Dust kicked up with Hale's steps and she tripped, stumbling over a rock. Her sight limited by long shadows in the dusk delayed her senses from their usual sharpness. Fuming, she marched back to the now built camp. Tents surrounded a fire built from wood the group had carried since Nevarra City. A gap in the circle remained for another tent, Nathaniel and Hale. Vacant, waiting for them to build and settle in for the night.
An ache in her chest burned, fiery and livid. Angry tears fell from her cheeks, and she wiped them away before she reached the other travelers. The group had divided rations of stale bread and dried meat between them, eating as they talked. Philippa chattered to Fiona, extravagant waves of her hand illustrating her story. Unspoken, Hawke sat near them but removed, observing.
The scent of seasoned meat made Hale's stomach grumble, having not eaten since their departure after the brawl. She spotted the food in a bag on a rock and made a step toward it, but a bottle in Hawke's hand drew her eyes.
Comfortable, reclined in his makeshift seat, he took a languid sip as the other's talked. Hale watched his mouth. His upper lip created a tight seal within the rim of the bottle, and the lump in his throat bobbed with each slow swallow. She realized he was side-eying her for the briefest moment before he returned his gaze to Philippa, lowering the bottle from his mouth.
Hale took a deep breath, huffed in frustration, and walked past him. Scouring through the bag of food, she took some meat and plopped down across the fire from the mages. Eyes fixed on the flames, she ripped off a bite of meat with her teeth. She wanted to hunt, to pack up her things, grab her bow, and wander off into the dark. The urge pulsed through her veins, like an itch she couldn't scratch.
But the argument with Nate replayed in her mind. It debilitated her, keeping her fixated on him and inhibiting her focus.
'I just don't want you to sleep with him!'
She stewed on Nate's words, watching the flames dance as she ate. Reduced to property, Nate's admission confirmed her fears of belonging to another. His talks of commitment, exclusivity and its parallels to marriage alarmed her.
She swallowed her food and thought of her father's last words, a reminder of her mission for independence. "Ga'sahl vena revis." ("Always find freedom.")
Hale hadn't noticed Hawke move to sit near her, leaving behind the busy talk of the other two women. "Didn't know you spoke elvish," he remarked.
She inhaled, realizing she had spoken aloud, and moved her glare from the fire to Hawke. "Fuck off."
Chuckling, Hawke took another sip from his bottle. He gave a pleasant sigh as he pulled the drink away. "Your grace and charm continue to astound me. How do you remain so poised in even the most unpleasant conditions?"
Hale ignored him and glanced from Hawke to her belongings. Her drum and her bow waited next to a quiver full of arrows, the darts collected unbroken from the last enemy they fought. A hunt called for her, quiet and solitude in the now vibrant starry night sky. The catch might be small, or even non-existent in the wasteland but the prospective peace of mind made up for it.
But tendrils of anger coiled it's way through any desire for calmness, grasping onto resentment of Nathaniel. She wanted to show the power in her freedom; she wanted revenge.
Her eyes traveled back to Garrett, he had settled into his seat and took another long swig, staring absentmindedly at the sky.
"Gimme that." She pointed to the bottle.
"Uh, no." Hawke's gaze didn't move, but he smiled. He transferred the drink to his other hand, further away from Hale. "I'm not making that mistake twice." The last time he gave Hale a sip of his drink, she downed it all at one time. "Get your own bottle. You can join me while I studiously guard our camp." His head tipped toward his pack.
For the briefest moment, her eyes narrowed at him, but Hawke either didn't see or ignored her. Nate would never be so lethargic on his watch duties, let alone drink alcohol. She scoffed and then stood. The bottles were in a pack resting on the ground near the opening of his tent.
She noticed Hawke's scent first as she entered. Men's cologne tickled her nose, but not the overbearing and sickeningly sweet variety she had smelled on vendors and pimps in Denerim. It was light and musky with faint and lingering notes of amberwood and pomegranate. She liked it.
Reaching inside his pack, Hale stole a glance inside his quarters. A drastic difference from Nathaniel's tent, Hawke had strewn robes of fine fabrics on his bedroll. She wrinkled her brow, puzzled by the excessiveness. Even his bedroll looked expensive, made from what appeared to be a mixture of deep red and purple samite and high-grade cotton.
