Hawke and Isabela were complete opposites when it came to being rogues, and of course, women. Isabela wore whatever she wanted practicality be damned, she was a flirt, she gave her affection freely and showed not a hint of shame; Hawke, well, she put practicality above all else, was shy but witty, and could not stand to be put on display in ways that the rogue pirate often did in her chosen garb. For Maker’s sake, the pirate wore no pants! Despite the differences however, she and Isabela became the best of friends. Nigh inseparable. They were never at odds and never had a disagreement. Hawke never even felt a negative twinge once aimed at the pirate; at least, not until Fenris came along.

It had all started innocently enough.

She, Isabela, Fenris, and Anders were searching the Wounded Coast for a patrol of qunari that had gone missing – a patrol she was being accused of killing. Oh sure, she’d killed qunari, no doubt about that, but she had not taken out this patrol and wasn’t going to be blamed for something she didn’t do.

“See anything?” She asked as she knelt to examine a booted print in the dirt.

“Not yet,” Isabela replied.

They stood and kept going down the winded path. Anders and Isabela passed the time with random bits of conversation; often times conversations would spark up, how could they not when they walked hours on end through various places. They weren’t all that significant to Hawke and she didn’t often pay attention, but whenever she heard the deep, smooth timbre of Fenris’ voice, she couldn’t help herself. She had to listen.

“So this relic you mentioned losing - ” he started, words obviously meant for Isabela.

“You have pretty eyes,” Isabela purred in response.

Hawke felt her gut churn uncomfortably. You have pretty eyes? What in the Void was that supposed to mean? Was she coming on to Fenris now? The urge to slap Isabela caught her by surprise and she visibly winced; where had that come from? Never once had she wanted to do such a thing to her friend. So why now?

“I…have pretty eyes,” Fenris repeated slowly, as if he had been caught off guard by her rather impromptu compliment.

“You elves have such pretty eyes. Even the men,” she chuckled. “It makes me want to…pluck them out and wear them as a necklace.”

Okay, so maybe Hawke had been reading a little too far into the compliment. Isabela knew, at least had guessed, that Hawke had a crush on the elf(though she supposed that competition would only serve to stroke the pirate’s interest even higher). Silence fell over the party and for once Hawke could appreciate the silence for what it was. They found the patrol near the south point of the coast and before long, they began the hike back to Kirkwall, though Hawke’s mood was still awfully sour. It would help if she could stop picturing Isabela with Fenris, but the images refused to vamoose on out for greener pastures.

“You keep staring at me,” Fenris remarked and Hawke glanced back at him curiously, though she frowned when she realized that he wasn’t addressing her, but Isabela. “Is it my eyes again?”

“You’re very…lanky, for an elf,” the pirate mused out loud. Her tone dropped into a seductive lilt as she added, “I like lanky.”

Okay! To the Void, she did not misread that. There was no way to misread that. Not in that tone of voice there wasn’t. Hawke’s fingers twitched, hand tense, as she forced herself to keep it as her side.

“From what I gather, you like a lot of things,” Fenris replied dryly.

“Nonsense!” Isabela exclaimed with a chuckle. Anders scoffed, though quickly sobered up when the pirate sent him a genital-withering-glare. She was quick to turn her attention back to the elf, however. “But when I see something I like, I go after it.”

Hawke saw Fenris’ dark brow rise up in response. “I suggest you keep your distance.” That’s right, Fenris, you tell her!

“Now you’re just making it challenging!” She purred with a soft chuckle, giving him a bat of her lashes as she smiled.

Ignore it, Hawke. Isabela is always like this. Ignore it!

“Do you intend to come after me then?” Fenris asked of her a moment later. Okay, that she couldn’t ignore. She listened intently, so intently she vaguely wondered if she were straining her ears or had ceased her walking.

“Would you take off all that spiky armor you’re wearing?” Isabela teased.

“It’s been known to happen,” Fenris supplied cautiously. Oh hell no!

Safe to say the walk back to Kirkwall seemed to take an eternity and Hawke’s irritation didn’t let up for a single moment. Neither did the urge to slap her friend.

Maker, she was jealous, wasn’t she?

When she caught Isabela thrusting her cleavage into Fenris’ line of vision later that night at the Hanged Man, and his mossy eyes openly staring, that was an easy question to answer.

Ah nug shit. Jealous. That’s blasted lovely. Just what I need.

---

Hawke frowned as she sorted through the garments and armor that she owned. She was practical, damn it. All her lower garments consisted of nothing but trousers, even her house clothes; upper garments were usually tight, and completely covering, and even covered then by a vest. Elbow length gloves, knee length boots. How could she compete with Isabela with any of what she owned?

The answer was – she couldn’t.

Figure wise she knew she could. She wasn’t superficial or obsessed with her figure, but she knew she was attractive beneath all her layers. But hell, it was embarrassing to put one’s self on display, whether or not they were attractive. It was normal to feel shame. If she couldn’t do this, she could very well lose the one man she had felt an undeniable attraction to. Isabela would snatch him right from under her, as she had a score of men before him(though to other women, not Hawke).

Get over it, Hawke. You can do this. Fenris was looking, which means he likes the show. So put on a show!

They were going to think she’d finally lost it. Hell as long as they were going to assume that, she might as well dive right in.

Snatching up her coin purse she went to the one place where knew she would not be disappointed – the Blooming Rose.

