca's crossbow bolts. It was faint, but she knew it well; it was an intoxicating sound that was like music to her ears. Hawke was laughing. She looked back at the bar, where Hawke had apparently just finished toweling her hair off. It was still damp, and stuck out in that puffy way freshly dried hair does after a bath. Her eyes twinkled like jewels, and her face was flush with the warmth of the bar and possibly of the alcohol she had been sipping. Even at the distance, Isabela could see the tiniest detail: each little droplet of water that clung to her gorgeous neck, every soaked wrinkle in her tunic that clung to her body, teasing the sensual figure beneath. Isabela saw the gentle ripples across the muscles in Hawke's lanky, athletic arms as she set the towel down on the counter and reached for her cup. Hawke began to move toward the table, and Isabela broke into a grin as their eyes met. It was enough to take the pirate's breath away.
Then Hawke made a face. It was subtle, the kind that Isabela had only seen when she was with people she couldn't abide, but had to pretend she did. It was really the eyes that did it though, her grin was a little too wide, and her brows were knit in a look of confusion. The young nobles had intercepted her and surrounded her on all sides. An ambitious young blonde in a low-cut dress had attached herself to Hawke's arm, batting her eyelashes at the Champion and pursing her full red lips as if daring Hawke to kiss them. A young man with his back turned to the pirate gesticulated wildly, showing off his broad back and shoulders. The remainder crowded around her and pushed and prodded her in the general direction of their lair near the hearth. Hawke's eyes pleaded with her silently, and the Ferelden woman silently mouthed, "HELP ME". Isabela sighed and stood.
She thought that she had heard voices nearby... perhaps it was Varric, or possibly Fenris, but she paid them no heed. "The pot is mine. Use it to buy another round. I'll be right back," she said quickly as she laid her cards on the table and moved toward the crowd. When she was about halfway to Hawke, she saw the extent of the situation that had occurred. The gaggle of lordlings had cornered Hawke and corralled her at their area near the fireplace. The blonde had pulled Hawke to an empty seat, and the rest had surrounded the nervous-looking Champion on all sides.
"Balls," she cursed.
She approached the throng of adolescent nobles, but was unable to penetrate the crowd. They had formed a protective ring around the Champion, and were assaulting her on all sides with questions of her adventures and offering invitations to parties and events. A smoky-eyed brunette appeared to have taken up a position opposite the blonde at Hawke's side, and was doing her best to keep Hawke's right arm firmly wedged between her breasts. Isabela could barely make out what she was saying... an invitation to Baroness Jelara's dinner party that Hawke absolutely must attend. The way the little tart kept rubbing herself against Hawke's arm and asking whether Hawke liked the stitchwork on the bodice set Isabela's teeth to grinding.
The pirate considered forcing her way in, when a chubby-faced young man turned and noticed her. The fellow was hardly more than a boy; he was apparently trying to grow out his first beard. His eyes were like small beads sunken in his large, round face. All in all, he looked rather piggish. When he saw her, his eyes lit up. He shouted "A fresh goblet of your finest wine!"
She blinked. The drink orders came rushing in.
"A flagon of your best wine!"
"A tumbler of your best brandy!"
"A mixed drink, with fruit!"
"Two tankards of your finest ale!"
"Your best whiskey, and keep it coming!"
The nobles quickly pressed coin into her hands, filling them with silver coin, then one large man unceremoniously pushed her out of the crowd, punctuating the shove with "Get going, we're thirsty!"
She could have snapped his arm in three places, had she desired to. But the thought of moments of fun were followed by thoughts of days of avoiding Aveline and her guardsmen yet again for such tiny, trifling matters. (It wasn't her fault that the baronet had broken his leg in four places after he groped her. She was merely headed to Hawke's mansion for her evening entertainments; was it her fault that he accidentally tripped over his own feet and fell down the stairwell to Lowtown?) She debated for a few moments before she looked up and saw Norah struggling with a large tray laden with tankards. An inspiration struck her.
She pushed and shoved her way through the patrons until she reached the bar. With a twinkle in her eye, she said "Corff, I need a platter, four tankards of ale, three goblets of wine, two cups of brandy, and a shot of your finest whiskey."
Corff raised his eyebrow at her order, but grudgingly prepared them when she laid silver on the counter. She grinned as she hefted the heavy serving tray onto one shoulder, and winked as she passed her friends who were still playing cards. All three of them were looking on in interest. Fenris looked as if he was trying to figure out what she was doing, trying to analyze her attack strategy. Merrill looked confused, no doubt wondering why Isabela was suddenly serving drinks instead of playing cards or fetching Hawke. Varric simply raised an eyebrow with a smile; he knew that whatever Isabela was up to would be entertaining at the very least. Or perhaps he was just preparing in case a brawl broke out, having learned long ago that both were equally likely with the pirate.
"Drinks are here!" she announced, as she used the tray to push her way into the crowd. The nobles parted before the power of the tray, but they looked on in confusion as she began unceremoniously shoving drinks into each person's hand. Each looked down, and a few sputtered that the drink order was wrong, but she paid them no heed as she pushed past them. Her eyes were on the Champion and the Champion alone. She pressed a goblet of wine into the brunette's grasp, then a cup of brandy into the blonde's, and shoved the two noblewomen aside. She finally stood before Hawke, holding the remaining shot of whiskey aloft. Hawke managed to free her arms from the pair of disappointed-looking girls, and started to rise from her seat.
"And for the Champion, the house special," the pirate declared, placing a forefinger between Hawke's eyes and gently pushing the stunned Ferelden woman back down.
"Isabela, what are you doing?" whispered Hawke frantically.
"Rescuing what's mine, sweet thing," the pirate replied with a grin. She straddled Hawke's lap and lifted the shot of whiskey to her lips. Tilting it back until it was clearly empty, she tossed it into the fire and kissed Hawke with the speed and ferocity of a wild animal. As she kissed, the canny pirate brought her hands up, resting one comfortably on the Champion's chest, and the other encircled her victim's neck. Hawke froze for a moment before finally relaxing and returning the kiss with equal ardor. The Champion rested her hands comfortably on the pirate's hips, and their tongues danced back and forth in a slow rhythm.
