Hello all it's been months! Semester went wonderfully, finally finished editing this chapter. This chapter is big so please let it make up for the huge delay.
Content Warning: some serious angst, dark gore, NSFW in the end, all the good stuff in one packaged present :3
Thank you for your patience, I hope all have a restful and loving Holidays :)
Hawke gasped out, jolting up from his sleep violently, and banging his head on the underside of the hard bedside table he had been sleeping under. "Fuck," he cursed, panting and sweating and hot, his vision still flashing from his dream… tossled red hair, tattooed skin that tasted like flowered incense, her quiet moans as his thumbs rubbed over tight nipples…
"Fuck," he repeated angrily, shaking his head to try and rid himself of his crude dreams, letting his face fall into his hands after he sat up on the wooden floor. You damned bastard. You stupid, foolish bastard.
Hawke looked up and realized where he was after blinking around to find Varric's tiny room in the Hanged Man, the dwarf himself still passed out cold on the bed. Hawke's head throbbed painfully, both from hitting the table and from the hangover. I can't remember how I got here. The liquor must have finally caught up with me and knocked me out, sometime after… He grimaced, a feeling of dread tightening his chest and sinking his stomach, mixing with the hot tendrils of arousal that swirled through him every time he thought of her. After I probably fucked up any chance I had with her. You damned idiot, Aedan!
Hawke suppressed a groan, slowly remembering details of that dark side alley, remembering his urgency, his desperation, his aggression and his roughness in the way he grabbed her, gripped her, bit her, shoved her against the-, the way Lyra had looked at him so overwhelmed, I can't believe I acted that way!
His hands clenched into fists, his heartbeat quickening against his mind's will as he remembered her that way. He shook his head, berating himself for his complete lack of chivalry and class. She was drunk. His eyes fell shut in defeat and his brow creased painfully, the feeling of self-disgust swirling through him. Lyra was drunk, and you took advantage of her. You're no better than those groping men.
He slumped against Varric's bed, his head hitting back against the mattress as he fought off frustrated tears. You dirty bastard. What a friend you are. She deserves a gentleman, she deserves tenderness, she deserves someone to kneel before her and honor her brilliance. You can't even muster up the courage to tell her how you feel, you just got sloppy drunk and...
Varric stirred then, a groan sounding from beneath the sheets, and Hawke blinked quickly and tried to gather himself, realizing Varric probably had no idea he had spent the night. Hawke cleared his scratchy throat, swallowing the thick feelings of guilt.
"Mornin'," he said softly, and Varric took a whole half a minute to summon the strength to raise his head and blink groggily at who called.
"Hawke," he croaked, and Hawke chuckled softly from where he sat on the floor.
"I, uh, was just checking out your uh, floorboards," he joked in his own scratchy voice, and Varric blinked slowly, frowning in pain from his own inevitable headache.
"Shit..." he looked around, "Where's Blondie? Or Robin? Or anyone who can heal- I can't even think with this…" he rubbed his forehead before collapsing back down, and Hawke wondered too.
Where is Lanyra? I need to… he felt tears threaten him again, but his brows came together determinedly. I need to apologize to her. And I need, to finally be honest with her about how I feel.
Hawke looked over at his friend again, sighing and mustering the strength to get up. "I'll search for some water, Varric."
He gripped onto the side of the bed and hauled himself up to his feet, wobbling slightly and feeling the vertigo turn over his stomach, feeling sick. It's what you get, he told himself again for probably the fifth time this month, never learning after every time getting piss drunk with his friends.
Hawke checked over himself quickly and found he looked halfway decent, his clothes only dusty and wrinkled from sleeping on the floor but nothing dirtier. He stopped abruptly as he fixed his lopsided shirt, the collar brushing against a sore spot on his collarbone-
Sweet Andraste, he thought to himself as he remembered some more details of last night, his fingers absently massaging the fresh hickey. Where Lyra had bitten him back. I suppose, Lanyra was, a bit rough, with me as well…
He swallowed and tried to shake away the heat that crept along his skin, trying not to remember how she had felt in his arms, pressed against the wall, kissing and biting his neck as he grinded into her…
Damn it… he shook his head, so helpless to his feelings and so afraid to feel hopeful. Focus. Focus. Water.
He made his way out the door of Varric's private room, noting the light through the window telling him it was late morning at best, probably afternoon. He took the stairs down to the main floor of the bar slowly, one at a time, finding only a few passed out people.
The bar was silent except for some soft snores of the drunkards who spent the night. Hawke's gaze scanned the room quickly, not finding red hair and feeling relieved. He trudged over to the bar, finding scattered glasses that still needed to be cleaned, and rummaged down below, searching for some water. Oh, blessed, he thought as he found a large jug, hauling it up to the counter and getting himself a glass.
His head was still pounding when the front door to the Hanged Man was opened, spilling in the afternoon sunlight into the dank and dusty interior of the bar. Hawke shielded his eyes and squinted in pain as a familiar throaty baritone called out.