---

Her face was on fire. Or at least it felt like it. Maker, she couldn’t believe she was wearing this. A black shirt dress reminiscent of Isabela’s, though the cuts were more daring, if that were possible. The deep V between her breasts left nearly nothing to the imagination and the slits on the sides reached high to the jut of her hip bones. A scrap of black small-clothes were her only bit of modesty. She wore thigh high boots of black, covered in buckles, and topped with the crest of Kirkwall; reaching high of her thighs were stockings of white. Her arms were completely bare, save golden bracelets that adorned her wrists. Her hair was loose and combed to perfection, falling in curls around her slender unadorned neck; her face was bare, all natural. The whores of the Blooming Rose had definitely done what she paid them to do, but that didn’t mean she was going to be able to go through with this.

Her limbs trembled where she stood in her foyer, a cloak wrapped around her snugly, hiding her from view.

Thank the Maker mother is asleep. She’d keel over if she saw me dressed this way. To the Void, I am never going to live this down. No – don’t think like that. Don’t even think. Just go, now, before you lose the nerve!

Swallowing thickly, she went through the door before she had the chance to change her mind.

“AH! Hawke is here!” Varric exclaimed with a lift of his mug as she walked through the doors into the Hanged Man. “Not a moment too soon,” he muttered as she came toward the table, indicating the table where Isabela sat with Fenris. “Our pirate is getting a little cozy with broody over there.”

Cozy? Hawke thought the word wasn’t sufficient. Isabela had her hand on Fenris’ knee beneath the table, her body angled toward his so he could see her ample bosom. She laughed about something, her tongue darting out to swipe across her lower lip.

As hard as it was, she shrugged it off and turned a smile on Varric. “Having fun tonight?”

“You know it! Blondie hasn’t won a hand against me yet.”

“That’s because you keep cheating!” Anders exclaimed.

“I haven’t seen him do anything,” Merrill said sweetly with a cock of her head.

“Varric is sneaky,” Hawke chuckled. “You can’t always count on your eyes.”

“Shh, Hawke. You’ll give away all my secrets,” Varric said in mock hurt, slapping a hand over his heart.

“Is Fenris and Isabela ever coming back to play?” Merrill asked, obviously innocent and not aware of exactly was happening at the nearby table.

“I don’t think so, sunshine. Isabela has plans.” Varric swapped out a card faster than anyone could catch, save maybe Hawke and the pirate, but Hawke was too busy fuming silently at his words to pay attention to the game of Diamond Back. “Show your hands, ladies.” Anders and Merrill put their cards down and Varric laughed, sweeping up the pot. “I win again!”

“Cheater,” Anders muttered. He leaned back and folded his arms across his chest. “Not that we should be surprised. About the mongrel and the whore, that is. She does bed anything that moves.”

Hawke narrowed her eyes on him but bit her tongue.

“Are you jealous Anders?” Merrill giggled.

He scoffed, and loudly at that. “You can’t really get jealous when someone sleeps with Isabela. It’s just…understood.” He waved his hand dismissively. “She’s like a side-dish; she comes with the meal.”

Understood, my arse! I’ll never forgive her if she touches him! It’s now or never, Hawke. She pursed her lips and lifted her hands to the ties of her cloak and began undoing them, one by one. Then she let it slowly slide off her arms before she folded it up and set it on the table. “Getting a little hot in here,” she grinned with a shrug.

Anders’ eyes nearly popped out of his head. As it was, he’d been drinking from a mug of ale when he glanced at her and the liquid had gone flying from his mouth as he sputtered in shock. Varric merely smirked and rose a brow, quietly chuckling to himself.

“Oh Hawke, you look so pretty!” Merrill exclaimed.

“Spending too much time with Isabela?” Anders croaked as he smacked his chest to keep from coughing. His cheeks were flaming red and he was fidgeting oddly in his seat.

“You know how it is, girls who spend too much time together - ” she waved with hand with a small chuckle, even though she could feel her cheeks heating in embarrassment. Confident, be confident. You got this, Hawke.

“What are you wearing?” a voice growled from behind her, a voice that sent shivers down her spine. Gathering her courage, she turned slowly to face the object of her affection.

He stood just a few feet away from her, his mossy green eyes narrowed as they raked the entirety of her figure. She couldn’t help the way her flesh prickled beneath his roaming gaze, or the way her nipples tightened into hard peaks; he must have seen it, for his gaze froze on her chest for a moment longer than anywhere else. He growled again before he lifted his gaze to her face. Feigning disinterest, she thrust her lip out in a pout and shrugged a delicate shoulder. “What? Am I not entitled to a girl’s night out?”

He swallowed. Visibly. A glance over his shoulder showed Isabela staring at her with a ‘I know what you’re up to’ gaze. “It just…I have never seen you in such clothes,” he mumbled lamely, waving a hand to indicate her state of dress.

“Yes, well, I’ve been told a time or two I need to loosen up,” Hawke said in her best attempt at a purr. His eyes widened.

“It appears our little Hawke does have an adventurous side,” Isabela responded in a purr much more practiced than her own. She laid her hand on Fenris’ shoulder and pressed herself against his arm. The glint in the pirate’s eye told Hawke she was more than willing to play her game, and that she would win, but Hawke wasn’t so sure of that given the frown he gave when she touched him.

“Hawke is full of surprises!” Varric laughed. “Ha! I win again Blondie!”

“If I catch you cheating I’m going to blast off your hand,” Anders grunted.

“Good thing you’ll never catch me.”

“Cards?” Hawke asked sweetly, inclining her head toward the table. “Or would you like to get a drink, Fenris?” He stared at her. With a chuckle, she came forward and took his hand to pull him free of Isabela. “Come, let’s get a drink. On me, of course,” she teased but did not elaborate; if he wanted to think of licking the ale from her flesh, who was she to stop him?

“Of-of course, Hawke.” He followed with her and they made their way to the bar where they slid into the stools.