The crowd of nobles fell dead silent. The brunette tried to restart the conversation, but her words died on her tongue after realizing that the Champion's attention was firmly focused elsewhere. One of the young men coughed, but Isabela paid it no heed. She had her lover firmly where she wanted her, and wasn't about to let go. The seconds passed, and the youths grew more and more embarrassed as the women in their midst completely ignored them. Finally, the pirate broke the kiss and leaned back with a sigh and a contented smile on her face. Hawke's face was flushed as she gasped for breath.
"This is your brilliant rescue?" whispered Hawke when she could.
"Oh Hawke, you have yet to realize just how much you owe me for this," Isabela smirked mischievously. "And I intend to collect, sweet thing. Right now," she added, grinding herself against the Champion for emphasis. Hawke's face went scarlet.
The pirate rose from her seat in the Champion's lap, and grabbed one of Hawke's hands. She tugged it lightly, pulling the Ferelden to her feet.
"The Champion gives her apologies, but her bar tab has been closed, and now it is time for her to settle her debts," announced the pirate, as she pulled Hawke toward her room. "She thanks you for your time, and hopes to see you all again soon." Isabela pressed by the stunned onlookers with Hawke in tow, and the two of them disappeared up the steps.
The young nobles looked at each other, dumbfounded for a few moments, before the fat, young man finally broke the silence. He raised his hand and said "I'll have whatever the Champion had."
Merrill looked at the bottom of the goblet sadly. It had tasted quite delicious, and she loved the sweetness, but it had ended all too soon. She returned her view to the remaining three, and picked up the small, clear glass with the two-layered drink inside. She sniffed at it carefully. It was some sort of creamy liqueur on top, and beneath was something else. The scent of the cream overpowered the other aromas, but her keen elven nose could detect the smell of cherry as well. She lifted the glass and tilted her head back. Her eyes widened in surprise as she felt the cherry touch her tongue, but she swallowed the entire shot in a single gulp, while chewing on the cherry.
SHOT #3: SLIPPERY NIPPLE
"I've placed a shot in a dragon's eye at fifty paces," smirked Sebastian, as the group walked along the path at the Wounded Coast.
"Oh I'm sure you've hit a dragon or two in your time, Choir Boy, but Bianca's consistent. She'll shoot right through three rings three times at a forty paces before you can say 'Champion of Kirkwall', " bragged his hearty dwarf companion.
"I cannae believe that, what with how much extra heft ye be carryin', my friend. What's Bianca's effective range?" asked the young prince.
"She's good within a hand's breadth at sixty. Two hands breadths at eighty," laughed Varric, rubbing is crossbow's handle.
"Aye, with me family weapon, I can put three within a hand's breadth at fifty five. Two hands breadths at about seventy," admitted Sebastian. "But I can shoot the nose off an eagle within the kill range," he added, smiling.
As the two continued to boast and compare archery skills, the Champion of Kirkwall sighed. She glanced back at the unlikely pair as they began a debate about the right type of material for bowstrings before moving on past them. Hawke took a deep breath as the archer conversation became heated; Varric started making sweeping gestures with his short, stubby arms, while Sebastian had drawn his bow and pointed at it repeatedly.
"Can we please keep moving? I'm sure you two have a lot to discuss, but the group of apostates we're tracking is probably getting further away," sighed Hawke. The two men quieted down, and Sebastian even had the presence of mind to look a bit embarrassed. The trio began walking again, and moved in silence before Hawke spotted Isabela in the distance. Hawke quickened her pace to meet with the buxom pirate, while Varric took advantage of the distraction to begin the argument with Sebastian anew.
"They're up ahead, and not far. It seems they had a disagreement, though I couldn't tell you what about," the pirate said. "The squabble appears to have had a few fatalities. I expect it's what happens when people start using blood magic," she added. Hawke sighed as she heard the argument behind her growing in volume.
"What's with the two of them?" Isabela asked, a small grin forming on her face.
"Those two have been arguing and talking about archery since you left," sighed Hawke.
"Oh, is my poor little Champion tired of playing nanny to the toddler and the boy?" cooed the pirate, as she patted Hawke's shoulder affectionately. "Don't worry, Isabela will kiss it and make it all better," she smiled.
As the women began walking, Hawke hooked her arm in Isabela's and rested her head on the Rivaini's shoulder for a moment. Behind them, the argument grew softer as the distance between them increased. The archers' pace had slowed again, and Hawke sighed.
"Archery this, and archery that. What's so bloody good about archery, anyway?" complained Hawke. Her companion laughed her musical laugh, and placed a hand on Hawke's arm.
"Archery, sweet thing, is about two things. Placing your shot where you want it, and placing it there as hard as you can," laughed Isabela. "The further back you can pull your bow, the harder you place the shot. The quality of your arrow, the gauging of your eye, and the steadiness of your hand determine where it is placed," she continued.
"You seem awfully well versed in archery," grumped Hawke. She stopped walking for a moment, and Isabela paused to look at her. "Why haven't I ever seen you use a bow?" asked the Champion.
The canny pirate laughed again. She looked at Hawke with a half-lidded gaze, and spoke with a voice that turned the Champion's knees to jelly. "You wish to see me bend a long, hard shaft to my will? Stroke it delicately, and make it sing? Release it all over my enemies?"
Hawke's cheeks colored. Isabela's grin widened, as she blithely went on. "Oh, you did, didn't you? Sorry to disappoint you, sweet thing. I have no such plans," she laughed. The buxom buccaneer leaned in and whispered, "I have my sights set on other targets. I prefer to be up close to my victims. Intimately close, even," she breathed. Isabela slowly lifted Hawke's chin with her free hand, and drew the Champion's face toward her...
"... and THAT'S why ye use the tail feathers from a duck, and not a raptor," declared Sebastian, as the two approached from the east. "It'll keep the shaft steady, even in bad weather."
Isabela sighed, and gave Hawke a quick peck on the lips. "And there's less chance of someone getting in the way and ruining your shot," she said with a wink, before tugging on Hawke's arm and pulling her forward again.