Hawke's casual tone called from his spot by the fire. "Find something interesting in my tent?"
She swallowed and hurried to grab a bottle, then strolled back to her spot by the fire. "That's a rich man's bedroll. You sure a nobby chap like you is up for hiking across Thedas?"
Hawke pursed his lips and nodded. "I'll take nobby chap as an upgrade from poxy wanker." Leaning back in his seat, he stretched his legs out. "You wouldn't judge me on my selection of bedding if you'd ever slept… or done other things in Vyrantium Samite."
Hawke might have winked, but Hale couldn't tell in the dim light.
She scoffed to hide her blushing. "Don't need a fancy bed to get to sleep. The dirt is good enough if I need it."
"I've never questioned your willingness to get dirty." Hawe grinned at her as he lifted his bottle back to his lips and took a drink. "A nice bed isn't about need or utility. Luxury is about…" He paused, humming to himself and looking into the fire. "It's about indulgence in reward for hard work, giving in to decadence and fulfilling well-deserved fantasies." Hawke's eyes found Hale's. "I'm guessing you've never really been fulfilled."
Grateful for the dim, glowing light of the fire, Hale felt her cheeks burn and thoughts of Nate resurfaced. Their means of indulgence were found in heated arguments and quelled by wild and frenzied trysts. It opposed the calm silence they protected in between. The simplicity of their relationship worked for them, or she thought. The poignant sting in her chest returned.
She cleared her throat and faked a laugh. "The fuck are you talkin' about?" Using her knife, she removed the cork from the bottle, brushing off Hawke's observation.
Hawke's brow lifted and he made a lazy shrug. "Debauchery done right... which I am assuming a fledgling degenerate such as yourself has yet to experience."
Hale rolled her eyes and lifted the bottle of wine to her mouth, smelling the rising fumes as the glass touched her lips. She tilted the bottle, letting the liquid fill her mouth. The wine was strong. Rich, earthy flavor made it easy to swallow the first gulp. Without taking the bottle down, she overpowered the mild burn in her throat with another mouthful of wine, and then another. Exhaling, she pulled the bottle away.
Hawke's head was lifted, his eyes following Hale with interest. "Easy there, mate." He took another drink himself, diverting his gaze from her.
"Ain't yer…" she blurted but stopped. Eyes widening, she watched Nathaniel return to camp. He ignored her, walking past them and to the empty space designated for their tent.
He set his camp further from the ring of others, further from the campfire and from Hale. His deliberate avoidance made her heart pound; angry tears stung her eyes. Unsure if she wanted an apology, a confession, or if she preferred for him to leave her alone, she could only watch. Her nostrils flared.
As Nathaniel built his tent, the other two women stood. Mumbling goodnight to Hawke, Hale, and Nathaniel, they disappeared into their separate tents.
She felt Hawke looking at her, smirking in her periphery. Hawke said, "You know, I've always wanted to ask." He leaned closer to her. "Do you and the Commander consider fighting foreplay?"
Hale bit her lip, eyes still narrowed on Nate. She shook her head, trying to prevent herself from scowling. "Not this time."
Nathaniel disappeared into his now constructed tent and Hale's fingers fumbled around the mouth of the bottle as a distraction. She smiled weakly and looked over to Hawke. He stared back, the campfire providing enough light for her to study his face even under his messy black hair and the beard framing his jaw. His eyes sparkled in the darkness, a fleck of mischief she recognized. It made her stomach tighten.
Shrugging again, Hawke gave a matter-of-fact nod. "Obviously, the best foreplay depends on the mood. Cold shoulders can be such a turn on in the right moment."
Hale's smile widened. Forgiving Hawke's lackluster approach to guarding the camp, she stretched her legs out in front of her. With another long sip of her drink, she exhaled loudly, the knot in her stomach easing. "I'm in the mood to get so smashed I forget I'm in this fucking desert."
Hawke lifted his bottle to Hale and chuckled. "Now that's a mood I can get behind."