Hawke leaned forward, elbows on the wooden bar top as she waved over the tender. “Two pints,” she ordered, plucking out a sovereign from her cleavage. The bar tender cleared his throat and she swore she heard Fenris groan. “Keep the extra,” she added with a wink.

“Hawke. What game are you playing at?” Fenris asked, his voice low but stern as steel. She turned her gaze to his and smiled innocently, despite the way his eyes smoldering turned her legs to mush.

“Game? Whatever do you mean?” She chuckled and took the mugs as the bar tender returned with them. She passed one off to Fenris and took a swig of her own, licking her lips of the droplets a moment later. “I just wanted a night to have fun. That so much to ask for with all that I do?” She tried something she’d seen Isabela do, batting her lashes at him as she spoke. He swallowed.

“I am no fool and I am not daft,” he grumbled.

“Just dense.”

His dark brow jumped up. “I am…dense?”

“Fenris~” Isabela cooed his name. “Come play cards with us. And you Hawke, you can come too.”

You can come too? What am I now – a blighted afterthought! Damn that pirate!

“Yes, dense. If you have been missing all of Isabela’s…” She waved her hand emphatically, “advances.”

He narrowed his eyes and growled, averting his eyes to bar top for a brief moment. “I have not missed any of them,” he grumbled. His eyes lifted to hers’. “What makes you think I have? Because I have not acted on them? Are you jealous, Hawke?”

Hawke sighed softly, blushed, and adverted her gaze. “You must think me a fool for doing this, then.”

“Nonsense, Hawke.” Her eyes jumped back to him and her heart flipped at the smile curling his lips. “I admit I find the view…pleasing.”

She narrowed her eyes on him and chuckled. “Isabela must have liquored you up.”

“Perhaps.” He chuckled as well.

“I think I will head on home, before I make an even bigger fool of myself” she hopped down from the stool and headed toward the table to sweep up her cloak, before departing the tavern, missing the way he – and everyone else – watched her as she went.

---

Fenris swallowed thickly when she left, then groaned and readjusted the iron steel hard on he had. Maker, to see Hawke in such a display of flesh, like an offering to his starved eyes. She was everything he had ever imagined beneath her layers. He’d had to keep himself from licking his lips each time her cleavage came into view, or when she crossed her long, slender, pale legs on the bar stool.

“Feeeennnrrriiiss,” Isabela whined. She came up behind him and wrapped her arms around his neck. “Come and play with me,” she whispered against his ear, making him shudder. Damn wench knew how sensitive elves’ ears were and had no problem using it to her advantage.

Hawke had thought him blind to the pirate’s advances, but how could he be blind to something so obvious? To think she had dressed in such a way, as if to upstage the rivaini. She had way beyond upstaged the pirate. Hawke could make anything look good; trousers, scanty clothes, hell, a baggy sack. It didn’t matter what she wore, but to think she had worn it because she was jealous of the attention Isabela was paying to him…it made his world reel faster than it already did when she was around. She wanted him. Him.

Growling, he pushed Isabela’s arms off of him and stood. He didn’t even say anything to her, just moved past her, despite her obvious pout, and left the tavern.

---

Hawke wasn’t even home for a matter of minutes before someone pounded on her door. She grimaced; at this time of night, only she could answer and he was still dressed in her scandalous garb. Maker, would this night never cease in its unending dishes of embarrassment. With a sigh, she moved to the door and swung it open.

“F-fenris?” Her voice rushed out his name in a squeak.

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you,” he growled, herding her inside and kicking the door shut behind him. “Then you show up in that and I feel like I’ve lost my mind.”

She blushed hotly as he moved her back against the wall, bracing his hands on either side of her head. His face was so close, his eyes smoldering at her, his breath falling across her lips. “Fenris - “

“You must know what you do to me,” he groaned, taking her hand with his and pressing it to the straining bulge in the front of his breeches. She bit her lip as he moaned softly. “You cannot bear yourself in such a way and expect me not to respond.” He rubbed himself against her hand and she trembled as heat curled low in her belly, her small-clothes suddenly dampening. “Is this what you wanted, little Hawke?” He whispered the words against her ear. When she simply whimpered, he nipped her lobe. “Tell me. Was this your intention?”

“Y-yes!” She palmed his length through his breeches and stroked, arching her body up to press it against his in a need to be close to him. “I wanted you to look at me, want me,” she bit her lip and shivered, “not Isabela.”

He growled and pulled away, Hawke crying out at the loss. He gripped her hips in his hands and lifted her, tossing her over his shoulder. She squeaked and blushed hotly, stifling a moan when he slid his hands up her thighs and gripped the globes of her rear. He smacked her once and she moaned, loud, this time, unabashed. He grunted, then began a purposeful walk through her house, up the stairs, and into her room. He kicked the door shut behind him and then stalked to the bed, tossing her upon it. He didn’t give her a chance to settle as he pushed her onto her back, straddling her waist with his knees. He pinned her arms to the bed by her wrists and stared down at her, his gaze hot.

“I’m a man, Hawke,” he leaned down and whispered against her lips, “I admit to having looked when she so readily puts herself out there. But I have never wanted her, not once.”

Hawke shuddered, butterflies fluttering in her stomach at his words. “You haven’t?”

“No.” He didn’t wait a moment longer and for that she was glad; he kissed her, slanting his lips across hers hard. She gasped and he slid his tongue past her parted lips to stroke her own. The kiss deepened, took on a life of its own, stroking a fire in her that left her a trembling, wanton heap beneath him. She strained against his hold, arching her body against him. The kiss ended all too soon, both of them panting and flushed. Slowly, he leaned up, his eyes roaming over her possessively. “The thoughts your clothes invoke Hawke…” He trailed off, licking his lips. The sight alone made her moan.