"If you boys are finished comparing your shafts, we're approaching the apostates," cautioned the pirate with a smirk. Both Varric and Sebastian managed to flush at her reprimand.
The companions quietly moved forward, taking their positions on a small ridge above the slavers' encampment. The air was eerily quiet; the only sound was the gentle lapping of the waves in the distance, and the rustle of a light breeze through the foliage. There were no sounds of wildlife, from a scurrying lizard to a singing bird. The encampment was a single fire pit and a large, makeshift tent hastily slung over a rope between two nearby trees. Two bloody corpses lay near the smoldering remnants of the campfire, one of them torn apart as if by a wild animal. Sebastian pulled his bow from his shoulder and nocked an arrow. He tapped the dwarf on the shoulder and pointed.
A ragged-looking bald man in a long Circle robe emerged from the tent. The man stumbled and fell to his knees, clutching at his head. After a moment, he lowered his hands and stared at them in horror. The man's face, chest and hands were covered in blood, and he clawed at his own eyes as if trying to scrape away some sort of horrible vision before him. Varric unslung Bianca from his back and loaded a bolt. The tent stirred a second time, as a hooded figure easily the size of a Qunari stepped out. The bald man recoiled at the sight of the hooded figure and tried to back away, but tripped over his own feet and landed heavily on his rear. He tried to scramble away, but the look of sheer terror in his face held him fast. As the hooded figure approached, the bald man began to scream. His eyes rolled up into his head, and his body began thrashing, convulsing under unseen pressures. The man's jaw unhinged, then distended, as his flesh writhed seemingly independent of his bones. His arms and legs elongated, as his head and neck twisted around. In a moment the transformation was complete, and a low-slung, fleshy looking horror was all that remained of the bald, gibbering man.
Sebastian muttered a quick prayer to the Maker as the abomination sniffed at the air and began to crawl on all fours like some sort of twisted reflection of a rabid animal. The hooded figure stepped forward, and the abomination growled and gave a gruff, quick grunt. The crawling creature lifted its head and tested the wind. It turned to angle one eye directly at their vantage point, and launched itself in a bizarre slithering motion toward their hiding spot. The hooded figure rushed forward, and its hands slipped out from beneath the folds of its cloak. They were not any sort of hands the companions had seen before, all curved, cruel and misshapen claws. The giant lumbered forward with surprising speed. Varric began swearing under his breath and released his first bolt, striking the cloaked creature in the shoulder. Sebastian fired from his bow, but the skittering horror was difficult to predict and the shot went wide.
Varric took a second shot, and Bianca's aim was true. He managed to hit the lumbering giant in the head, but the bolt simply shattered when it collided with the creature. He continued to fire, trying to slow its inexorable advance. He managed to slow it with a well-placed shot to the right thigh, but despite staining the monstrosity's cloak with blood, it would not stop coming.
The skittering horror whipped its body back and forth, and leaped over the ball of flame that Hawke hurled at it with agility that belied its size. Sebastian had anticipated its movement, and it could not change course midair. The prince's arrow struck the creature in the chest, and it howled in pain as it landed. It took another shaft as it closed the last of the distance. Hawke desperately raised her hands as a wave of ice shards erupted from the sandy ground in an effort to slow the low-slung monster's advance, but the abomination simply lowered its head and charged through the ice, shattering it into a myriad of tiny shards. Isabela attempted to intercept it, but it snaked around her and barreled into Sebastian, grabbing hold of his breastplate with both clawed hands. Isabela sprung at the creature and buried both blades to their hilts into its back. It shrieked and launched itself forward, dragging the stunned prince along the ground and hauling the pirate with it for good measure. Isabela desperately held on to her dagger handles as the monster crashed through the underbrush, smashing Sebastian against any debris and rocks it could find. She managed to yank one of her daggers free from where it was buried in the creature's back, and stabbed higher. Its shriek of pain turned to a gurgle as the blade bit home, but it continued to thrash about like a frenzied animal, flailing its claws in hopes of making the pain stop. The pirate managed to free her second dagger, and leaped forward, burying it to the hilt at the base of the abomination's skull. It thrashed one final time, before finally going still.
"You'd better have something big in store, Hawke. Any more of this, and all I'll be able to do is bullshit him!" yelled Varric, hurling a smoke flask on the ground to provide cover. Hawke spun and hurled a ball of flame at the advancing brute, and it struck the creature full in the chest. The behemoth staggered back as its cloak burned away, revealing the true giant underneath. It was even bigger than it had seemed; it was a veritable mountain of walking muscle and metal. Iron plates were fused to its shoulders, belly and forehead, while its one visible eye glared balefully from deep beneath its low sloping brow and makeshift helmet. The brute lacked a lower jaw, but cruel sharpened fangs protruded from its upper jaw nonetheless. Hawke concentrated and pointed her staff, arcing lightning through the air and striking the massive fiend in the chest. The smell of ozone permeated the camp, as the monstrosity's flesh bubbled and blistered from the onslaught. The behemoth's exposed chest rose and fell as it gasped for breath, and Hawke's eyes were drawn to one rapidly convulsing section on its left breast.
"Varric, the heart! Aim for the heart!" she cried, as she gathered her will for another spell. The giant roared in pain as Hawke froze the air in its lungs, and it flailed its massive arms about it, trying to grab at its distant foes. With a sickening, wet sound, long sinuous tentacles burst from its distended hands. The abomination extended them with blinding speed at both of its nearby enemies. Hawke threw herself to one side to avoid them, but one of the tentacles managed to wrap itself around her leg, and yanked her off her feet. Another managed to snake around Varric's arm, and it smashed him against a tree, where he crumpled and lay still. Sensing Hawke's magic, it roared in triumph as it raised its arms and pulled its victim toward it.
Isabela quickly checked on the unconscious Sebastian after pulling him from beneath the still-twitching corpse of the dead abomination. His pulse was strong, but one of his arms was clearly broken after he had been dragged nearly fifty paces through the rock and underbrush. The bone had not managed to break through the skin, but would need serious attention soon. She spun as she heard a roar of triumph from behind her, and saw the monstrosity pulling Hawke toward her with a hungry look on its misshapen face. A single glance was enough to know the distance was too great. She didn't have enough time to sprint, and her thrown dagger didn't have the range she needed. She looked about desperately for an answer. Her eyes locked on to Sebastian's recurve bow, and she reached for it.
