Isabela unfolded from the bed to stand, catlike, knowing exactly how she looked in her rumpled tunic and the glint of the golden firelight. "Well, that was…" She allowed a smirking glance and a chuckle over her shoulder at Hawke, who was leaned on one elbow to watch her go. "Thank you. Now, I should go. I don't want to take advantage of your hospitality."

Hawke sat up fully, head cocked in a gesture both petulant and teasing. "But I like it when you do that," she protested, blue eyes sparkling behind her black bangs.

The pirate let out another warm laugh. "It was fun, wasn't it? Well, you know…if you ever want to do it again…" She let her eyes go heavy-lidded as she regarded her companion, and it was then that she picked up on the hint of genuine reluctance behind Hawke's expression. She knew what that look meant. She'd dealt with it before, and it had gone badly. Sharpening instantly, she demanded, "Wait. You're not thinking of bringing feelings into this, are you?"

Hawke's pause was enough to tell her the answer even before the other woman ventured, "And why not?"

Bloody, bloody hell, Isabela thought. Of course this would happen. Of course it wouldn't be easy. She let out a heavy sigh. "Hawke…" she began wearily, turning back to face her with the barrier of her crossed arms between them—among other things. "Love is not for everyone. It's not for me. Feelings are messy, and the last thing I need in my life is another mess."

The mage pursed her lips. "I'm sorry you feel that way."

"Why? I'm not," Bela shot back flatly. She didn't really have to ask; she already knew why Hawke didn't like hearing such a thing. She was just too…soft, all around. She always was. Always had been. So instead of letting the mage's tender heart dwell on what could never be, Isabela redirected the conversation: "Did you know I was married, once? Once I was freed, I swore I would never marry again." Not the best subject, but a safer one.

The news had the intended effect: distracting Hawke long enough for the pirate to start heading for the door.

"I can't imagine you married," the mage mused, dark brows raised in surprise.

Isabela scoffed in scorn. Married was a generous term for it, really. "I was his plaything. A prized possession," she recounted bitterly. "My mother gave me away for a goat and a handful of gold coins. She didn't even haggle over the price." She could feel her expression screwing up like it always did when she thought of this particular part of her past. She didn't bother trying to stop her. "Bitch."

Hawke, for her part, looked as if that were the most tragic thing she'd ever heard. "You're worth so much more than that," she said honestly, rawly, and suddenly Isabela realized she'd made a grave mistake. In trying to avoid the trap that threatened to trip her up, she'd crafted one of her own without even knowing it. She narrowly held back the urge to bury her face in her hands. She'd just wanted some fun, was all! Why did Hawke have to be so difficult?

So…perfect?

"Look, Hawke," she managed to say before her thoughts choked her. Before she could give her doubts and feelings space to take root only for them to grow up and overwhelm her later. "You're…" She chewed on the word she both wanted and didn't want to say. "…wonderful. But it's easier this way." She made herself look away from that stilling blue gaze; that lingering shadow of disappointment, before it could ruin her. "Believe me."

"Easier, maybe," Hawke allowed softly from behind her, "but is it better?"

…

Hawke was under her, but keeping up surprisingly well. The pace of her roaming hands matched Isabela's own, complementing her, challenging her, and the pirate would have been lying if she'd said she wasn't impressed. Hawke's grip slid down and tightened on her thighs fast, and Isabela gasped. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment and when she opened them again, she found Hawke watching her. Those pretty blue irises were at once dark with lust and bright in the firelight and so intense they pinned her. It was the look Hawke got when she was set on some goal; totally convicted. And usually about to say something stupid.

Isabela opened her mouth to cut off whatever it inevitably was, but Hawke kissed her quiet. Then her lips slid over to Isabela's cheek, then her jaw, and brushed against her ear, and the pirate didn't have the heart nor the restraint to stop her.

"You're beautiful," the mage whispered hoarsely, and Isabela actually winced.

Normally she would have brushed it off with a blithe, 'I know,' but this wasn't exactly a normal encounter; not when it was her friend she was talking to. Not when Hawke sounded like she truly meant it, instead of just trying to butter Bela up for a better lay. And Isabela thought it might have been easier that way. At least she knew how to handle that kind of conversation. But this? This was a little close to feelings territory for her.