"Hawke? You in here?" Gamlen called, and Hawke coughed slightly, clearing his throat.
"Mornin', uncle," he drank another swig of water as Gamlen walked into the bar. Hawke looked the man over absently, but then blinked, seeing the signs of stress in the older man's shoulders.
"Of course you're here," Gamlen muttered disdainfully, coming closer and looking around the bar with a sneer. "First place I look. With this sorry lot."
"Did you need something?" Hawke asked bluntly, not exactly wanting a lecture from this uncle with his own long past of irresponsible behaviors and habits. Gamlen nodded, fixing Hawke with a scowl.
"Yes. I can't find your mother. She missed our weekly game, so I checked the manor, and I shouldn't have been surprised you weren't there either."
Hawke frowned, thinking. "Hmm, I was last with her, yesterday morning. She just came in from her travels a week ago; she could have still been too tired to play your game?"
Gamlen shook his head. "No, we always play, and her last letter said she would definitely be there. She didn't say anything to you?"
Hawke thought. "No, but she has been pretty busy lately, and I've been pretty busy lately, now that the whole city is back in business after the qunari."
"Busy, that may be it," Gamlen grumbled, shaking his head. "I just came from the manor, and some roses had been delivered. Leandra may have a secret suitor or something; she never liked talking to me about those sort of things."
Hawke stopped, mid drink. Wait, roses? Suitor? "Wait, what color were the roses?"
"Color?" Gamlen raised a brow. "White."
Hawke's stomach sank, his whole body felt a chill. White roses. From a suitor. No…
"Shit," he whispered, shaking his head and meeting his uncle's eyes. "White roses from a suitor. There's been a series of disappearances, each time a woman, after receiving white roses from an anonymous suitor."
Gamlen shook his head, brows coming together worriedly. "You don't think… no way, she wouldn't be taken…" he turned around and made for the door. "No, she probably just, got distracted on her way to Lowtown, or forgot something, so she turned back, I'll just go check…"
Hawke abandoned his water and followed his uncle, fear setting into his bones like the ache in your joints before a storm. "We should take this seriously, uncle. Let's go to the manor and see if we can find any clues."
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The sun was past midday- the three elves had set up the soup kitchen later than usual. It's my fault, Lyra thought with a grimace as she dipped the ladle into the giant cauldron of stew, glancing to her left and right at her companions.
Merrill handed out a bowl to an elderly elf, nodding and smiling. Fenris readied another bowl, glancing up with his preoccupied greens to meet Lyra's gaze expectantly, waiting for her to ladle a serving into it.
I'm lucky they came to find me, she thought absently as she poured stew into the bowl he was holding for her, the three working in unison like usual to hand out soup to the elven alienage population like they did every weekend. She had passed out behind the Hanged Man bar sometime early this morning, after using the last of her functionality to clean the mess of the bar before the alcohol caught up with her. She was lucky her friends knew where to find her to wake her up in time that she could quickly make a hunting trip to gather meat for the soup kitchen.
Both Merril and Fenris sensed her slower pace, their soft and curious glances letting her know she was off. It's not from lack of sleep, she thought, recalling many hungover Sunday mornings where she hunted and ran on a few hours of sleep from a crazy night previous. I'm still rattled from-
She blushed immediately, focusing intently on ladling soup as she remembered last night. I can't believe… I just can't believe, Aedan…
"Thank you, Hahren," a young voice called, and she blinked and met the gaze of the young girl in front of her, peering up at her curiously. Lyra gave her a smile and nodded, her heart warming from hearing the term of respect from the young elfling.
"Of course, da'len. Keep your chin up." Lyra said warmly with a glint in her smile, the young girl breathing in and nodding to her. She walked off with a straighter back, her shoulders set and her pace more sure. Lyra smiled absently as her mind whirled.
When am I going to see him next? Gods I need to tell him, I finally just need to fucking tell him, but I'm so terrified he was only that way last night because we were drunk, what if he doesn't actually have feelings for me-
Just then she glanced up and her heart nearly stopped from the shock, she blinked as the man himself strode down the steps into the alienage with his full armor on, looking around hurriedly with an intense alertness in his stance-
Fuck, his blues found hers and widened when he saw her, her hands almost dropping the ladle she was holding and her stomach tensed like she just took a blow. His hair was a mess, his armor askew, his face gaunt like hers from the lack of sleep and the hangover. His eyes held fear, and yet they still softened the longer she held his gaze. Someone help me. I love him.
"Good to know he survived the night," Fenris muttered, and Merrill nodded next to her with a light chuckle.
"Our group, in more danger from the parties and the drinking than from dragon hunting."
Lyra's brows narrowed as Hawke got closer, her instincts flaring in alert. His shoulders, his hands clenching into fists, the lack of all lightness from his expression and from his steps. She swallowed. His eyes. Something's wrong.
"My friends," Hawke started in a deadly monotone, reaching the front of the soup line and coming to them. The three momentarily abandoned their bowls and stepped to the side with him, the other two sensing his intensity.