This time, Hale clearly distinguished Hawke's wink. She giggled, mirroring his bottle with her own. In unison, they drank long swigs. Hale hummed, a thought coming to mind as she pulled the bottle away.
"What is it?" Hawke asked as she stood and walked to her belongings. She ignored her bow and quiver, and instead grabbed her drum with her free hand. She returning to her spot in the sand.
"Brilliant idea." Hawke rubbed his hands together. "Let's prevent the camp from sleeping and see how mad they'll be in the morning."
"Nah," Hale said through a giggle, strumming the fingers of her free hand on her the hide of her drum, "just keeping my hands busy." Just as the tingling effects of the alcohol spread over her head, Hale winked at Hawke this time.
"Too easy." Hawke made a playful frown and shook his head. "I'm leaving that one right where it is."
Her stomach fluttered. The longer she looked at him the more she appreciated Hawke's features. This close, she could see the tiredness in his eyes. It opposed the wrinkles on his face, smile lines reflecting his pervasive humor.
She set her bottle down in the sand. With free hands her fingers thrummed, toying with the crackling of the fire as inspiration for rhythm. After a moment, she returned to casual tapping.
"Don't be dumb." She looked from Hawke to her fingers, angling her hand to strike the drum with the heel of her palm. Focused, fiery, she returned her gaze to him. "Thought you were gonna… what's it? Right, yeah... Fulfill me."
Her brow arched, and she grabbed her bottle from the ground without breaking her stare.
The whites of Hawke's teeth flashed in the firelight as he laughed. "I have been told I can be quite fulfilling."
She couldn't help her grin from widening, even as she rolled her eyes. She held up her bottle. "You ain't off to a good start. This shite's cheap and mine's almost empty."
"Excuse me. It's moderately priced wine and there's more." Hawke nodded to his tent where the bag of wine lay.
She snickered to herself as she stood, taking her drum with her. She returned to Hawke's tent, peeking another look at the interior as she reached for another bottle of wine. She set her drum down.
"In exchange for the free drinks," Hawke spoke over the fire so she could hear, "would you be so kind as to bring-"
Standing in the open flap of Hawke's tent, Hale held the full bottle to her side, opening up her shirt with her other hand. "Come get it yourself."
A knot in her stomach twisted. Nervous guilt made her hand shake, and she clenched her fist, noticing sweaty palms. Her heart raced as she waited. Fuck Nate for being an arse. She reminded herself of her freedom to do what and who she wanted without the restraint of a relationship. Curling her finger, she gestured for Hawke to come.
Hawke didn't move at first. His narrowing eyes watched her, and he smirked as if measuring Hale with amusement. He put one ankle up on his knee
"Ain't good at waiting, fuck face." Hale's hand planted on her hip. "If you want it, come get it."
He covered his mouth with the edge of his hand, hiding his smile. "Are we still talking about the wine?"
"What d'you think?" She put a hand on her hip and cocked it to one side.
After swallowing a laugh, Hawke rose and strolled to her, reaching for the bottle she extended. He uncorked it and handed it back, then reached down and grabbed another for himself. If he was even the slightest bit drunk, Hale couldn't tell; and if he knew Hale was using him to get back at Nate, Hawke didn't care.
Voice lowered, he leaned down to her. His face was only a breath away from hers, and she could smell the light scents of his cologne again mixed with his sweat. He whispered in her ear, the words ominous in his bemused tone. "I don't take orders well. If you want it then say so."
Her nerves tingled, and she turned around, watching him walk into the tent. Anger and arousal already heightened by drink sparked at his whisper. After taking a large mouthful of wine, she continued unfastening her shirt with one hand. Whatever trepidation she had toward ploughing the Champion disappeared. This'll be good.
Hawke chuckled and sat down on his colorful bedroll, his back propped up by pillows fluffier than the one she used, the one designated to her in Nate's tent.
Hawke lit a candle in a votive holder. "I love when my irresistibility makes women's clothes fall off, but I think you need a lesson in leisure. Slow down, Hale. Enjoy the drink."
The direction to slow down was challenging to comprehend. In Hale's history of drunken sexual encounters, heated tangles with bar patrons started standing and moved to whatever flat surface was available; with men and women whose names she hadn't even bothered to ask or remember, she had never considered slowing down. Nate had the willingness to meet her energy with his own; their passionate interactions could go on all night.