"Balls," she cursed, as she nocked an arrow and drew the massive weapon. She took a deep breath, steeled herself, then let the broad-headed arrow loose.
Hawke was choking. She kicked and thrashed as best she could, but the tentacles held her firmly as the creature pulled her in. Worse yet, the tentacles constricted each time she tried to mentally gather the mana for a spell to escape, forcing the air out of her lungs and nearly cracking her bones in the process. The pain was excruciating, but she fought every step of the way. She managed to surreptitiously gather sufficient mana to freeze the tentacles binding her before scrambling to freedom, but her arms and legs were screaming in pain and unresponsive. She fell to the ground in a heap, and could only look up at the abomination looming over her. She tried to gather her mana for one last spell, when she heard it.
It sounded like a light whistle, followed by the sound of something solid hitting flesh. One of Sebastian's arrows was buried in the creature's heart. The monster had frozen in place, as if it were in shock that someone had dared attack it, while a steady stream of blood gushed from the new hole in its chest. A moment later, a second arrow, a scant finger's breadth from the first, also slammed into the creature's heart. The pulsating flesh burst like a wet bladder, spraying the ground with black blood, and the creature fell backward to the ground with a loud crash. Hawke staggered to her feet, and looked back.
Isabela stood with Sebastian's family bow in hand and another arrow nocked, making sure that the creature would not be rising again. After a moment, the bow dropped from her nerveless fingers and she doubled over, clutching at her right breast and cursing at the top of her lungs.
"Shit! Shit! SHIT!" Isabela swore. Hawke checked to make sure Varric was still breathing, before hobbling over to the buxom pirate as quickly as she could.
"Agh, that stings! Shit!" the pirate continued to swear, gently massaging her right breast.
"This is why you don't use a bow?" asked Hawke incredulously, as she put her arms around the buxom pirate to help steady her and inspected her for injuries.
"Blasted things always snap me right in the tender parts," complained Isabela. She looked at Hawke seriously. "If you tell anyone, I swear all of Kirkwall will know how much you love it when I-" she began angrily, before Hawke silenced her with a gentle kiss.
"I won't tell anyone," smiled Hawke, after the kiss broke.
"You'd better not," grumped the pirate while putting her arms around Hawke. They sat with each other in the sand, just enjoying the quiet moment. Varric and Sebastian had already begun to stir, when Isabela leaned against Hawke and rest her head on the Champion's shoulder.
As Hawke began looking in her bag for injury kits, she murmured "Don't worry, Isabela. When we get home, I'll make sure to kiss it and make it all better."
The smile didn't leave Isabela's face for the entire trip back.
Merrill took a deep breath as she set the shot glass down on the table. She felt a gentle pressure behind her eyes, and the room felt like it was swimming a bit. It was not an unpleasant feeling, however, so she looked at the two remaining cups. They were both tall glasses, one a gentle pink color, and the other a deep orange. She sniffed at one, then the other, and gave a small hiccup.
"Oh dear, I hope I'm not intoxicated," she said to herself. Her cheeks felt warm.
" How can it be colored like this with no fruit? I hope it's not blood," she wondered aloud, and hiccupped again. She frowned.
"This won't do at all," she said, and reached for the lighter-looking drink. It smelled faintly of eggs and cream, but her keen nose couldn't detect any fruit scents.
" I wonder how Hawke and Isabela are getting along?" she said before tilting the glass up.
SHOT #4: PINK LADY
"I swear that's why I wore it!" laughed Isabela as she draped her arms around Hawke's neck. Her face was flushed with alcohol, and her step faltered as they reached the door.
"You do realize that Lady Janice could tell what you were doing, don't you? Jenner couldn't, the poor fool, but Lady Janice looked like her eyebrows would fall off if she raised them any higher," giggled the Champion, placing a steadying hand on the small of the buxom buccaneer's back.
"Oh, is he the one she's trying to press you to marry? The one who was searching for buried treasure all night in his left nostril?" asked Isabela, squeezing Hawke a bit with her arms.
"Don't remind me. I was hoping that Lady Janice would see us together and get the hint, but I honestly don't think she cares," sighed Hawke.
"Why do you keep going to these things? They're so frightfully boring; I had to invent my own amusements to keep from falling asleep in the soup," said Isabela as she leaned into the Champion's neck.
Hawke stiffened a bit. "I could tell. You were jingling on the way home," she said.
"It was hilarious, though. I don't think the Comptesse knew what to do when presented a bowl of soup without a soup soon," murmured Isabela.
"She looked like she couldn't believe such a thing could exist. A soup bowl, with no soup spoon? How could such a thing be possible?" mused Hawke.
"You like these parties, don't you?" accused the pirate. The idea of a married Hawke did not sit right with her. She frowned. "That's why you keep going to these things."
The Champion looked away, her cheeks coloring slightly. "We were attacked by dwarves yesterday. They may have been part of the Carta," Hawke said, changing the subject. "They ambushed me outside of the Merchant's Guild after dusk."
"Carta? Why would they be after you? Did they say who hired them?" Isabela wondered.
"They just kept mentioning my blood," said Hawke. She shrugged. "I wasn't in a generous mood, so I didn't give them any."
"So, are you going to continue to evade my question?" Isabela asked peevishly. Hawke pressed her against the door to the great bedroom.
"I've learned from the best," nodded Hawke, as she kissed the pirate tenderly. Isabela fumbled at the door behind her for the latch, and she stepped backward into the large room when it finally gave way.
"So what is it you want, then?" breathed Isabela between kisses. Hawke continued to press her body against the pirate's, forcing Isabela back toward the bed.
"I want to hear you calling my name tonight," said Hawke in a low voice while shrugging her fine tunic off. Isabela quickly unlaced her corset and pulled it over her head.