"Hawke? Are you alright?" Merrill asked quietly, and Hawke just shook his head, meeting the three's eyes with his worried ones.
"My mother's missing. And white roses were delivered to the manor, just like those few cases of kidnapped women in the last year."
Lyra's stomach sank with dread, her hand coming to clutch at her chest. "Have you any leads, lethallin?"
"One," he said softly, meeting her eyes earnestly, looking so lost she felt the pull to comfort him. "A trail of blood, a few alleys over. Anders is already on his way to meet us. Would any of you, please…" his voice was so soft, and the three all nodded immediately, and Fenris took a step forward.
"I was a fool and left my weapons and armor in Hightown. I could run…" Fenris looked ready to, but Hawke shook his head, giving him a worried smile.
"No, thank you but stay here, these people here need you too."
"I'll be quick," Lyra said over her shoulder before sprinting over to her place, Merrill running over to hers to grab her weapons and armor as well. Gods, please let Leandra be alright. Oh Gods…
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Maker, please. Maker, please. Maker… Hawke's mind looped a plea to whatever higher powers were above as he sliced down dozens upon dozens of abominations. He grunted as he took a hit and blocked another shade in front of him, the gnarled face of the twisted corpse snarling at him before he hacked the head off.
They were in an underground lair in the bowels of the city, the dwellings of a mad mage. A fireplace blazed in front of an armchair piled with books, the stench of rotting corpses and something unnatural permeating the air and making it hard to breathe.
They were following the trail of blood, bringing them through lab rooms with dismembered corpses, the few slips of paper he spared the few seconds to read all mad ravings of a serial killer.
This can't be happening, he thought over and over again as he plunged his sword into the last standing shade, its roar deafening as it dissipated. Merrill was murmuring to herself, looking around her with fear and disgust in her eyes, and Lyra lurked quietly along the books and equipment, looking for clues. Hawke registered Anders healing him, but he couldn't feel anything.
"We must be close," Anders said before drinking another lyrium potion, and Hawke looked the others down quickly as they moved to continue on. A sort of deadened feeling had started to set in Hawke's bones, like rot. Maker, please.
He lead his friends into another hallway, this one much larger and much longer than the rest. "Ahead!" Merrill yelled, and they quickened into a jog, reaching a grand room with another large fireplace and set of couches, random bookshelves making this dark haunt look like a home, a single armchair facing away from them but a person obviously sitting in it-
"Who's there?!" Hawke yelled, drawing his sword and advancing cautiously, his friends fanning to his sides as he approached the chair from behind. The person, the woman who sat there was sitting so still, and as Hawke came around into view-
Mother?
Leandra Hawke sat in the armchair, pale and as still as marble, dressed in a wedding dress and veil, a thick row of fresh and fleshy stitches across her throat, her opened eyes deadened and the wrong color-
Hawke's sword clanged against the floor and he took a shaky step back, shaking his head as the horror grew the longer he looked at her. She had been stitched together, with the arms of someone else and the legs of another, her body a misshapen array of stitches and rotting flesh-
"No," he whispered as his friends came to see, and the sickest voice rang out from behind them.
"You made it," they all turned abruptly, the man walking out from a cave flocked with corpses on his either side. He sneered at them, annoyed, but still filled with ecstasy, his eyes bright in madness. "You'll get to see me finally reunited with my wife."
The man snapped his fingers with a spark, and behind them the corpse of Leandra twitched alive, its arms flailing as it stumbled to stand.
"You sick bastard!" Lyra yelled to his left but Hawke couldn't even blink, his gaze just fixated on the miserable abomination that wore Leandra's face.
Mother?
"Sick? I am a genius! I have done the impossible! I have touched the face of the Maker and lived!"
Hawke heard the familiar sound of Lyra's bow releasing, and suddenly everything around him was moving so fast, Merrill spinning her staff to his left and Anders building wards to his right, abominations spilling into the room from every door while corpses crawled their way up out of the ground…
"Hawke!" Merrill screamed at him and he flinched, tearing his eyes away and scrambling to pick up his sword, the motion around him feeling like nothing at all and his body lagging a few seconds behind his mind. Fight. Fight. I have to fight.
Hawke raised his sword to block an attacking corpse at the last moment, but could only blink as it snarled and tried to claw and bite him, his eyes fixating on the row of stitches holding its rotting head to its neck, the string holding it together taut as it strained and struggled, the fleshy wound so like the one holding his mother's head…
A bloody dagger point plunged through the back of its head from behind, and as it died and fell Hawke blinked at Lyra standing in front of him in her dark leather, turning to guard him as a wave of shades came his way. Hawke couldn't focus- he heard shouting, he heard screams. He felt the dull pain of a something knocking him down and a corpse clawing at his grieves. A pressure at his side, then wetness, like the side of his ribs were soaked with water but he couldn't move, just struggled on the dirty ground. Mother?