She laughed softly then. He cocked a brow at her curiously. “I suppose that means I won?”

He growled and rolled off her onto his back, pulling her astride his own hips. He ground his erection against her center, covered in a flimsy scrap of clothing and moaned at the feel of the wetness there. “Is that answer enough?” He ground out through clenched teeth, his fingers biting into her hips. She nodded and rubbed herself back him, loving the feel of him straining against her so needfully.

“Maker, Fenris, need you, now - ” Hawke gasped. Her core ached unmercifully, and she should be embarrassed by how drenched she was, but she wasn’t. All she could think about was how it would feel to having him filling her so wonderfully.

“Want to…take it slow…you deserve the best,” he moaned, his head dropping back as they ground against each other.

“No. Not slow. Now.”

He growled and rolled them again, his hand reaching down to rip away the scrap of fabric that kept her hidden from him. He tossed the damn fabric away and then slid back, dropping his head between her legs to run his tongue over her slick lips. She cried out, hands flying to his hair to grip, if only to keep herself grounded in reality as he flicked his tongue across her clit, making her shudder. Then it was sliding down, lapping at her, before stabbing inside of her, stroking her intimately. She panted, and moaned, her head tossing back and forth as her nerve endings screamed in pleasure. He pushed two fingers inside of her core, his tongue stroking her bundle of nerves again, starting a fast, hard rhythm that turned her into a weeping puddle of moans and whimpers. Before long she was bowing, arching high, a keen exploding free from her as she came against his fingers and mouth; he ate up every bit of her, licked her clean, before he was up, untying his breeches to allow his cock to spring free as she sagged boneless back to the mattress.

He didn’t give her time to recover, gripping her hips and dragging her to the edge of the bed. The head of his cock pressed against her sodden nether-lips and then with a hard thrust, he was inside of her. They both cried out at the feeling; him filling her and stretching her center, she clenching around his rod hotly like a molten vice. Growling, he gripped the edges of the top of the dress and simply tore it open, allowing her buxom pale breasts to spill free, pink nipples tightened into hard little peaks.

“You feel…perfect, Hawke, so perfect,” he groaned as he palmed her breasts, making her moan and writhe her hips against him.

“Don’t stop, please, Fenris, don’t stop.” She wrapped her booted legs around his waist and pulled him deeper within her, making both of them shudder with pleasure.

He obeyed, his hips beginning a brutally fast pace, cock sliding free only to slam back in time and again. She panted, moaning loud – no, screaming loud, each thrust wrenching a keen free from her throat. Her hands wrenched in the fabric of the bed-spread, her body arched and writhing against his, breasts bouncing with each thrust as he gripped her hips and moved her against him. It was like her body was on fire, lava spreading through her blood veins and making her fear she would combust; she didn’t fear it, but welcomed it. Lightning jumped from nerve to nerve and her entire body trembled as he thrust, filling her, pushing her to the peak that threatened to consume her entirely.

His head dipped down so that his tongue could lave her nipple and it was the last straw; the coil inside of her snapped and she screamed his name, her walls clenching on him as she bathed him in her hot release. He growled loud and thrust hard a few last times, nearly frantic, and then he too was falling into the storm, his cock twitching inside of her as it shot jet after jet of seed inside of her, marking her indefinitely forever.

With a groan, he fell over her and laid his cheek against her breast, his hand stroking through her sweat drenched auburn curls. Her hands did the same, sliding through the silver-white locks of his hair.

“Hawke?”

With a herculean effort, she opened her eyes to look at him as he pushed himself to his elbows. “Hm?”

“While I appreciate the view…please, don’t wear something like that out in public again.” He muttered, adverting his gaze.

“Well I can’t really. You tore it,” she chuckled.

“Good.” He dropped his head down and kissed her soundly until she once again lost the ability to think coherently. Not that she wanted it any other way.

Hawke stopped long enough to catch her breath when they reached the top of the staircase that led into Hightown, weariness seeping into her limbs even as her body supported Sebastian’s sagging one. Their group – she, he, Isabella, and Fenris – had been ambushed by a second group of lowtown thugs, some of which who were skilled enough rogues to throw off Sebastian and Isabella’s normally unbeatable skills. Near the end of the scuffle when Hawke had blasted the bastards bodies with lightning spells, one of the rogues(in a last desperate effort) chucked a vial of some odd, green bile at the Prince’s feet. It had exploded and wrapped the man in a fog of green, choking his lungs and making his head spin; Hawke was quick to reach his side to heal his injuries, but he had sagged, mumbling incoherently, so she had told the others to return to The Hanged Man while she escorted Sebastian back to his room in the Chantry.

“Hold on, Sebastian, we’re almost there,” she whispered reassuringly as she hefted his arm back over her shoulder, keeping a tight hold around his slim waist with her own. Luckily for her he seemed to keep on his feet, though he was unsteady, so his weight didn’t drop her small body to the ground. It was slow going but soon they were agonizingly making their way up the stairs into the Chantry.

“Elthina? Petrice?” Hawke called their names out, though not too terribly loud in case they were sleeping(highly likely due to the time of night, she knew). When no one answered, she sighed softly and started into the Chantry while still holding onto Sebastian. “Where am I going Sebastian?” She asked, unsure of where exactly the brothers and sisters were housed.

“Stairs to the left…my room…second room on the right…” he mumbled, slumping into her more. He turned his nose into her auburn curls, sniffing appreciatively.

“Sebastian?” Hawke stopped at the top of the stairs, her brows creasing anxiously.