"I'll warn you, I've no head for names," laughed Isabela as she pulled her own tunic open. It fell to the floor as Hawke placed two fingertips on the pirate's solar plexus and gently pushed until Isabela lay back on the massive bed.
"You'll get plenty of both before we're through tonight," promised the Champion, crawling toward her lover on the mattress.
"Ooh. Shivery," welcomed Isabela. She leaned back against a large cushion, her eyes dancing with anticipation.
Hawke trailed kisses down Isabela's bare body. Starting at the pirate's left ear, then moving lower, the Champion's warm lips lips left a delicious trail of heat on Isabela's skin. When the Fereldan finally reached the small golden ring in Isabela's left nipple, she grinned and teased it with her tongue, rubbing their two rings together. Isabela gave a small moan of delight, before Hawke withdrew slightly. The pirate looked down with confusion and disappointment in her eyes. Hawke smirked that horrible, impish smirk she always had right before doing something audacious. Isabela traced her hands down Hawke's bare shoulders and smiled at her. Then Hawke pursed her lips and blew gently on the nipple.
Isabela gasped as the wetness on her breast suddenly went from warm to chill. Tiny goosebumps appeared on her skin, and she arched her back involuntarily at the sensation. Isabela's hands gripped the Champion's shoulders hard, as Hawke looked up with a self-satisfied little smirk for a moment before she resumed her work. Hawke began using her tongue as she kissed her way down Isabela's belly, and Isabela tensed each time the warm, wet flesh was pressed to her skin. The pirate's reactions were not lost on the Fereldan, as Hawke began varying her touches to prolong the tension and heighten Isabela's excitement. Isabela gave a small whimper when Hawke finally reached her belly button, and leaned back on the bed, supporting herself with both hands behind and raising both knees.
As Isabela gave a gentle sigh of pleasure, she noticed something out of the corner of her eye. It was a flicker of movement just outside the door which the two had forgotten to close in their haste. The lamps in the hallway were still lit, and the movement looked like shadows on the far wall. The pirate sat up a bit, just before another wave of pleasure shot through her like wildfire. Hawke had touched a rather sensitive spot, and had begun her usual method of attack, teasing the pirate relentlessly. Isabela felt the heat and desire burning in her belly, and she bit her lower lip to keep from crying out. She felt a soft vibration as Hawke giggled from her vantage point, and squirmed on the bed just a little. As Hawke touched tongue to skin again, another motion caught Isabela's distracted eye.
It was another flicker from outside the doorway, a flitting shadow momentarily blocking the dim light from the lamp in the hall. Fearing the worst, Isabela raised a hand to her necklace and withdrew the thin, curved blade she kept there for emergencies. Hawke was making small circular motions, and it felt like the tingling sensations from her core were radiating out in waves, bringing her higher and closer each time. Hawke pursed her lips and gave the pirate's inner thigh a kiss at just the right spot, and Isabela couldn't bite back her moan in time.
As she cried out, a short, squat man entered the room on silent feet. He was clearly trained in stealth; Isabela couldn't hear him at all over the sound of Hawke's gentle giggles and her own ragged breathing and racing heartbeat. But she saw him and the gleaming blade he held in his hand, as he attempted to close the distance. Two other shadows blocked the lamplight from the doorway, and Isabela struggled to keep her cool while still trying to enjoy every moment of the pleasurable stimulation. The dwarf's beady little eyes lit up as he saw the naked pirate and unsuspecting lover. His craggy, weathered face broke into a sinister grin that split his ragged, black beard. He lifted his dagger and took a step forward, before the knife fell to the thick carpet from nerveless fingers. His hands clutched and clawed at the blade suddenly protruding out of his right eye where Isabela had thrown it, but his life ebbed before he could grasp it. The body crumpled silently onto the carpet, twitching and bleeding.
The second dwarf entered the room with knives drawn, quickly followed by the third. Isabela reached for her discarded headscarf, but Hawke chose that moment to nip a very sensitive part of the pirate's anatomy. The already delicious sensations suddenly surged into a crashing wave, starting at her center and flooding every inch of her body. She couldn't help herself; she threw her head back with a shriek of pleasure, barely avoiding the dagger thrown by one of the dwarves at the dusky rogue's neck. The knife clattered to the ground, eliciting a curious noise from Hawke. The Champion began to rise, but Isabela quickly pressed one hand into her lover's hair while making cooing noises. She reached with trembling fingers into her headscarf for the hidden hair clip she usually wore, while Hawke, satisfied with the gentle pressure, giggled and continued her intimate assault. While running her fingers through Hawke's hair with her left hand, she quickly pressed the catch on the clip with her right thumb, revealing the wide, shallow blade hidden in the base and loosening the needle-like spines usually reserved for holding her hair in place.
Isabela flicked her wrist, whipping the spines at one of the assassins, and was about to hurl the broad blade at the other when Hawke did something unexpected. The Fereldan woman placed both hands under the dusky pirate's hips, and lifted upward, pushing Isabela onto her back and lifting her hips completely off the bed. The change in angle and the sudden rush of blood to her head caused the buxom Rivaini to see splashes of color in front of her eyes, each burst punctuated by a pleasure tremor from Hawke's onslaught. The effects shook the winsome swashbuckler like a storm, and she lost her grip on the blade completely in a momentary muscle spasm. It fell soundlessly to the bed, and she quickly groped for it when she had slightly recovered. Her fingers closed around its handle, and she hurled the blade at the other assassin, before grabbing a fistful of sheets and biting her lip again as Hawke's probing continued.
The left dwarf's eyes widened as the needles pierced his skin. He began to raise his hand to pull them out, but before he could lift it past his belt, his knees gave way and he fell to the ground. White foam began to bubble and froth at his mouth, as his nose began to bleed. He twitched several times and was still. The assassin on the right simply gurgled as his bloody hands clawed at the blade buried in his throat. The blood gushed forth in an unstoppable flow, and the doomed dwarf fell to the ground.