Mother?
Where am I?
What's happening?
Mother, where are you?
Suddenly he was sitting up and all of the enemies were dead around him. His friends panted in exhaustion and he struggled to his feet.
He looked around, lost and numb, searching, searching for his-
He turned quickly to see her stumble towards him. Time slowed down as he reached his arms out and caught her as she fell, sinking to his knees with her as she collapsed.
"Mother, mother…" he shook his head, his voice broken, his mind still too shocked to form tears. He laid her head on his lap, her body failing, her lifeless eyes struggling to stay open. "Don't move, mother, we'll find a way to…"
"Shh, don't fret, darling," she rasped quietly, and Hawke's heart felt like it was ripping in two, hearing her voice. She couldn't focus her eyes but her expression smiled at him warmly. "That man, would have kept me trapped in here. But now, I'm free."
Hawke was shaking his head, his thighs, his hands, his forearms soaked in blood as his mother bled out of a body that wasn't hers. "I'll get to see Carver again, and your father," she whispered with a smile, though her body writhed in pain. "Aedan," her hand twitched upwards, tearing at the seam with her wrist, wanting to hold his face, and spilling blood onto his chest. "My little boy, has become so strong. I love you. You've always made me, so, proud…"
Her hand fell and her body lie still, and Hawke's vision blurred. What? What?
What?
He blinked and realized he was standing. He blinked and realized he was walking, leaning on someone's shoulders. He blinked, and realized, he was outside again, and it was raining.
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The rain thundered around them in waves, the sound drowning out Lyra's thoughts.
Lyra panted tiredly, her heart so heavy, her leather soaked from the rain and from blood as she and Hawke finally neared his manor. He's in shock, I need to get him inside, she thought, her mind overriding to healer, her large friend leaning on her heavily as she lead them to his front door.
"Aedan, rest here for a minute," she murmured as she leaned him against the wall, glancing up to see his eyes still glazed over, the rain running down rivulets through his hair and down his cheeks. She rummaged through his belt pouches, sifting through grenades and whetstones and finally finding the large key.
It took her a minute to wriggle the door open and guide Hawke through it, both of them soaking wet as she sat him on the foyer bench.
She snapped her fingers to start a fire in the main room, and quickly stripped off her outer leather, setting it up to dry. She glanced over Hawke worriedly, just sitting in a daze and completely unresponsive, his head lowering to look down at his blood-covered hands. The rain had washed most of it away, but much of his mother's blood remained on his front.
Lyra nodded to herself and finished undressing, moving to start on her friend. She worked away at his armor ties with nimble fingers, undressing him and setting his own armor and sword out to dry. She coaxed him to stand so she could remove his grieves, and he leaned on her, his mind so far away she had never seen someone so distant and disconnected from their body before.
She lead them through his house, winding through the hall slowly towards his bathroom. When they got there she sat him down on a stool, making sure he wouldn't topple and nodding to herself when he had enough unconscious balance to remain upright without support.
She drew water into the bath, wrapping her hands around the faucet and heating the water with magic so it filled the small room with steam. She glanced over and found Hawke blinking slowly, a lost and worried expression on his face, his eyes searching but not seeing what was in front of him. She came to him and he blinked up at her, his hands reaching for her as she got close. She murmured sweet comforts to him and met his hands, running a hand through his hair and looking him over for any injuries Anders may have missed.
"Let me help, lethallin," she said softly, knowing he needed to be cleaned of the blood. She untied the front of his tunic, the whole front of it streaked with red, and lifted his arms to get it off of him. Shit, a huge bruise on his side at the base of his ribs, the dark color telling her it was deep. I have so little mana left, and we finished the last of the potions. This isn't threatening, but it must hurt.
His pants were soaked through as well, and Lyra coaxed him out of those with some effort, leaving him mostly bare save for a loincloth.
"Forgive me," she whispered, blushing and swallowing and wetting a rag with soap and hot water, and beginning to wash him, starting at the top with his chest. She scrubbed him gently, washing the rag with the hot bath water, running over his hard chest and abdomen with clean water. She held his forearms and washed him of the battle grime, briefly scrubbing his thighs and shins until he was clean.
She undressed herself as well, leaving on the small breast wrap and her own loincloth, not wishing to be offensive to her vulnerable friend who was already in shock. She quickly cleaned herself of the blood and grime, glancing over to Hawke often in concern.
His blues slowly started to focus, his brows together in confusion and his hands reaching for her if she stayed away too long. Lyra came to him, reaching down to hold his face as his eyes blinked up at hers, slowly, slowly coming to.
"Lethallan…?" he whispered, and she nodded, smiling at him warmly.
"I'm here, Aedan. I'm here."
She caressed his cheek before urging him to stand, and lead him out of the bathroom after grabbing a towel.
She brought them to his master bedroom, the bed familiar to Lyra from her times sharing his sleeping space. She swallowed again as she ran the towel over his broad form, drying him so he could sit on the side of the bed without getting it wet.