“…smell heavenly…” he sighed.

“Uhm…okay, let’s get you to bed.” Hawke swallowed nervously and made her way down the hall with her friend, her steps slightly rushed due to the anxiety churning in her gut. She did her best not to stumble in her haste, but when they reached the door she had to juggle his stance; when she leaned to grab the knob and turn it, his weight fell into her just a tad too much. They toppled; Sebastian’s back hit the door and slammed it open with a resounding crack, while his arms wrapped around her to cushion the blow when they hit the ground. He mmm’d softly and didn’t release her. Her body trembled and she pushed her hands against his chest, going against the urge she had to close the mere space of inches between their lips. She hurriedly rolled herself off him and grasped him by the arm, helping the dazed man to his feet. She walked him over the bed and helped him to sit on the edge before she moved to the door, peering out to see if the ruckus had aroused anyone; satisfied the Chantry men and women remained asleep, she shut the door softly, plunging the room into darkness.

“So many nights,” Sebastian mumbled.

“What?” Hawke cast a faint fire spell over her hand, lighting the room enough to find the candles and send the dancing flames to light the wicks. The candles flickered into existence, shedding subtle light on the room they were in. She could see Sebastian, sitting where she left him, but he was watching her intently with those iridescent blue orbs that had haunted her dreams on more than one occasion – far more.

He hummed briefly, his eyes hazy; in truth, Sebastian’s head was still spinning. Everything almost felt surreal, like he could be in a dream, and if he was in a dream…he couldn’t take his eyes off her, that beautiful mage that had been haunting him since the moment she had approached him to tell him she’d slain his family’s murderers. She was close, standing across the room from him, her back pressed to the door, leafy green eyes watching him curiously. He slowly, somewhat unsteadily, pushed himself to his feet and began a slow saunter towards her. Hawke swallowed, feeling strangely like she was being hunted, like she was Sebastian’s prey – wait that was crazy, right? She shook her head. She was finally losing it, desiring him so much that she was misinterpreting his words, his actions. Sebastian had vows, vows of celibacy; there was no way that he desired her, always so cool and calm in her presence. Yet, she couldn’t deny that he felt…different.

Before she realized it, Sebastian was nose to nose with her, his hands on each side of her head. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest and, before she could even stutter his name nervously, his lips descended upon hers. She gasped with surprise and ripped her lips away, despite how her body screamed at her to just go with it.

“Sebastian! What are you doing?” She pressed her hands to his chest, but he refused to budge, his eyes smoldering and threatening to burn her alive with the desire she saw there.

“Oh lass, you don’t know how long I have desired you,” his voice was breathy and deep, his accent making her shiver.

“S-sebastian…I don’t understand…your vows…” her hands trembled on his breastplate.

He stared at her; he’d often had this dream, but in the end, she never pushed him away. How would this end any differently? His tongue ran across his lip, his head still foggy; was he dreaming? His hands slid from the door and he slid his fingers into her hair, clasping her gentle by the strands as he leaned down, stopping just shy of her lips. “Dear Hawke, every night I’ve dreamed of you, tonight is no different. Andraste guide me, to resist temptation in our day to day…” He sighed, his breath falling across her lips and making her shiver. “…but alas I cannot resist you any longer, lass. I have loved you for so long, Andraste strike me down.”

His lips fell across hers again and she moaned into his mouth, his tongue sweeping across her lips. When she gasped with pleasant surprise, he took the advantage and slid his skilled tongue in to tease her own. Though he’d been celibate for years, Sebastian had been a wild child, his skills in this department never lacking; Hawke found this out first hand as he turned his head to deepen the kiss, tongues dueling though his far outmatched her own. Her whimper of need was swallowed by him eagerly and she slid her hands up to his hair, gripping it almost tightly, making him shudder with want.

When the kiss finally broke, leaving them both panting, she dared to look into his deep ocean eyes and nearly combusted right there. She tried, very hard, one last time, to find some semblance of reasoning, knowing how he would come to regret this; he’d always been firm in his vows, never taking her inappropriate jokes to heart, or her innocent flirtations that she slipped him in hope of gaining his attentions. “Sebastian…your vows…”

“Don’t fret, lass. I want this,” he murmured against her lips, brushing them with his ever so softly. “Do you not want me, Hawke?”

“Maker help me, of course I want you, Sebastian; I always have.”

“I know,” he chuckled, a deep rumbling that made her smile and yet caused a rush of desire to shoot to her center sharply.

“What’s that supposed –” He cut her off, crushing their lips together again. If she was going to argue, it quickly died away on a soft whimper. Just as in his dreams, she melted into his arms like she was made to be there. He held her there, easily, eagerly. Their lips melded together, almost dreamily, and he ached terribly for her. He took his hands from her hair and reached down to undo the buckles to his breastplate, all the while continuing to mesh his tongue on and around hers. He softly dropped the armor piece to the floor, grateful when it landed without any loud, jarring noise. He then removed his armor from his shoulder and arm, before aptly discarding of his gloves. Hawke’s hands took over, and slipped down to help him remove his coat, their heads angling to allow their kiss to deepen even further; next came the chainmail, all making a small stack on the floor beside them. “You have me at a disadvantage, lass,” he murmured with a smile, a chuckle, marveling at the beautiful flush that warmed her pale, freckled cheeks.

“Sebastian…this is unlike you…” she whispered wistfully on a sigh, tilting her cheek into his stroking fingers longingly.

