"Now, lads, there's something you must remember about selkies: they're born to the water, and the ocean will never claim them, for they know all too well how to swim to keep from being caught in its traps. Men are not the same, and many a time when the sea tastes our flesh it wants to keep us for itself, and will drag us down to the briny deep where we stay forever. Fool that I was then, I watched my selkie dancing in the waves and thought the water would welcome me as eagerly as it did her. Luckily, my selkie had a good heart, and felt pity for a poor man blinded into stupidity by her beauty; otherwise, none of us would be here today..."

Like a mirror between the worlds,
I catch the reflection of a star,
But it slips through my fingers.

Not even the chill of the water seemed to help dull his need, and he swam on, forcing himself further and further from the shore, until the moon seemed closer than land, and for a moment he wondered if the Maker, in all his divine mercy, might not be kind enough to smite him with a lightning bolt then and there. Or Hawke, even; he'd seen her strike down foes with well placed tempests several times over. Grunting slightly with exertion and self-disgust, he sighed, taking one more pull with his long arms well muscled from years of bending a bow. I should go back and apologize; what does one even say to apologize for such a thing? I'm sorry, I thought you were a selkie, and so I wanted to watch you swim naked under the stars while I fair burned with lust? Giving another sigh, he stopped swimming and lowered his legs into the water, only to have them yanked back out beneath him by the pull of the current.

Struggling to regain his balance, he fell back into the ocean, face beneath the waves, flailing his arms uselessly as a windmill in a monsoon trying to reach land once more. The more he kicked and swiped his hands, the more his lungs burned, until he managed to break his head through to the surface for one brief, sweet gasp of air. "Sebastian!" he heard screamed from shore, the laughter gone from Hawke's voice as it rang across the waves. "Don't try to swim against it! You need to..." But then he was sucked under again, spinning like a doodlebug, starlight mockingly shinning above his fingers in the odd angles only seen when viewed through water. He couldn't breath, couldn't think, just felt his exhausted muscles and lungs burning as he sank. Blessed be the souls of the faithful that they ascend to Your right hand...

Something soft but decidedly solid in this world of liquid closed around his chest, pulling hard, and he was free, face breaching the waves as he greedily filled his aching lungs. "Damn you, Vael! Didn't anyone ever teach you not to try and fight a rip current? You fight it and you drown from exhaustion!" He could hear the tears under the anger in the mage's words, but it took him a moment to blink the sting of salt from his face, before he could see them streaking her pale cheeks and turning the normally deep blue eyes red. "Did you think that was funny? How many more am I supposed to watch die? How many?" Her voice broke with that, the entirety of her body trembling against his side as the fear and adrenaline that had given her the strength to rescue him ebbed from her veins.

"Morgan," he whispered as his feet hit the soft sandy bottom, toes curling into the mud to anchor them both as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, gently cradling her against him as she shook with the force of her sobs. It was a first, him calling her by her given name, at least aloud; more times than he wanted to admit both name and woman had haunted his thoughts and dreams. "I'm here, Morgan, and safe. Everything is fine, hush now." Acutely aware of the feeling of her naked breasts, nipples pert from the cold water, stroking against his bare chest, desire welled in him with a fire that scorched his loins. Not bothering to think, he cupped the back of her head, angling it so he could easily lean down to slant his lips against hers. Beyond the salt, she tasted of mint and sugar, like the sweet treats he and Flora used to seek out along the merchants of Hightown in midsummer, that sticky candy pulled and formed into chewy balls that stuck to teeth and coated tongues with flavour that lasted for hours. Feverishly, he kissed her harder, letting loose a moan when she opened her mouth to his insistent nudges, their tongues dancing across each other in seductive caresses which did nothing to restore his control.

The need for breath forced their mouths apart, but they kept hold of each other, still pressed skin to skin in the moonlit sea. Resting his cheek on the small black head, he stroked his hands up and down her back, eyes closed as he thought back. "When I heard you laughing in the water, saw you dance among the waves, I thought you some selkie come to play a night as a woman, for no human could be as beautiful as you. And what human woman could draw a drowning man from the rip all on her own? I want you, a selkie," he whispered, slipping back into the archaic language of Starkhaven that his grandfather had used when telling him tales. "One night among the waves, one night of you with me, Morgan the selkie, then I'll give you back your skin, and we'll all return to what we are."

White as death, she looked up at him, eyes unreadable for a moment, then pressed herself even harder against him again, melding her mouth to his as her hands slid under the water to his breechclout. Impatiently, he lifted his legs to help her pull the fabric away, tossing his saturated smalls on to the beach with the rest of their clothing. Growling possessively, he crushed her to him, lifting her small body out of the waves for a moment as he struggled against the breakers to where the cliff extended beyond the beach into the water. Pressing her back against the warm stone as he bit her neck gently, Sebastian brushed his hardened member against the woman's inner thigh, gratified to hear noses of frustration tear from her throat as she squirmed to reach down and stroke him. "Nay, a selkie." he told her, pulling her hands up to drape over his shoulders, brogue thick with his lust. "You'll unmake me before we even begin."

"Sebastian," she whimpered, head lolling back to strike the stone with a thud as he teased her rosy buds with teeth and tongue, keeping her held against the stone with one strong hand as the other slid between her legs. Something between a moan and a cry burst from the woman, stance widening as he sought her core. Even with the icy touch of the sea water, she was hot and slick with need against his probing fingers, and he groaned loudly as she let loose another cry when he gently touched the thin membrane that marked her as still a maid. It would hurt when he took her, he knew, but to stop now would kill him as assuredly as the rip would have drowned him not an hour prior. "Please," she begged into his ear, sliding one thigh against his hip to try and pull him closer, nails scraping against his broad, damp shoulders. "Take me, my prince."

Fixing his mouth back over hers again, he dropped both his hands beneath the water, sliding them down her smooth skin until her reached her knees. With a gentle press behind both joints, he wrapped her legs around his waist, swallowing a deep breath before he slowly guided himself into her tight warmth. Mewling cries broke from her as he rocked his hips to sheath himself more deeply; she dug her nails into his back, face hidden in his shoulder, teeth biting into the flesh to keep from crying out again. "No, look at me, a selkie; I want to see you enjoy this." Pinning her against the rock with his thrusts, he reached up and pulled her face free, dragging her gaze to his, some primal, masculine part of him rumbling with satisfaction to see her blurry-eyed with pleasure. Blood wept from her torn maidenhead, staining the water around them with crimson trails, but her body welcomed him, hips raising off the rock by instinct to receive his strokes, mouths hungrily seeking out each other, testing, tasting. With a groan his thrusts became harder, and she cried out again, an inhuman scream not unlike that of a circling seabird as it sought food among the waves.

"Morgan, a selkie, a thaisce..." he managed between gasps, finally digging his fingers into her hips to hold her still as he thrust deep one last time, sagging against his lover's body as he found completion within her, spurting his seed to coat the walls of her womb. Limp and nearly boneless in his arms, she rested her cheek against his bare chest as he carried her back to shore, then gently lay her on her robe as he gathered his own clothes to form his own side of the pallet to lay on. Curling around his selkie, he pulled the dark silk head on to his shoulder to stay until the dawn.

A/N: Standard "I don't own Sebastian, BioWare does; I'm just playing with his mind" disclaimer. Lyrics are from "The Selkie" by Damh the Bard.

The following Gaelic phrases appear in this story (sorry if my Gaelic sucks, I'm an Italian from San Diego, I only speak English and Spanish):

A selkie: "my selkie"

A thaisce: "my treasure"