"We…" he started, and Lyra looked up and met his gaze worriedly, helping him to then sit on the bed. His eyes blinked up at her, able to focus a little more. "I, you… didn't have to…"
"Shh," Lyra quickly dried herself as well, feeling more self-conscious of being mostly bare to him, now that his spirit was returning. She walked over to his dresser, and opened a few drawers, finding him a robe and grabbing one of his large shirts for herself. She slipped on his tunic and came back to him, his eyes blinking up to hers.
"Thank you," he whispered, receiving the robe she handed him, and slipping it on himself.
"I'll grab some water," she murmured, padding over his carpet to the kitchen, feeling a little vulnerable walking through his quiet manor in nothing but his shirt, quickly grabbing a glass of water before padding back.
She slipped back into his bedroom quietly. There he sat on the side of the bed, slumped over, with his head in his hands. Her heart broke from the sight. He heard her enter, so he raised his head, and met her eyes with his piercing blue gaze, fully returned and feeling.
"Thank you," he whispered again, and she shook her head, coming to sit at his side. What can I say? She felt her chest constrict in pain, the pain her friend was feeling a physical ache within her.
She looked up at him, and watched so many different emotions suffuse his expression. There was so much tight tension in his shoulders, and along his arms, all the way to his clenched fists resting on his thighs. She closed her eyes and leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. His voice shook in a whisper.
"I wasn't there for her. Just like, I wasn't there for Bethany."
Lyra raised her head and looked at him, brows coming together and her voice earnest. "No. Do not say that, lethallin."
His face lowered even further, the strain along his form palpable. Lyra gently reached for one of his fists, resting on his leg. He let her hold his larger hand, and as her cool fingers soothed his strain, he slowly unclenched his fist, interlocking his rough fingers with hers. She pressed her forehead into his shoulder, wishing she could take all of the pain from him. Her voice was so soft, and full of grief. "This was not your fault, Aedan."
He shook his head, his hand squeezing hers tightly. "It's all too much, Lanyra." he brought his face closer to hers, his voice laced with pain and fear. "I can't breathe."
He seemed to crumble, hunching over, and that was when she first felt him begin to shake.
"Aedan?" she asked tenderly, slowly moving to face him. She gently placed her hands on his cheeks, feeling his rough beard, in contrast to his vulnerable eyes. When they rose and met hers, she saw his tears, and in an instant she fit into his arms, rising to her knees to hug his head to her chest. He immediately returned the embrace, wrapping his burly arms around her midsection and holding on to her tightly, and burying his face into her collar. She felt him shake, and she held him closer, running her fingers through his hair comfortingly. After a few moments, he continued to silently sob into her, his body so afflicted with grief they had a hard time staying sitting upright, so she pulled away slightly.
"Come." she told him gently, and held his arm and pulled him with her. She guided him onto the bed to lie down, and she lay down next to him, reaching to hold him while he reached for her, and he buried his face into her collar again, Lyra cradling his head in her arms as they laid among the sheets. He clung to her as his sobs racked his body, his arms tight around her ribcage, his tears staining her collar, their legs slightly intertwining. She felt the warmth of his body radiate into her bones, the heat of this large muscled human warrior, and she held him dear, feeling his waves of anguish shake them. She stroked his hair, she whispered his name, she held him as close as possible and he held on to her back, his firm hold around her severe.
They lay like that for a while, but Lyra didn't care in the slightest. It felt amazing to just lie in each others arms. I would hold you for a lifetime if you needed it, lethallin.
He had stopped shaking, and his breathing was returning to normal. Lyra nuzzled his forehead, and he shifted his face slightly, rubbing his nose against her collarbone and brushing her skin with his rough facial hair. She suppressed a shiver from the intimacy, and continued to run her fingers through his hair soothingly, very happy that his pain had subsided. His arms were still locked around her ribs, with a hand holding the center of her back and the other wrapped around her waist. Lyra sighed deeply, feeling so comfortable in his sheets and with the pillow they shared, with her chin resting against the top of his forehead.
His heart beat steadily against her, his breathing regular and soft, every part of him relaxed. Lyra's eyes slid closed, feeling so pleasant and warm within his embrace, that her own breathing and heartbeat steadied. The fatigue and exhaustion of the day finally caught up with her, the adrenaline gone and replaced with peaceful rest. They drifted off into the fade, each feeling safe. I am here for you, Aedan. I am here for you.
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Hawke breathed in deeply, rousing away from his colorless dreams. His mind had made hazy images of his mother, along with the sound of her voice in her final farewell. Despite the bitterness of his dreams he felt rather comfortable lying in his-
What-?
Hawke's eyes flew open, seeing immediately the bright red of Lyra's hair, right in front of his face. He sucked in a breath, his whole body flinching as he realized he was spooning her from behind, his arm firmly wrapped around her waist and his form curved around hers so intimately. Maker.