"Ugh, Hawke," she groaned, skillfully battling down the waver in her voice. This was fine. She was in control. She could handle anything. "You don't have to flatter me anymore; you've already got me in your bed."

Maybe she should have tried something a little more direct; a little more firm, because Hawke managed to make a mess out of that, too. "It's not flattery," she said as her hands ran up Isabela's arms and into her hair, stroking through it almost reverently. "It's true."

Shit, the pirate had time to think before Hawke was claiming her lips again and she resolved to get a handle on this, fast. She reached down and shoved her hand beneath the mage's belt and that stopped her from saying anything else for a long while.

…

As it turned out, Hawke didn't need the power of speech to throw Bela for another loop.

Just as the pirate was easing her down from her (fantastic) high, thinking she was safe because certainly Hawke couldn't think clearly enough to embarrass her now, the mage caught her by surprise. Even as she panted hazily in the wake of Isabela's ministrations, she gripped the pirate by the hips and bucked up from the bed so they fell to the side and she could suddenly roll atop.

A small "Oh!" escaped Bela's lips as she found herself beneath the other woman, looking up into the sparkling blue of her eyes, shaded by a curtain of short dark hair.

Hawke had started to reach out to pin her wrists, but at the exclamation she stopped instantly. "Are you all right?" she rasped through a throat rough from some intriguing noises of her own.

Isabela was confused at first. Then she saw the concern on Hawke's pale, chiseled face, and almost laughed aloud. Hawke was worried about her? Being uncomfortable? With sex? What a bloody gem!

But Hawke's expression remained so open and earnest, she did have to laugh this time. This woman was just too much. "Of course I'm all right, sweet thing," she assured through her musical chuckle, massaging the tension out of the mage's biceps with practiced hands. "I can't say I'm used to the view from down here, is all."

"Oh," Hawke took her turn to murmur, the uncertainty sliding from her features. Her hands returned to their course, wrapping around the pirate's wrists to lock them in place while her knee nudged into a very titillating position lower down. She lowered her head, and her next words were spoken against Isabela's sensitive throat. "We'll have to remedy that, I suppose." She punctuated the implication with a kiss to her pulse point, and the pirate shivered. Back on comfortable ground, she thought with relief—

—for all of one second before Hawke switched position and brushed her lips over Isabela's brow instead, gentle and tender and caring and wrong. It was enough to set the pirate panicking a little inside, again, because it wasn't supposed to be this way! It was just supposed to be a rut; a fling; an emotionless affair. Hawke couldn't keep throwing in these silly moments and expect Isabela not to protest loudy and firmly at some point.

Only…she couldn't bring herself to do so just now. Hawke was giving her a glimpse into a sort of connection she'd never had before, not even with…

Well. The point was, Isabela was intrigued; just a bit, and for the moment that intrigue outweighed the bone-deep fear that was lurking at the back of her mind, telling her this wasn't something she could—should ever have.

So she said nothing, for now, and simply lost herself in Hawke's touch as they moved once again into the realm of lust—away from the threat of love.

She felt certain that she would never be capable of love—or of being loved—ever again.

At least, for now.

…

"Isabela." Something about the way Hawke said it made the pirate stop in her tracks on her way out of the room. Or maybe it was the hand that closed around her wrist, strong but gentle. The Ferelden was always so gentle. Isabela wondered if it was a mage thing, because it seemed to be a rare trait among her countrymen. Her voice was the same; capable of great force, yet never indulgent in it. "I care about you," she said now, just as earnest as always. She tugged lightly on Bela's wrist so she turned just enough to meet her eyes. "I know you don't want to be tied down, and I would never do that to you." That blue gaze seemed to plead with her, betraying her insecurity. "All I ask is that you…consider your other options. All right?"

And Isabela did not have an answer that would satisfy her; satisfy either of them, so she simply sighed and turned away again. "You're too tender for your own good; do you know that?" she said to the doorway, and felt Hawke's grip weaken and fall away. Good. It was easier that way.

"If you're done confusing the issue, I'm going to go," she said, and it didn't come out as heartless as she would have liked. Shit. What was this woman doing to her? She had to go, now. She'd have to be more careful moving forward. If they were going to move forward. She wasn't even certain of that much.

Shit.

Hawke didn't protest as she walked out of the room without looking back.