Isabela paid the dying killers no heed, focusing entirely on the sensations flooding her body. Hawke was touching her faster, in just the right spots, and the pleasure had built to a crescendo. Isabela couldn't tell whether she was moaning, calling out Hawke's name, or just imagining it; the feelings assaulted her awareness, as her most sensitive skin felt the contrast between the softness of Hawke's tongue and fingertips the small, hard nub of the Champion's metal tongue stud. Her left hand clutched Hawke's hair, while her right threatened to tear the silken sheets she had bunched in her grip. Isabela's muscles were tensed almost painfully as she tried to ride the building sensation as long as she could. Hawke giggled a bit and reached up with her hand, gently brushing the pirate's taut belly, softly stroking Isabela's side, and finally resting on the buxom swashbuckler's left breast. The Champion gently stroked and massaged the marvelous flesh, eliciting more whimpers from her lover, until Hawke finally pushed the quivering woman over the edge by slowly tweaking the nipple ring in a circular motion. The internal dam broke, and the flood of pleasure crashed through any last shreds of resistance that Isabela had been clinging to. She came in wave after wave of pleasurable spasms, the tingling sensations radiating from her core out to the tips of her fingers and toes as she fell back bonelessly onto the stack of cushions.
As she gasped for breath, Isabela realized her voice felt hoarse from the screaming. Her arms and legs felt like they were made of jelly, and her head was still reeling from the strength of her orgasm. She relaxed against the cushions, with a contented smile on her face.
Hawke crawled up the bed and gave the pirate a gentle kiss, before snuggling up to her side. She draped a gentle arm across her buxom lover's shoulders and settled in, before smelling the coppery smell of fresh blood. The self-satisfied smile on the Champion's beautiful face was instantly replaced by a concerned look, as she sat up and quickly scanned the room for hidden assailants. Finding none, she returned to sit next to the pirate who still hadn't moved. She settled down next to her lover, and pursed her lips.
"Isabela..." Hawke began, looking a bit peevish. "Why are there dead Carta dwarves in my bedroom, and why wasn't I aware of it?"
"Oh, were these the dwarves you were talking about earlier?" laughed Isabela. The dusky woman took Hawke's hand in hers and gave the fingers a gentle kiss. "I was going to tell you sooner, but you were doing such a good job that I didn't want to interrupt your concentration," she mused.
"Our lives were in danger, and you didn't think to let me know?" Hawke asked, her crooked grin belying her serious tone.
"I just didn't want you to stop. That last trick was amazing," she laughed.
Hawke pouted, thrusting out her lower lip. It was adorable. Isabela couldn't help herself; she wrapped one arm around the petulant Champion's shoulders and gave her a gentle kiss.
"You of all people should know that nothing comes between a pirate and her booty," Isabela grinned.
Merrill hiccupped again. She could tell her cheeks were red; they felt flushed when she touched them with her fingers. Her head was pleasantly spinning, and she giggled.
"Jusht one more," she said. "Then Ishabela and Hawke are gonna come back and we'll have sho much fun..."
She looked at the last glass, and then at the four empty cups before her. She lifted it, and sniffed at the heady fruit flavor. It didn't smell like fresh fruit; it was an almost candied aroma. She lifted the glass and swirled its contents a few times, then took a swallow.
SHOT #5: SEX ON THE BEACH
Isabela was apprehensive. Ever since they'd managed to escape from the depths of the tomb with the thousand-year-old darkspawn a week before, Hawke had been too... accommodating. The joking wasn't quite there, as if the Champion was being extra careful. The snacks weren't as delicious. And the sex... while it was still better than anything she'd had with anyone else in years, it wasn't as toe-curling, mind-blowing, nearly-pass-out good as it used to be. Hawke had completely avoided any rougher play, and had been exceedingly careful. Isabela wasn't about to complain about the sort of gentle sex that made her feel warm, comfortable and loved from head to toe that she had been getting, but some nights she just wanted it wild, passionate and rough. A week ago, the Fereldan had been a more than enthusiastic partner in that regard. The change in her lover's behavior made the pirate nervous. It felt like a storm was brewing just over the horizon, and it set the pirate's teeth on edge.
When Hawke had appeared at the Hanged Man tonight with a welcome smile, Isabela's heart leaped to her throat, and she hurriedly agreed to Hawke's request without really listening to what it was. The nervousness hung over her like a storm cloud that threatened to burst at any moment. The two walked and joked and flirted like usual, and under any other circumstances the pirate would have taken the initiative to steal kisses and naughty touches, but tonight she was as demure as any Chantry sister. Her surprise only grew when they had reached the docks, and the Champion pulled her aside, untied the red sash of victory that the swashbuckler wore on her arm, and used it to blindfold the confused pirate.
Isabela was no stranger to being blindfolded before, but there was always the thrill of the unknown that heightened the sensations she felt while robbed of her sense of sight. She could tell that they were moving southwest, and she knew that they were near her ship, but each time Hawke pressed that warm hand of hers to the dusky Rivaini's back, the sudden warmth and pressure elicited a small, pleasurable sensation along Isabela's spine. Hawke didn't touch the same place either. Each time she changed direction, it was always different. The buccaneer stepped carefully to avoid stumbling, and attempted to guess where Hawke was leading her. She felt the stone beneath her feet turn to old wooden planking, and she guessed they had walked about a hundred paces before stopping. The night was quiet; the only sounds besides their own soft breathing were from the surf and the sea.
"Sit," Hawke ordered. The blindfolded woman complied, sitting back and finding a hard, wooden surface behind her. She sat for a moment, enjoying the midnight breeze, before jumping in surprise as she felt gentle fingers on her thigh. Hawke worked the buckles and straps on her left boot, then lifted her ankle and slid the boot and sock off. Isabela lowered her bare foot, and felt the ridges of the old wood under her toes. Hawke slowly removed the Rivaini's other boot, gently squeezing and caressing the calf as she did so. The pirate heard Hawke walk off a bit and place her boots off to her left.
"Hawke, are you going to tell me what's going on?" asked Isabela. She heard a small giggle, and something soft was pressed to her lips. A fingertip. Isabela smiled internally and sucked on it a little bit. The Champion almost immediately withdrew it, but Isabela could almost see the blush she knew was growing on Hawke's cheeks. She laughed.