“I am just weary of fighting my feelings.” He nuzzled his nose against cheek, before stroking it across her feather soft skin toward her hair. He sniffed appreciatively, whispering sinful words against the shell of her ear. “Do you not believe me? That I have longed for you, every night, every waking moment; to touch you, love you, to be deep inside of you where I know I belong?” He chuckled when she shuddered in his arms, his hands placing her own on his gloriously bare chest. “I thought not, lass.”

Hawke swallowed audibly, his bare chest hot beneath her hands, almost feverishly hot. Vaguely she wondered if he was sick and that was why he was behaving this way; he’d been poisoned, or drugged somehow, hadn’t he? “Sebastian…”

“Sh. It’s alright, sweetling,” he murmured against her hair, stroking his hands over her shoulders and arms, down to her hands, pressing them to his skin. “Touch me, as I’ve dreamed for so long.”

Hawke sighed softly, finally allowing herself to give into him, her hands slipping from his to graze his tanned flesh. His abdomen was more rigid that she had pictured, chiseled to perfection; all those days training as an archer, a skilled and adept rogue, had done wonders for his body, to which she was happy to admire. He touched her curls with his hand, bringing one to his nose as she caressed him. Her heavenly touch made him shiver, fingers sliding down toward his hips, stroking every inch of skin he’d bared for her. She hit the cool steel of his buckle and she deftly began to undo it, the belt then falling to join the pile of discarded clothes. He stopped her then, taking hold of her hands and backpedaling toward his bed; he turned them when the backs of his shins touched, laying her upon the modest furniture. She looked glorious, laying there on his bed, her fiery curls a stark contrast to the paleness of her skin and the whiteness of his bedspread.

“My turn, lass,” he whispered, kissing her again, teasingly, lightly, tiny promises of things to come. His fingers were quicker, more skilled, than hers; briefly she recalled when he’d confided in her of his wild adolescence. If was a fleeting thought, one that was lost when he parted the front of her robe, revealing the swell of her ample, pale breasts. He made a noise, a half groan, half moan, before he dipped his head down to drag his tongue along the swell of one, then the other. His hands cupped her breasts through the material, plucking at her stiffening nipples, making her arch and bite her lip from the tingles of pleasure dancing along her nerves.

He dipped his hand inside and finished releasing the ties and laces of her robes, opening them completely and slipping her from them so that she lay upon them in her smalls and nothing else. He sucked in a breath at the sight of her body in the faint light, her waist small and tucked, limbs long and lithe. He shuddered and sat back, turning enough to remove his shin and knee guards, then his boots, all of which landed with a thunk on the floor in his haste; last came his socks, leaving him in only his brown breeches. When he turned back to her, he found her turned away from him, her face in her hands; this came him an ample view of her supple rear which looked lovely enough to smack, the thought causing him to grow even more aroused.

“Is something the matter, sweetling?” He murmured as he came to lay just behind her, spooning her small body and pulling her back against him with a strong arm. She shivered and made a noise, her lip being abused by her teeth as she bit her lip sharply.

“I just fear this is all a dream, or that you will regret this once it’s all finished; I cannot bear to lose you, Sebastian, even as a friend,” she whispered on a sigh.

“You will not lose me, love, I promise.” He kissed the shell of her ear, tracing it with the tip of his tongue, nibbling upon the lobe with his teeth, and letting his breath fall on it coolly. She moaned and squirmed back into his body, her lovely behind pressing against his stiff cock, which in turn made him moan just as she had.

Hawke blushed hotly, grateful he could not see her face, when she realized what it was exactly that was pressing against her; his erection made her feel all woman, wanton, like she was beautiful, that she could be capable of making the Prince of Starkhaven feel this way for her. Feeling brave, she wiggled her bottom against him and he made a strangled noise of appreciation, his hands coming untie her breast band. He pulled it from her and leant up, rolling her beneath him onto her back, revealing her bare breasts to his heated gaze. His hands cupped them, tweaked her cheery pink nipples, and his lips soon followed, turning her into a puddle of desire. Her head fell back when she moaned, her thighs rubbing together as the pleasure and tension increased in her cunny, making her wet and impossibly warm from the ache she felt for him.

As he lavished her breasts with his tongue, mouth, and teeth – occasionally tugging at a nipple or sharply biting it – he trailed his hands down her sides slowly, grasping the sides of her smalls on her hips. He pulled them off her trembling legs and tossed them aside. His lips trailed from her breasts, down her stomach; she stopped him anxiously when he reached the top of her pelvis, her hands tugging on his hair.

“Sebastian?” There was a question in her tone, as if she thought what he was about to do indecent, or unheard of; the thought made him balk – anyone who had been lucky enough to be with a woman like Hawke would have been daft not to please her in every way possible.

“Hush, sweetling,” he encouraged, smiling when her grip in his hair lessened, showing that she trusted him. He slid down further, opening her thighs for him as he dipped his head, his hands sliding up to her center when she was already so wet for him. He stroked her gently with his fingers, first her lips and then her clit, enjoying the way she shuddered and trembled under him. A single digit found home in her tight channel, his lips pressing to her nub; he began to thrust his finger in her gently, touching his tongue to her clit, stroking it, circling it, groaning with appreciation when it swelled with her desire. He added a second finger making her moan loudly, her hips arching into his ministrations as he went about pleasing her orally.

“Sebastian!” She gasped his name, shuddering as goose bumps rippled along her flesh and her nipples stiffened into tight peaks. Her vaginal walls tightened around his fingers and he thrust them faster in response, harder, his tongue working magic on her center of pleasure. A whimper, a moan, gasps; every noise of pleasure came from her as he built her higher and higher, before he tossed her off the cliff into the rippling, crashing waves of her climax. Her body bowed, her juices coating his fingers as he continued, letting her ride her orgasm to the trembling aftershocks. He found her taste intoxicating, loving every bit of her he was able to touch and taste. As she came down from her high, he lifted himself up from her and undid the lacing of his breeches, slowly pulling them down until he was only in his smalls.