She shifted slightly in his arms, sighing deeply and snuggling back into his chest with a hand resting on his other arm, acting as her pillow. A tingling sensation bloomed in the center of Hawke's chest, warming him and waking him further. She still slept soundly, her breath slow and lazy. This is real, he assured himself, blinking and recalling the last night, both the horror and what followed after.
My mother is gone, he closed his eyes, feeling the wave of pain, but his grief not nearly crippling him as it did last night. I was not okay, he recalled, somehow making it home thanks to his friends, No, thanks to Lanyra, she helped me, washed me, was there with me when I came to.
Hawke tightened his arm around her waist just thinking about it. Her slender and strong form fit comfortably in his arms, her hair so soft as her head rested on his bicep. His nose was already filled with her familiar scent; the far away burning wood smell, with the freshness of herbs and flowers making him snuggle closer. Maker it feels incredible to hold her like this. Should I wake her, though? Should I pull away?
Hawke frowned and stilled, sudden uncertainty and doubt filling his mind. What if she would not want to have me holding her like this? His arm had wrapped around her waist while he was sleeping, his hand tucked under her ribs, just below her breasts... His ears burned and his chest fluttered again as he tensed up and stilled, thinking he should pull away, but their bodies were so close, their limbs so intertwined that his movement would-
"Mmm?" Lyra hummed softly, shifting a bit, her fingers unconsciously tightening their hold on his forearm. Hawke's heart jolted as Lyra stilled, and he could feel her sudden intake of breath against his own chest.
Her hand slowly reached for his hand holding her waist as she started to turn, not too quickly that she was offended or afraid, but her startled gaze found his as she peered at him over her shoulder. He was frozen. Hawke's gaze was wide as they stared at each other for a moment with their faces inches apart, his eyes locked in her beautiful widened blue-greens, and he suddenly removed his hand from her waist quickly, swallowing and blinking at how close she was.
"I-... I just, ah, I'm so, sorry forgive me-..." he fumbled, so distracted and overwhelmed by how she hadn't moved from within his embrace. I love you, he thought helplessly as his eyes flitted between hers, her messy hair so soft where her head rested against his arm. I love you, her eyes flitted between his as fear entered her expression, her breathing hitched as she turned even more to face him, I love you, she faced him, their legs rubbing under the sheets, the heat between them burning like fire, her hand coming up to clutch at her chest. Panic filled him as his mind screamed at him to back off, though she didn't pull away either.
Don't kiss her, he begged himself as he tore his hands away from her and prepared to pull away, aware of how close she was and how close he was to coming undone. Don't touch her, if she doesn't-
"I've fallen for you, Aedan."
Time stopped, along his his heart. She stared at him with widened eyes, those beautiful eyes wet and saturated with more fear than he had ever seen in them in all the deadly battles they had shared.
I-
What?
"I should have told you," she whispered again, her voice shaking as she shrunk into herself, looking smaller and smaller as her brows came together in worry. Hawke couldn't breathe. "I should have told you after that night. We were so drunk I don't know if you even remember, but, but you deserve my honesty and-"
"I remember," Hawke sat up quickly, shaking his head and feeling his chest constrict in disbelief, in shock. "I thought, I thought…" he stammered, looking at her with widened eyes, out of breath and not thinking straight as she sat up as well, still shaking, averting her blue-greens and shrinking further. "I thought, I shouldn't have, you were drunk, I wronged you, Lanyra, I've agonized, I needed to tell you-"
"Forgive me," Lyra choked out, turning from him and hugging herself, her shoulders shaking as she pulled away to hide her face. "Your mother, I'm so sorry, and I'm making this about me," she crawled out of their covers with his tunic slipping off her shoulder, the tattooed skin shuddering as she looked around at him to show her fresh tears, "It's okay if that night didn't mean anything to you, it really is, I just, I just can't hold on to this anymo-"
Hawke jolted from his frozen state and lunged for her, hand grabbing her upper arm to stop her retreat while the other reached for her cheek and he kissed her, shocking her and making her let out a sound, he kissed her and wrapped his arm around her waist knowing there was no fucking way in Andraste's great heaven he was letting her go right now-
Lyra gasped for air as he released her for a second so he could whisper against her lips. "I love you," he kissed her again, both of them shaking, Lyra's soft mewls of surprise being swallowed as Hawke blew away all other notions as his grip pressed her to him. Her lips parted for him as naturally as they had the first time they kissed, only now he kissed her with the shockwaves of elation tearing apart his chest.
He pulled away only enough to meet her eyes, teary gaze meeting teary gaze, and he looked between them for a second before repeating, "I love you, Lanyra, and I should have told you this months ago."
Lyra panted, tears still streaming but her brows upturning, the sight of her so overwhelmingly beautiful Hawke pulled her closer to capture her lips again. Is this real? He held her cheeks delicately, feeling the wetness and moving his kisses to her cheekbone, Is this real? Her fingers gripped the front of his robe tightly, her voice so soft as she whispered his name, Is this real?