And now, the alcohol coursed through her, willing Hale to shed her garments and find freedom, relief from the stale desert air and to declare her intentions to Hawke.
"Don't like being ordered around neither." With nimble fingers, she loosened the rest of the buttons and straps and let her shirt hang open. Slow strides took her toward him.
"I'll make you a deal." His hand reached out as a cue for her to stop. She bit her lip and rolled her eyes, expectant for him to explain. "You get as naked as you want. Then we'll lounge about until we get drunk and giggly and see what happens. I'm still on watch, remember?"
"You do a piss poor job of guarding camp. You can watch this instead, arsehole." Hale shrugged her shoulders, letting her shirt fall to the ground.
"I am definitely watching." Hawke creased his brow in deep concentration. Hale laughed as she sat on the end of his bedroll.
Side eying him, she removed a boot and said, "You could lose some clothes too."
"I could." His head tilted to the side. "And I will, only because it looks more comfortable. But you'll have to promise to contain yourself. I know the sight of me without a shirt has made men and women act on their urges."
Unable to withhold her amused scoff, Hale waved her hand toward him. "Just shut up and take your shirt off."
Rather than wait for Hawke, Hale took another long drink and continued removing her garments. She laughed to herself when her foot caught in the leg of her pants. She heard Hawke's amused chuckling beside her until she looked over to see him without a shirt on, her eyes lingering on his chest.
Nate was tall and lean, but Hawke was bigger, hairier, with broader shoulders and a larger frame. She estimated they were about the same age and the fact made her pause. She changed the subject.
"That's a lot of muscles for a mage, innit?" she said with a giggle, sitting in only her underclothes.
With a shrug, Hawke tossed his shirt off the bedroll and moved his other robes as he talked. "I use those for a different kind of magic when necessary." He looked down at his chest with curiosity, flexing and examining his own muscles as if for the first time. Afterward, he glanced back up at Hale with a flirty wink.
Hale's stomach gave an excited flutter and she drank more to drown the feeling. An amusing thought came to mind. "Ever use real magic when you're ploughing?"
A tipsy chuckle escaped him. "First of all, it's all real magic, and on occasion, when the time calls for it. It can enhance the mood, heighten sensation, inflict mild pain if it's used carefully."
"Sounds fun." She stretched out her legs on the bedroll toward him. Smooth fabric rubbed on her bare limbs, showing its quality to her skin. It was comfortable
Hawke's hand touched her calf. Softer than Nate's hands or most of the other men she found in bars, it rested gently on her leg.
Hawke continued the conversation as if the placement of his palm made no difference. "Fun is one word to describe it." He took a drink with his other hand.
Alcohol buzzing her mind rushed desire and frustration, she pushed her leg into his. Impatient with the steady pace of their flirting, she decided to goad him. Her hands untucked her binder and removed the band. She didn't wait before she also removed the bra.
"Those look fun too." Hawke's eyes traveled from her chest to her face. He gave a conservative but impressed frown.
"Fun is one fuckin' word for them." She laughed and leaned back on her side. Curved and elongated along Hawke's bedroll, she propped her head up on her elbow and placed her half-empty drink against her belly. Her breasts pressed together, her own skin touching skin.
A smirk pulled at the side of Hawke's lips, but he shook his head, pretending not to be beguiled by Hale's display. He answered straight-faced. "Looks can be deceiving. I'd definitely need to get a better feel before I can offer my opinion." The repeated wandering of his gaze to her chest belied his discipline.
"We still talkin' about my tits?" Snickering into her bottle, she tipped it back and finished off her wine. As she swallowed, she pressed her leg closer to Hawke, forcing his hand to slide up her calf.
Another smile spread on Hawke's mouth, and he rolled his eyes this time. But his hand didn't move. "Probably not." The factual tone in his voice contradicted the flash of mischief in his eyes, another quick tease before he also downed the last of his bottle.