When he glanced up at her face, he found that her eyes were locked on his hardened cock where it strained painfully against the restraints of his smalls. She looked, well, almost impressed, as if his size was something that she hadn’t expected. While she was so intent on staring, he slid out of the smalls, allowing his thick and very hard erection to spring free, all eight inches of him; he hadn’t seen many cocks, in reality, and neither had she, but he was indeed on the larger side which made the mage a little weary considering her small size. He smiled and crawled up over her, kissing her deeply, letting her taste herself on his tongue, something she found strangely arousing. His hands caressed her breasts again, his thigh now rubbing against her sensitive slit and nub, making her squirm under him. When he was satisfied she was more than ready for him, he set his hips in the cradle of her thighs, pulling her legs astride him as the head of his cock touched her cunny lips, rubbing, tracing, teasing ever so softly. Hawke shuddered and her thighs tightened on his hips; suddenly she could take no more and gripped his hair tightly, slamming her lips against his and devouring him. When she broke free from the kiss, she gasped, “now, Sebastian, inside me.”

He groaned and did as she said, sliding his cock into her excruciatingly hot and unbelievably wet channel. Her walls gripped him so tightly as he hilted himself in her sheath, both shuddering and moaning into a heated kiss. He started slowly, her hands holding onto his shoulders as he thrust himself within her, exploring, enjoying, and reveling. He filled her so wonderfully, and she managed to take all of him, her legs now wrapped around his waist and hips arching into his own. His thrusts became harder, and she made no objection, her moans increasing in frequency, her nails scoring his back.

Sebastian’s hands slipped from her hips to her ass, gripping it tightly as he began to almost pound inside of her, the sound of flesh hitting flesh hitting their ears amongst sounds of pleasure. He pushed her over the edge, moaning as he watched that expression of pure joy and ecstasy cross her beautiful features. Her walls clamped on him like a vice and he shuddered, continuing his thrusts through the exquisite feeling. Growling, he took her hands and pinned them above her head, slamming himself into her so hard he vaguely worried he may bruise her, but she made no objections, her cunny flooding him with appreciative warmth. Before long he couldn’t hold it back and found himself throwing his head back as his seed exploded inside of her, filling her with his essence to the brim.

He collapsed on top of her and released her wrists, stroking his fingers through her damp auburn curls. His lips found hers, gently, little pecks of affection; strangely the lightheadedness had passed and he felt more like this was reality and bathed in its impossible perfection. He pulled from her and laid on his side, pulling her into his arms and nuzzling his nose in her hair.

“Ah, perfection, pure perfection,” he mumbled, sighing, “I love you, Hawke.”

She giggled and nuzzled her nose against his neck, her arms tight around his waist as he held her. “I love you, Sebastian.”

They bathed in the afterglow, but little did they know that some of the slumbering sisters had awoken and summoned Elthina to discover what exactly had been going on behind the closed doors of Brother Sebastian’s room; The Grand Cleric had heard nearly everything and walked away from the door without disturbing them, a small smile tugging at the edges of her lips.

Fenris couldn’t believe this. His almighty leader, and his one-time lover, had bought herself a new set of rogue armor. Oh don’t get him wrong, it wasn’t that she had bought a new set of armor. It wasn’t even how much the armor had cost. It wasn’t even that she had bought it without even thinking about this. It was a simple enough reason – how short is that skirt? He growled in his head as he walked through the Market Place of Hightown with her. The skirt barely fell the bottom of her shapely and ever so tempting buttocks! There could not be a practical reason for a skirt that short!

His found himself growing hard beneath the linen of breeches and scowled.

Hawke stopped at a merchant stand and leaned over, just slightly, but he caught sight of the very bottom of her arse. He swallowed and then glared at Anders when he caught the damned abomination staring. When he looked over to their other companion, that annoying pirate Isabella, he glared even harder – she was staring and licking her lips. When Isabella realized the elf was staring at her, she grinned and shrugged her shoulders as if she were saying she was helpless to resist. Fenris inwardly groaned; he was too, so helpless to resist, but they were around so many people in a very public place.

Fenris stalked over to the shadows and leaned against the stone column, very inconspicuously readjusting his hard on. Damn that woman sometimes! He growled to himself, leaning back on the column with his arms folded over his chest. His eyes watched her every movement, the way she fingered a necklace, or a fine dagger; the way the sunlight made her glossy, shoulder length, raven curls shine; or the way her golden eyes twinkled with mischief.

He found that his companions had wandered off as well, looking at merchant booths on their own; he couldn’t help but feel slightly relieved. At least they would stop staring now.

“Fenris!” Her very voice saying his name made him hard. For crying out loud, how long would he be able to keep this up? They’d slept together once, he admitted it had been a mistake (despite how well they got along), and it hadn’t happened since. She flounced over to him with a giggle and, as she bounced, so did the skirt; his groin tightened even more until he was so hard he ached because he could of sworn he saw a flash of her smalls.

Maker. If he could see it, how many others could? The thought made him scowl darkly and by the time she came to stand before him with an innocent smile, he was glaring at her. He had no right to be jealous; wait. He was jealous?

“Fenris, look at this! I just bought it, isn’t it a beautiful blade?” She exclaimed as her small gloved hands, save her non gloved fingertips, held out a dagger toward him. Her eyes twinkled with genuine excitement over such a small thing; he couldn’t help but smile as he took the dagger from her to examine it with a grunt.