Their lips found each other again and their kiss deepened, her hands running up to his collarbone, his neck, to the back of his head to run through his hair as he pressed their chests together, feeling the softness of her breasts through the thinness of his tunic. His heart hammered in his chest, beating against her skin, his hands feeling the lines and muscles of her back as she lightly nipped his bottom lip.
A moan escaped him, and his grip tightened. In a swift movement he pulled her around and pushed her down until he pressed her into the sheets, his hands grabbing fistfuls of the blanket on either side of her while his tongue dove into her parted lips. Her fingers dug into his scalp to keep him there, on her, on her, he was so hurried to feel his body against hers he hadn't noticed how adrenaline was pumping through every inch of him like he was charged with electricity. He was alive, his heart was hammering, he felt such overwhelming need in his blood to feel her, to pleasure her, to show her, to show her...
Their lips broke apart and they both gasped for air, their hands still searching and finding, their bodies still pressed together. Hawke opened his eyes to meet her blazing fire, and he whispered while trying to catch his breath. "I was so afraid, Lanyra, so afraid, I had taken advantage of you. That night," he shook his head, his arms shaking from the wave of adrenaline that exploded from his core just thinking about grinding her against that brick wall, "That night was everything to me. You are everything to me," he searched her eyes and found an energy that matched his, a fresh wave of tears falling down her tattooed cheeks as she smiled so happily up at him. She clutched at her chest and let out a breathy laugh of relief.
"Ma vhenan," she whispered shakily, her hands holding his face as she beamed up at him through her tears, "I love you, too."
Lyra leaned up to him, raising herself on an elbow so she could reach him while he memorized the sight of her. Ma vhenan? He felt the energy of those ancient elven words strike somewhere deep within him. Lyra kissed him fiercely, her slender form meeting his with force and passion, his robe coming undone from the movement and her hardened nipples rubbing against his skin through her shirt. Hawke was lost in a thundering wave of arousal; Lyra I need you, Lyra I want…
She pushed him up, meeting his force with the same surge of desperation, and one of her calves hooked around his knee, pulling to buckle him while turning him, using a maneuver so she would come out on top. Her small hands now pressed his chest down, and Hawke felt the back of his head hit his sheets. They both panted, and Hawke could only gaze upwards in reverence and shock, the sight of her leaning over him as she took her position above like nothing he had fathomed before.
She hovered over him, straddling his hips as her hands pressed down on his chest to hold herself up. Her red locks obscured his vision as she leaned down to him, and he met her kiss with urgency, his hands naturally brushing her thighs on either side of his hips. Heavens, she wore no pants under his baggy tunic, the smoothness of her skin making his fingers twitch in shock. The ripples of delirium reverberated in his chest as he decidedly grasped her thighs in his grip, her muscles taught as she suspended herself above him.
"Lanyra…" he moaned before she pressed her lips against his again, her hands slipping the front of his robe apart and her small fingers alighting down over the ripples of his abdomen. He ran his hands up the sides of her thighs and under the shirt, trembling over the loincloth over her hips to lick up around her waist. She was shaking, either from the effort to stay hovering above him or from his touch, either way Hawke felt his hardened member strain painfully against his loincloth as his thumbs grazed the sides of her breasts.
Lyra breathed in sharply, moving her lips to his jaw and nuzzling his face to the side, nipping and sucking on the soft vulnerable part of his neck under his jaw. His shaft throbbed painfully against his tight cloth, his thumbs mercilessly rubbing over her sensitive nipples until she writhed on top of him, the movement causing her to bite down harder where she pleasured his neck.
"Ah, fuck," she tensed on top of him as he played with her breasts, massaging her sensitive buds with his rough fingers, the soft mewls she tried so hard to supress sending more and more tight pressure to his groin. Her eyes were tightly shut as she withstood his pleasuring touch, her shoulders rising in strain as she fought off the moan threatening to spill out of her. He wanted to suck on her tits, fuck, Lyra, he brought a hand to his mouth to lick his thumb, quickly returning it to her perfect breast to cause her to gasp out with the feeling of slickness on her nipple.
Hawke let out a frustrated grunt, glaring up at his ravishing Goddess above him, her beauty blinding him but his annoyance bursting that she still held herself so suspended above him. His hips bucked up of their own accord, starving for friction, begging for her to lower herself to rest on him, to ride him, please fucking ride me, Lanyra, please…
"Enough," he growled lowly, bucking with his large reserves of strength and causing her to fall forward on his chest, one of his elbows digging back into the bed to push himself to rise as his other arm wrapped around her waist. He sat up with her still straddling him, his arm locking her to him so her chest rubbed against his, angling them upright so her gaze was level with his. Her bright eyes burned as they looked between his, and they couldn't fight the pull they felt towards each other, their lips clashing with insistence.