"Stand up," commanded Hawke. The pirate did so, and Hawke took her by the arm and walked her a few more steps on the dry wood, before stopping. The cool night air felt wonderful on her bare legs, and she leaned her head back to catch some of the breeze on her chin and neck. A soft hand touched the side of her face, and she turned to press her cheek into the palm of the hand. Gentle softness touched her lips; even blindfolded, the canny Rivaini recognized the distinct feeling of Hawke's lips immediately. They kissed for moments, pressing their warm bodies against each other. Isabela's apprehension briefly melted away, before the gentle hand that had been on her shoulder slid down a bit just over her heart.
Then it pushed.
Isabela's eyes widened in surprise behind her blindfold as she lost her balance. The feeling of panic mixed with her apprehension, and for a moment she was completely lost in the fear. She fell backward, terror clutching at her insides. In that brief instant she felt the sharp, painful stab of genuine loneliness, a feeling she had not felt in years. It came rushing back unbidden, and felt even more painful in contrast to the feelings of warmth in her heart that she had been getting used to. Something inside her snapped. She refused to believe it, and fought tooth and nail inside her being to crush the feelings into a tiny ball and throw them away. She rejected the loneliness, and in that moment decided to place her trust in Hawke. She closed her eyes, relaxed and let gravity do its work. Then her eyes widened again in her second surprise of the night.
Rather than cushions, or a mattress, she fell into cool liquid. The water was surprisingly warm for that time of night. As she fell into it, the first sensation was comfortable wetness, and not the usual icy chill she expected from the sea. A quick lick of her lips told her it was salty, and she could tell by the scent of clean air that they were on the outskirts of the docks, probably on old Regan's pier. It was a popular dock for small fishing boats, the kind an oarsman or two would take on a day trip for snapper or sea bream. The water enveloped her, cooling her down and shocking her out of her introspection. She yanked off the blindfold and frantically looked around for the woman that had pushed her in. Hawke stood grinning on the pier, her bright eyes twinkling with mirth, and her smile was dazzling in the moonlight. She shrugged off the fine silk tunic she had been wearing and tossed it into the small pile of clothing in the wooden boat moored to the pier. Wearing only her underclothes, the statuesque woman dove gracefully into the water next to Isabela.
Isabela retied the red sash about her arm while waiting for her lover to resurface. When the Champion finally appeared, the pirate grinned. "Why the elaborate ruse, Hawke? If you wanted to have sex on the docks, all you had to do was ask."
"It's not about the sex," smiled Hawke, swimming nearer to the pirate. She splashed a bit of the cool water at the buccaneer. Isabela raised a lovely eyebrow.
"Alright, it's not just about the sex," amended Hawke. "I have my reasons for bringing you out here tonight," she added, pointing toward the beach. In the distance, a small fire danced and twinkled invitingly.
"A plan indeed. And here I was thinking we would just rut in the water," nodded Isabela.
"And I'll even give you something special when we get there. On one condition," teased the Champion as she eased herself nearer to the pirate.
"What might that be?" asked the swimming swashbuckler.
"You have to catch me, first," giggled Hawke, as she pressed both hands down on Isabela's shoulders, dunking the dusky woman under the surface, before starting her swim toward the shore.
Isabela broke the surface and shook the water from her face. "Oh, you'll pay for that!" she laughed, kicking her feet and propelling herself through the water after Hawke. The Fereldan was definitely a healthy woman in many aspects (as Isabela's carvings had depicted), and she was a strong swimmer. But she was laughing in the water, and the pirate had lived for years on the sea. In minutes, Isabela had not only caught up to the Champion but had begun toying with her. First, she swam alongside and splashed at the Fereldan, causing Hawke to shriek and giggle like a schoolgirl. Then she swam beneath the her lover, tantalizing her with light touches along her belly, or stealing squeezes of those gorgeous round breasts of hers that strained against the soaked undergarments. Finally, as they reached the shallows, Isabela pounced, tackling her target in the water and wrapping both arms around her, clutching at her and feeling the smooth softness of her skin. Hawke paused for a moment to enjoy the sensation, before Isabela grinned wickedly and struck. Her hands moved so fast they were a blur, as she unhooked Hawke's top with practiced ease, and took off at a run through the surf with the undergarment streaming from her hand like a victory flag, laughing all the way.
"Isabela, get back here!" shouted Hawke as her face went scarlet and she frantically gave chase while trying to cover herself with one arm.
"Come and get me," teased the pirate as she turned and dangled the brassiere like bait. The canny swashbuckler dashed backward each time the Champion made a grab for the soaking garment, as the two giggled merrily at the other's antics. Finally, sides in stitches from the laughter, Isabela relented and let Hawke snatch it from her. Hawke quickly put it on and shivered when the cool breeze touched her wet skin. Isabela put one arm around the grateful Champion's shoulders, and they huddled against each other for warmth as they walked on the wet sand in the moonlight toward the cheery fire.
A heavy woolen blanket had been laid out next to the crackling fire, and a large wicker basket housed several large towels and a bottle of spiced wine. The pirate stripped off her wet clothes and draped a heavy towel around her shoulders before sitting down next to Hawke by the fire. The pirate smiled and extended the large towel, wrapping it around both of their shoulders. Hawke leaned her head against Isabela's shoulder and snuggled closer for warmth. Isabela yanked the cork out of the wine bottle with her teeth and spat it off to the side. She tilted back the bottle and took a long draught before passing it to Hawke. The liquid warmed her insides quickly, and the smile on her face grew. The fire crackled and popped cheerily, radiating its warm, orange heat on the pair. Finally, after another deep drink from the wine bottle, Isabela broke the silence.
"So why the elaborate seduction tonight, hm? Not that it isn't appreciated, mind you," she sniffed.
"I wanted to tell you something," said Hawke.
The pirate froze, suddenly nervous again. She waited for the Champion to continue.
"You said something, while we were in that ancient darkspawn prison last week. I... didn't know what to say about that," admitted Hawke. "I wanted to apologize to you."
Isabela was taken aback. "What did I say?"