As he set the bottle down, his hand wandered up Hale's bare legs and her grin grew wider. She bit her lip. The feel of new hands livened her senses; the pads of his fingertips applying enough pressure to make her heart pound and heat build in her core. Different from Nathaniel, Hawke's digits moved in their own way. The novel sensation coaxed a sound from Hale, partly a moan and partly a growl.
Energy ran through her legs, fueled by the need to move. To pursue. Hawke leaned hunger in his light brown eyes caught her attention, familiar to the casual sex partners she had before Nate, free of the intense chemistry she held with the Commander. The absence burned, reminding her of the self-inflicted hole in her heart. But it came with gratitude. The sparks with Garrett were fun and temporary. No strings attached to this whoreson, she tried to remind herself. An easy sodding way to get over Nate.
Hale made a tiny growl and in a quick motion, she shifted on her legs to pounce Hawke, straddling him. Wild, relentless, she rested her forehead on his and reached for the buckle of his pants between her legs.
Hawke's neck tilted back, and he leaned in for a kiss. He rolled her over onto her back as their lips met, then he pulled away. Kneeling, he left Hale on her back. "Why the hurry? Haven't I told you not to rush magic?"
Scoffing, Hale pushed off the bedroll to kneel across from him. "Anyone ever told you talk too fuckin' much?"
"On occasion." His hands touched her shoulders, calming her combative tone. As his palms traveled down her arms, the faintest magical jolts sparked the tiny spasms on her skin.
Surreal surges tickled, nearly painful, and she laughed, entertained with the intensity building before his hands released. Hale rubbed the tingling out of her arms and staring at Hawke with excitement. He tried to tame the grin pulling at the corners of his mouth.
Hawke put his hands through the long side of her hair and leaned in for another kiss. She took a greedy inhale through her nose, searching for the pleasant scents of his cologne. His peck on her lips landed and then he paused, smiling at her, scanning her face with curiosity. It lasted a moment too long and Hale blushed. "What? I like that smelly shite you're wearing."
"Smelly Shite is actually the name of my cologne, made exclusively for me back in Kirkwall." He leaned in and kissed one side of her neck. His beard tickled and her muscles tensed, holding back her laughter.
When Hawke's mouth moved to her ear, Hale sighed.
"This is leisure." His low tone rumbled and then moved to her other ear. "This is debauchery."
His lips returned to her neck, kisses interrupted by nibbling. And Hale let him. Her eyes closed; her arms hung at her sides. She took the chance to smell the fragrance again, losing herself in it.
"You're a laggard," she mumbled, snickering as his mouth reached her collarbone. "Stop stalling and plough me."
A breathy laugh escaped Hawke and his beard moved against her skin.
"Fuck!" She hissed, half giggling. But Hawke didn't stop, he nuzzled his beard into her neck, provoking loud, uncontrolled giggles from Hale. For the briefest moment, she wondered if Nate heard. Let him.
Overcome with wriggling, Hale managed to push Hawke away. Her hands combed through his black hair and she pressed her lips to his, hard. Not missing a beat, Hawke reciprocated, kissing back with equal intensity.
Annoyed by his composure, but aroused by the game, she pushed him away. With Hawke laying half on his bedroll, she reached toward his pants and unlaced them.
Hawke propped up on his elbows, watching her. "I warned you the sight of me shirtless makes people act uncontrollably."
She paused pulling his pants off his legs to scowl at him. "I'm warnin' ya to shut..." she struggled, tugging his pants while emphasizing the words, "the fuck... up."
"Dirty talk. I like it." He reached his arms down to shoo her away and finished taking off his pants on his own. Left only in his underwear, he glanced up. "I can think of better ways to use my mouth." He licked his lips.
Snorting, half annoyed half amused, she crawled. Her hands and knees slid along his bedroll, over his frame, until she reached her destination with her breasts hovering over his face. A nipple grazed his lower lip and Hale watched him, waiting for him to take the bait. He pressed his lips together, pursing to kiss the tender skin. Then his eyes wandered up, past his forehead to meet hers. Then he gave a tiny shake to his head.
In a quick motion, his hands grasped around the sides of her chest. He pulled her down and rolled her over, yet again. Laying on her back with Hawke's hands planted on the bedroll on either side of her, Hale's chest heaved with annoyance. "You like bein' the one on top," she grumbled.