She let herself sink onto him, the weight of her finally pressing down on his hardened member as she still straddled him so delightfully. "Lyra," his hands slipped under the shirt, running up her back as her arms wound around his neck. Please, Lyra I love you, I want you to-
Hawke sucked in a breath as pleasure shot up through his body, Lyra's hips suddenly grinding against his painful hardness like nothing he-
"Fuck," his hands clutched her tightly through another shockwave as his head fell forward onto her shoulder, her hips moving on him and teasing him unbelievably. Lyra let out the softest sound, throwing her head back as she rubbed herself on him, and Hawke turned his face to her collar and closed his mouth on her tattooed skin, suckling her and moaning into her as they clung to each other.
"Aedan, Gods…" She murmured breathlessly. Hawke sucked and kissed the side of her neck as his hands fumbled with the tunic she wore, the heat between them blistering with the clothing they still wore. He grunted in annoyance, forcing himself a few seconds without touching her so he could pull the tunic up over her head, her arms trying to assist pulling her messy red locks free. He tossed the tunic the second it was away and felt the center core of him vibrate from the sight of her, his head shaking in awe and his blues locking in her impatient blue-greens. He wasn't allowed a moment to appreciate her as her own hands were pulling at his robe, and he hastily struggled with her at his cursed long-sleeved garment, his growl low as he angrily freed himself from the cloth-
"Aedan?!" Lyra sucked in a breath, and Hawke grasped her chin and went to kiss her but she had stilled, trying to get his attention. "Aedan, you're, you're bleeding…"
Hawke stopped, glancing down to where she was looking, and finding sure enough, a large bruise on his side that was oozing bright red from the cut in the center rubbed raw. His robe was wet with blood, his whole side was stained red and his sheets were splattered, and he hadn't even noticed it.
"It's fine," he dismissed it, not feeling the pain then and not feeling the pain now, and moved his hand to caress her jaw, capturing her perfect lips and locking an arm around her waist again. She let out a noise against his lips but he was floored by the feeling of her hardened nipples grazing his bare chest, his hands never stopping in their-
"Aedan, please," she panted against him, her hand on his chest as he pulled away to look at her. Maker, she was a sight. Flushed skin, tousled hair, the fire still sparking in her eyes…
"You're so beautiful," he whispered to himself, and she grabbed his chin and brought his gaze to hers.
"You're bleeding! Please, let me see," she fussed and raised herself out of her straddle, the distance adding pounds and pounds of weight onto his chest. "I can't believe I didn't see this," she muttered to herself, still out of breath and still flushed, still only wearing her undergarment as she pushed the unmoving Hawke to better see his injury.
"I feel no pain," he protested, waving it away and trying to reach for her again, and she swatted his hands away, glaring him back to be still as she inspected him.
"I will heal you first, damn it, now sit still." she took a breath to focus her mana and Hawke felt a smile tug on his mouth. She's so beautiful, I can't believe it.
"Twenty-five seconds," he whispered, reaching out and tucking a stray strand of her long hair behind her pointed ear, her focus on his side. She glanced up at him with a question in her eyes. He cocked his head at her. "You get twenty-five seconds and then I'm kissing you again."
The corner of her mouth rose and the spark of mischief entered her gaze. She cocked her head back at him, the challenge in her gaze tickling him somewhere deep, and her voice was just as soft. "How dare you. It'll only take me ten."
Hawke let out a breath, eyes locked on hers, his breathing still rough as his fingers twitched to touch her. I'm so in love.
Her cool fingers were finishing healing the cut when they heard a faded knock from the other room. They both froze, looking at each other for a moment, before the knock sounded again, louder this time.
"No," Hawke groaned, reaching for her as she reached for him, his face burying into her collarbone. "We're not home."
Lyra's fingers ran through his hair, the feeling an instant relief like cool water, triggering memories of her comforting him only the night before. Her voice was soft, and worried. "It could be Gamlen."
Hawke's eyes opened, and the sudden dark wave of grief washed over him, making him lean further into her embrace. My mother is gone. His sister. I need to tell him.
"You're right," he whispered, taking another moment to soak up the comfort she offered him, kissing her neck before pulling away and straightening up. He breathed in deeply, sighing heavily and running a hand over his face. The lightest touch on his arm, he thought he imagined it, but he looked down at a bashful Lyra. She blinked up at him.
"Would you like support?" she asked with wide eyes, and Hawke registered her question.
"Yes," he grasped her hands, bringing them up so he could kiss them, and meeting her blue-greens with a sad smile. "Yes, I want you to come with me."
She nodded with a somber smile, and they got out of the bed together, walking around to his wardrobe and quickly finding clothes to throw on. Hawke lead Lyra out to the living room, the two still disheveled, both padding barefoot over the carpet to the front door. Before they reached the foyer he stopped, turned, reached out and grasped her chin, raising it so he could kiss her. He lost himself in her soft lips for a moment, feeling her support, feeling her passion, feeling her love. He released her, and she reached up and caressed his cheek, smiling up at him with an unwavering peace in her gaze.
"You Goddess," he whispered, still in awe and overwhelmed as he looked between her happy eyes, "You give me such strength, my love."
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