"You said that the next time I asked you for help you were going to say no," murmured Hawke. Isabela burst into peals of girlish laughter.
"You goose," the buxom Rivaini gently chided. "Of all the times you choose to start listening to what I say, you have to go and pick that one," she sighed.
"What? You sounded serious!" said Hawke defensively.
"I said that right after I told you that I preferred ancient towers full of coin to darkspawn," chuckled the pirate. "If you're going to start taking that seriously, I'm still awaiting my ancient tomb full of coin."
Isabela sighed and slipped one arm around Hawke's waist, giving her a gentle squeeze. Looking up into the night sky, she murmured, "Should you need it, I'll have your back as long as you'll have me."
"Oh, I'll have you all right," Hawke laughed. The swashbuckler looked at her with a curious grin.
"Why don't you ever joke like this in front of the others?" Isabela wondered aloud. "The only one who believes me when I tell them about our adventures is Merrill," she complained. "I'm not even sure she believed me when I told her about the new lightning thing," she added.
"Well, I might be persuaded to if someone would accompany me to all those dinners and parties," offered Hawke.
"Why do you keep going to them? No bullshit, Hawke. It's just us now," replied the pirate.
"It's fun to get dressed in fine clothes and try delicious foods," shrugged the Champion. "And I really would love to show you off," she continued.
"Show me... wouldn't you be ashamed of me in front of all of those hightown aristocrats? I'm certainly not their kind of woman," the dusky woman sniffed.
"I don't care what they think. You're my kind of woman, and I want them to all know that my kind of woman is stunning, sexy and strong," murmured Hawke. "I keep telling them that my heart belongs to someone special, but you never come so they don't believe me, or think I'm just playing hard to get," she sighed.
Isabela colored a bit. "I-is that so?" she said.
Hawke closed her eyes and leaned against the corsair. "That's so," she said quietly.
"I... suppose I could be persuaded to attend more of those parties then," Isabela offered. "On one condition," she continued, untying the sash from her arm.
Hawke sat up, curious. "What might that be?" she asked as the pirate began tying the sash around the Champion's eyes in a blindfold. Isabela was suddenly gone, and the large towel they had been sharing with her. Hawke sat for a moment, her body suddenly feeling very sensitive to the cool night air and the sounds of the crackling fire.
"I get to choose our entertainment afterwards," came the Rivaini's voice, as the gentle, teasing touches from every which way began.
Isabela stopped and stretched at the top of the stairs, leaned back and felt the tension disperse from her muscles. She idly scratched her back with one hand and turned to glance at Hawke. The Fereldan woman took careful, ginger steps behind her, massaging her hip with one hand.
"Isabela, if you're going to do that to me again, can we at least do it at my home? I don't relish the idea of getting a splinter there," sighed Hawke.
"You certainly didn't complain while I was doing it," smirked the pirate. "Hold up a moment," she commanded, licking her fingers and trying to clean up Hawke's disheveled hair. The Champion put her hands on the corsair's chest, smoothing out the wrinkled clothing and giving her glorious breasts a light squeeze. Isabela licked her lips, then gently kissed Hawke. She leaned into the embrace and the two were lost for a moment before Hawke broke the kiss.
"What about Merrill? We should go check on her," Hawke said, concerned. Isabela glanced around the corner. The slim elf girl was sleeping on her folded arms, with five empty cups around her. The young blood mage was flushed and she had a pleasant smile on her face. Occasionally, her leg would twitch. Isabela grinned as Hawke leaned against her from behind.
"Is she alright?" asked Hawke, wrapping her arms around Isabela's waist.
"Kitten's fine. I think she enjoyed my gift," nodded Isabela. "Another round, then?" she asked, mischief dancing in her eyes.
"Just a quick one," nodded Hawke, as the two returned to the pirate's room.
BONUS:
"Right this way, Kitten. I know I've been promising this lesson to you for a while, and now is the perfect time for it," said Isabela with a mischievous smirk, as they walked through the hallway of the Hanged Man.
"What lesson is this, Isabela?" asked the curious elf. She paused. "Are we taking a bath together again?" she asked excitedly.
The canny pirate swirled the contents of a glass bottle in front of the blood mage. "We're finally going to teach you all about body shots," smirked the buccaneer.
"Are we doing these body shots with each other? Won't Hawke be upset?" Merrill inquired. As an answer, Isabela opened the door to her room with a wide grin and ushered her inside.
Merrill blushed profusely upon entering. Hawke was on the bed, with both arms and legs tied firmly to the bedposts with red silk scarves. She was stark naked.
"Isabela, is this why you had to run off? I've half a mind to-" began Hawke, before Isabela cut her off with a kiss.
"Now now, the teaching aide should remain quiet. Mostly," nodded Isabela, as she gagged Hawke with another silk scarf. Hawke made a mumbled protest through the gag, before falling silent when Isabela uncorked the bottle and said, "Kitten, let's begin the lesson."
Author's Note:
Sorry for the delay on this one. It originally started in concept as a collection of four short stories (shots), that I had started writing, and then was struck by inspiration for a fifth. Along the way, the titles of each shot changed around a bit, and ended up being the names of different kinds of cocktails or shooters. Then, since I had them all nicely written already, I decided to insert a framing story, and had the wonderful idea of having Merrill play-act for both Isabela and Hawke. The core concept wasn't so much the drama, so much as shot-sized stories that showcase the day-to-day.
Special thanks go to Jessie, Hanna and Candice for this one. They have each provided a good deal of inspiration for this particular set of stories. The usual heaps of gratitude for my prereaders - without you, none of this would be possible. Also, if you haven't seen them yet, the talented artists who have volunteered their time and energy for Snacking-related pieces are absolutely wonderful. Check them out:
Tutchangers(dot)deviantart(dot)com
Wikdvalkyrie(dot)deviantart(dot)com
I've still a few ideas for the next story in the series, so don't count me out yet. We'll see what happens if/when they announce another story DLC... I really liked the last one, but lament that there isn't quite enough Isabela in it. Everything could use more Isabela. Mmm, that might make for an interesting story... Isabela meets Isabela. In a time-traveling scenario. I'll have to write that one down...