"Do I?" Hawke smirked, hovering over her, and leaning down to lick her hardened nipple. He sucked for a moment, then gently tugged his teeth. "Well, would you look at that? I suppose I do." He continued to the other breast.
"Little shite," she whispered, and agile fingers traveled down Hawke's stomach, venturing under waist of his underwear. She found his member warm and erect, and wrapped her hand around it. Not so little, she refrained from commenting on his length out loud, not wishing to fuel his ego any more. Nate's bigger anyway.
Hawke hid a groan within a laugh, his mouth gaping over her nipple. Her tightened hand held him, up and down motions pulling him toward her and pushing him away. She expected to overpower him, to use her deft hand's skilled stroking to distract Hawke from his goals and get him on his back. But her plans were extinguished when Hawke extended his arms, putting space between their bodies.
He let her continue, watching her as she worked him. His light brown eyes alight with playful energy as if humored by her efforts. She stopped stroking and gave him a dead stare.
He gave a small shrug. "Let me guess. You prefer being on top too."
She couldn't find words to describe the preference for control over casual partners. Most never questioned her, and her experiences with Nate differed from every encounter prior to him from the beginning. Nate had been the exception.
She only glared back at Hawke, teeth clenched, her lips pressed together in an angry pout.
"Even your pouting is graceful." Hawke's thumb flicked down her lower lip, leaving Hale's mouth parted open. Without breaking eye contact, he sat back and reclined over his pillow. "I can't resist your charm. I'll make you another deal. We'll take turns." Hawke's hands gestured toward his nearly naked body. An invitation. "Lady's first."
A reluctant grin snuck through Hale's frown. Whatever questions she had of straying from her norm with flings vanished. Well-built sinew, a large chest marked with dark body hair, all on a man far beyond her age charged the heat between her legs. "You still talk too much," she said through a smirk.
In only her panties, she stood up and looked down at him. Scanning the cotton shorts he wore, she noticed his partial erection and arched her brow. "You wanna take those off?
His eyebrow mirrored hers. He tucked his thumbs in the side of his underwear and his lips squeezed shut, holding back his laughter as he lifted his hips, taking the shorts off. It was visible it took effort for him to refrain from adding some snarky comeback.
He tossed the undergarment aside and Hale observed, blushing, smirking. "Looks like fun." Confident steps took her toward him and her fingers found the hem of her panties. Not missing a step, she shimmied them off and let them fall to the ground. She flung them to the side with her foot.
Still slightly inebriated, her head felt warm and fuzzy, comfortable with the help of wine, she stepped over Hawke. A foot on either side, she alternated feet and caressed her toes on the insides and outsides of his legs. Though not a common practice, using her feet to arouse another, it seemed appropriate with Hawke. The black hairs on his legs tickled her feet and she giggled until she reached his midframe.
"If I had a foot fetish, that would probably be quite a turn on." He commented as she lowered to her knees, resting her heat on his member.
His entry delayed, she straddled him, using the position to prolong their play. His erection contradicted his nonchalance. "Yer cock must have a foot fetish then."
"My cock has a fetish for attractive people." His hands cupped her rear and hovered up to her lower back. One stayed, steadfast in its appreciation of her hip, now rocking over him, while the other massaged her breast.
She closed her eyes, enjoying the moment and the subtle stimulation his hardness gave her clit. Slow, she took her time, something that rarely occurred in the past. Before she joined the Wardens, her sexual encounters were brief. Partners lacked the skill and vigor to prolong their dalliances. Even her nights with Damia felt more like a competition.
With Nate, heated passion so impatient fueled yearning for connection, both literal and figurative. It did not permit them to yield. Nate would not abide lazy foreplay, equating it to dispassionate teasing that could not satisfy his hunger. Their stamina allowed for extended waves of energy and play. Her stomach twisted; she returned her attention to Garrett.
Without the overwhelming chemistry, Hale found herself inclined to explore her options with Hawke, taking advantage of the assumed open invitation to go slow. She enjoyed Hawke for her own selfish reasons. When her eyes opened, she found him looking up her with a self-satisfied stare. Her rocking slowed.