“It is a fine blade,” he commented as he handed it back to her.

She stuck out her lip in a pout at she raised the edge of her skirt to slide the dagger into a dagger sheath she had strapped to her upper thigh; how had he not noticed that? Again he caught a flash of her unders and groaned. At the sound, she dropped the skirt and glanced up at him curiously. Her head cocked cutely to the side and she pressed her hand to his forehead. Then she frowned and dropped her hand. “You okay, Fenris? Groaning indicates pain but you aren’t feverish,” she said as she turned away. His eyes went straight to her arse.

“I’m fine,” he said though his voice cracked. He cleared his throat as he began to follow her through the Market Place again.

The day continued on like this and by the end of it, he could have sworn he would have a permanent erection. She had danced in their battles, flashing thighs and smalls, leaned over merchant stands to ogle some trinket or another (he couldn’t focus on that); more than once she had snapped at him for faltering in battle because he couldn’t concentrate. He and Hawke were now walking into The Hanged Man and he was too busy staring at her arse that when she stopped, he didn’t notice and ran right into her.

“Damnit Fenris! What is with you today?” She snapped out irritably as she turned to face him. Her hands found a home on those perfectly shaped hips as she glared at him, her bottom lip thrust out at him in a way that tempted him to lean down and catch it between his teeth, tug on it, before he would thrust his tongue into her mouth and devour her. Shit! Don’t go there, he thought, but it was hard not to when she was reprimanding him. Was she really so clueless as to what that damned skirt was doing; not only to him but to everyone around her?

He flushed red, he actually flushed red. Growling, not caring who was staring, he grabbed Hawke by her arm and dragged her out of the tavern and around into the alley. He was surprised that she offered no resistance, not even when he pushed her roughly against the wall and shoved his hands into her hair. He was panting, his eyes narrowed with hunger and when he looked into the golden eyes, he saw that hunger reflected. He smashed his mouth down on hers and kissed her until she turned into a mushy puddle of desire in his arms.

His hands slid from her hair and he ripped his gauntlets off. They then grabbed her hips in a tight grip as he kissed her until they couldn’t breathe. He broke away from the kiss to work his lips down her jaw, then her neck, before he sucked the skin into his mouth, wanting to mark her. One hand slid beneath that damn skirt and pressed itself against her moist smalls. She was already so wet! He growled and released her neck, smirking at the mark appearing there, before he was kissing her again, her moans drowned by his mouth. Their tongues dueled together as his hands disappeared from her to work open the front of his breeches, his impossibly rigid length springing free.

He hooked his hands beneath her thighs and hoisted them onto his hips, a hand sliding down to rip her smalls completely free of her. She gasped, but then moaned into his mouth, her hands clawing tightly in his hair. She wrapped her legs around his hips as he held her there, allowing him to thrust into her with a strangled moan – from the both of them. It was frenzied, lustful love-making, mouths eating at each other, uninhibited moans spilling into the alley around them as they came together hard like two magnets that had no choice but to connect.

“Maker Hawke, you feel so good,” he moaned into her mouth. She nipped his lip in return and then her hot channel was clenching around him like vice, making it nearly impossible to keep thrusting into her. How did she manage to feel so good? He groaned the thought to himself as he thrust, her walls like hot silk that slid over him teasingly each time he pulled from her, only to come back, helpless to resist her. One hand curled down her thigh to her rear where he grabbed one supple buttock, squeezing it with an appreciative sound. Breaking the kiss, he slowed his hips from their frantic rhythm and began a slow, only languid pace, not wanting the moment to end so soon; this hadn’t been planned but now that it was happening, he found he wanted to grasp at it desperately like a lifeline.

“Fenris?” Her voice was husky with sex but he could hear the question in her tone. She kept her hands tight in his hair, her golden eyes – as valuable as any sovereign – looking into his own with slight uncertainty.

“Shh,” he whispered against her lips, kissing her again. They hadn’t had sex since their one night stand, and it wasn’t his intention for this to go down, but now that he was pressing himself inside of her, he never wanted to stop. The pace continued on slow, lazy, driving her crazy; she tried tightening her legs around his hips to pull him to her harder and faster. He chuckled and shook his head. “Not until I make you come,” he moaned as he nipped her lip. And come she did moments later, his thrusts pushing her over the edge into pleasure-filled oblivion.

True to his word, her climax led way to faster and harder pistons of his hips, pushing her hard into the wall of the alley; not that she complained, in fact, she moaned her appreciation quite loudly. It became a desperate thing again, his growls against her lips; how many waking hours had he tormented himself with thoughts of her? Never mind that, how many nights of torturous dreams did he relive their passion? The thought was too much and when he pressed inside of her with a few last frantic thrusts, his own coil snapped and he came hard, filling her with his essence. He kissed her hard, and they both moaned, holding to each other tightly.

They came down from their high together but she kept her legs around his hips, their hands cupping each others faces so that their kisses could become gentle, and searching.

Panting, he dropped her legs and allowed her to readjust herself as she tried to catch her breath. A clearing of a throat caused them both to blush and Fenris quickly stuffed himself back inside of his breeches before he turned to find Isabella watching them.

“Great, just great,” he growled out. He turned his head briefly to glance at Hawke who appeared embarrassed and was blushing as red as berries; with a sigh he turned away from her – very reluctantly. He stalked by the pirate; if Isabella’s teasing had been bad before, it was going to be hell now, that thought vaguely occurring to him with a inward, strangled groan.

Hawke giggled as Fenris disappeared around the corner, before walking up to Isabella to plant a kiss on the pirate’s cheek. “Thanks Isabella, it worked like a charm.”