"What?" She said, snippy and annoyed. But without a second thought, she ran her hands up his chest, appreciating the extra chest hair as she waited for an answer.
"You look leisurely." He relaxed his hands behind his head.
Annoying as it was, the man's cocky, self-assuredness had grown on her. Humored, comfortable, she gave a breathy laugh in playful exasperation and tugged on his chest hair.
Caught off guard, Hawke's mouth gaped open for just a second, but he recovered and puckered his lips as though he enjoyed it. "Is that all you've got?"
A devilish and tipsy grin spread on Hale's lips. Her fingers didn't hesitate to twist both of Hawke's nipples, hard. His quick yell was drowned out by her raucous laughter, and Hawke reached toward her nipples in revenge. Between laughs, she yelped, "no," and almost fell off of him.
Philippa's arrogant and stern voice called from a neighboring tent. "In the name of Andraste, child, will you and that lecher shut up?"
Bringing a sudden end to her laughing fit, Hale stared at Hawke with wide eyes, excited at the thought of being caught. It meant Nate heard.
Hawke's forehead lifted, and he spoke louder to reply to the sorceress, "Forgive us, Philippa. We would hate to disrupt the sleep of one as wise, beautiful…and aged as yourself."
A wordless grumble answered and ceased. Hale assumed the woman lacked the energy to find a better comeback.
Not waiting for Hale's attention to return to him, Hawke leaned forward so their chests touched. Kneeling over him, Hale felt the tip of him, full, hard teasing her entrance, but he didn't rush further. Hawke's fingers traced up her back and followed the curve of her neck; he weaved his fingers through her hair and pulled. The firm grip gave a solid tug and forced Hale's head to tilt the same direction. She groaned.
Even though she couldn't see his mouth, his grip so firm she couldn't move, Hawke's low voice reverberated. "Hair pulling is a crude and tasteless method of stimulation." He gave another tug. "I'm game."
Baring her teeth, Hale smiled in appreciation. With her head immobile, she wriggled her hips forward against his body, lifting them, angling herself so that he entered. She ran a hand through his chest hair again, and then found the back of his head. As she tugged, her other hand balanced on his shoulder. Hawke gave a pleasant sigh. She settled onto him.
He liked it. Heavy breathing and long blinks interrupted their competitive staring. But she rocked a few times before he pulled her hair harder and brought her back to the bedroll. He removed himself from her as he transitioned to his knees. He pinned her legs open, his bearded face found her heat. Hale pushed onto her hands, ready to force him away and continue wrestling for a position above him. But then he licked her, and again the tip of his tongue made unique lines along her tender skin. She collapsed onto her back and moaned.
He changed his pattern, a figure-eight, teasing the edges of the sensitive location. Involuntarily, she writhed, unable to acclimate to the unsteady rhythms. This was nothing like Nate. His persistent and patient patterns kept a beat with her moans and summoned overwhelming escalation. But now, Hawke's taunting licks skated her nerves. Growling in frustration, she pulled his hair. His tongue stopped, and she felt his mouth vibrating against her slick flesh. This fucker is still talking.
"Dammit, will you shut the fuck up...Ha-" As she spoke, he closed his lips around her bead and sucked. "Hawke!" Her cry became a whining moan. "Mother fucker." She sighed and squeezed his hair again, but Hawke ignored her. He returned to his unique patterns, eventually picking one that made her climax. She held her breath, not willing to give him the pleasure of coaxing another moan; the sensation of release rolled over her body as she finished.
He was good at this.
"Fuck you," she grumbled, glaring at him.
He wiped his mouth and crawled over her upper half, grinning. "Fucking is what we're doing, isn't it? Glad we are on the same page," Hawke said, a hand reaching toward her breast and squeezing. "You're welcome, by the way."
Annoyed, Hale wrapped her legs around him. Strength applied, she squeezed her thighs and used leverage with her calves to bring him closer. "Just shut yer fuckin' mouth and fuck me," she hissed, but Hawke resisted, pushing his back against her legs. He freed himself from her grasp.
Sarcasm coated his words; he lifted a playful brow. "If I had a coin for everytime someone said that to me..." His words trailed off and he snickered, entertained by his own joke. Resting back on his knees, he added, "Fine. But only since you asked so nicely."
Hale made an exaggerated sigh, relieved at his statement. She reached her feet toward him, pulling at him with the tops of her toes. Hawke only shook his head and reached for her feet, a gentle grip pulled them away.
He maneuvered her body to accommodate his. It was an unusual position Hale had never tried before. She rested, partially on her side with one leg under him and the other around. Hawke stayed on his knees; his hand held Hale's upper leg, the other grasped her hip.
"And now for the moment you've been waiting for," Hawke said, aligning himself with her entrance. Their gazes locked.
With a clear view of him, Hale sneered and rolled her eyes.
Hawke chuckled, and at the same time, he pushed himself into her.
She gasped, pacing her exhale as Hawke repeated the motion. Vigor added intensity with each repetition and Hale relaxed, permitting a moan. Her hand held her breast, massaging, kneading her own flesh as Hawke found speed and pattern.
He felt different than Nate. The only man she'd been with since joining the Order, each time with Nate was new. His fascination with her persisted through every shape they took, joining, bending, moving together, exploring the realm of possibilities with their bodies. He fit her. Filling her up with a powerful connection and no room for doubt.
Hawke was nothing like Nate. Skilled and creative, Hawke instigated Hale's response for his own amusement. He was showing off and she knew it, attempting to impress her with his bedroom talents even in these restrained conditions. It worked. From this position, the variety of colors within his tent filled her peripheral vision and the fabric of his bedroll summoned her attention each time he thrust. She slid on it, back and forth, appreciating the cushioned softness.
Arching over her, Hawke steadied himself with one hand on her rear. The middle finger of the other faintly touched the inside of her upper leg. It stung like ice. She squirmed, her heart rate accelerating as Hawke's icy finger channeled magic and traced further down her leg. A loud, uncomfortable laugh escaped her.
His hips slowed. Random thrusts left her wanting more and at the awkward position, she tried to drive her hips on him. But the mischief in Hawke's eyes glistened, yet again. His finger left her inner thigh, giving her nerves a gentle reprieve from the cold. A moment later, his finger applied the faintest pressure near her heat. He dragged his finger on the outside of her lips, one side at a time and then withdrew.
Hale whined, the motion stopping her hips and making her freeze. She glared at him, furious for her lack of mobility but overwhelmed by the rare sensations. He only gave her a smirk, but it spoke a loud 'I told you so.'
His hand returned, this time applying relieving warmth to the previously iced vicinity. The method continued, finding more private regions of her heat, each time shocking her senses and sending her into fits of tortured giggles, only abated by the warmth of his hand. Brief glimpses of him when her eyes weren't closed found him interested, engaged. His fixed stare watched her face for reactions.
Then the steady pounding of his hips returned, and the warmth stayed. His digits found a neutral temperature, fixating on the swollen bead above her core. His light strokes forced her back to arch and her laughs faded to moans, climbing in pitch until she finished. Immobilized yet again with a satisfying peak, the tingling release crawled down her limbs. She didn't say his name.
When she was done, Hawke's hand moved away from her slickness. Balancing her leg in an advantageous way. It gave him more entry, deeper penetration that he found with harder thrusts. Then he groaned, and again louder.
"I'm so close," Hawke muttered, pushing against her hips to remove himself.
It didn't matter. Pregnancy was nearly impossible for a Warden and whatever illnesses he might carry couldn't live on a Warden host. But she didn't tell him that. He pulled himself from her and let her lay on her back. With his eyes squeezed shut, he came, the fluids landing across her torso. Hawke didn't say her name either.
Not waiting for him to collect himself, she grabbed a nearby article of his clothing and cleaned herself off.
Then it was over. Hawke made a gratified exhale and plopped down on the bedroll beside her. "As expected, that was fulfilling."
"Right, yeah," Hale muttered to herself, agreeing half-heartedly. She refrained from sharing her detailed opinions, unable to pinpoint the source uncomfortable knot in her stomach. Light snoring beside her indicated Hawke had already dozed off. "Wardens do it better."