owlmoose | Dragon Age Kiss Battle: 2013 Edition

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Dragon Age Kiss Battle: 2013 Edition

Welcome to the 2013 Dragon Age Kiss Battle!

Any kind of kiss is welcome -- het, slash, femslash; shippy, familial, gen; cheek kisses, mouth kisses, kissing of... other things; serious, fluffy, silly, or all three at once; fanfic, fanart, whatever you come up with; anything goes!

Update: The post is now open! The post will open to prompts and comments at approximately 9AM Pacific Time, Thursday February 7th (Click here for the time in your timezone). I don't anticipate closing it, so come by any time!

THE RULES:

To leave a request: Post a comment with a pairing (or moresome) and, if desired, a prompt. Put the pairing/characters in the subject line and the prompt in the body of the comment.

To respond: Reply to the prompting comment. Include characters, rating, and title in the subject line.

Multiple responses are both allowed and encouraged!

There is no limit to the number of prompts you can post.

Artwork can be posted inline, but try not to make it too large. Please link to images that are very large or NSFW.

Please, be kind to others regarding pairing choices, prompts, or anything else. This game is for everyone! :)

Anon commenting is on, as is OpenID, if you neither have nor want a Dreamwidth account.

Send your friends! :D

If you have questions, please ask them here. Thanks, and happy kissing!!

Threaded | Top-Level Comments Only

Ow, ow, ow! This is fantastic! But owwwww! Ouch!

Love this. Bethany feels so wonderfully in character in such a delightful way. :D

Ooh! Nice take on the prompt. Sweet, sexy, and with wonderful touches of humor. Love this fill so much.

XXX

Her head was pounding to a degree that Morrigan almost called for Mother to do something about it. However, Mother wasn’t there. Even if Flemeth had been, there was no assurance she would have done anything about it anyway, the old biddy would say that pain was a lesson, and to handle it on her own.

The drafty tent she was in smelled of leather and wet dog, as well as some sort of flower. That at least narrowed down what tent she was in. Morrigan almost would have preferred Erin and Zevran’s, as the assassin, for all his many faults, was a somewhat dependable ‘surgeon’, able to patch a body back together in ways that her poultices and potions could not. It was a curious skill and she did find it interesting, as she had had occasion to see the effects in action of him reattaching the loutish buffoon Alistair’s finger once. Of course her limited skills with healing magic and her unguents had done the business of waking the flesh and such, but it was the fine skill with a very small blade, fire, and stitches that linked tiny blood vessels together, ligaments sutured in their proper courses. Perhaps after the Blight she may very well go to one of those vast libraries he described when talking about things that had nothing to do with sex or killing. Knowledge was power after all, and there was little enough of it they had come across in Ferelden.

Withholding a groan of discomfort, Morrigan took stock inside the dark tent. Her injuries were just extensive enough to make her quite miserable, and the tight burning on her calf indicated that yes, that drake truly had gained a good hold on her leg in that last fight.

Beside her there was a shifting and squirming, Leliana’s voice intruding as Morrigan fought to keep a good hold on her senses as her head swam, “Just a moment, here -” a cup pressed to her lips as a steadying hand raised her head, “- drink this. Zevran said it will help you rest and dull the pain.”

Downing it, Morrigan coughed, “Blast! ‘Tis foul indeed!”

“The last of the honey was used up on your burns and to pack the wounds,” Leliana explained quietly, a waterskin then pressed to her lips to wash the taste out. Rather sure hands tucked and settled the blankets around her, “Is there anything I can get you? Should I fetch Zevran?”

Morrigan grimaced in the dark, not wanting the extra attention and fussing. From anyone. Really she just wanted to find a hole to crawl into and wait out the healing process. Bear shape would be good for hibernating - except the irritating problems of needing to gain enough fat stores, the fact that it was summer, the marauding darkspawn, and, most troublesome, the stretching her body would go through to shapeshift.

“A lack of sermons would be more than I could hope for,” gritting her teeth. “Or vexatious questions. I’m fine and don’t need that elf poking and prodding me.” Or Leliana prodding her as well, but the damned Orlesian was sharing a tent and bedroll with her for whatever reason. It all involved far too much touching, the vacuous minded chit remained on her side, facing Morrigan by the feel of things. It also seemed like Leliana would insist upon providing some sort of something, and if it would keep her quiet, she would go ahead and say something, anything. “If you simply must do something, a pillow would be...wouldn’t be turned away.”

“Ser ‘Ound’s on watch, so the only pillow that might be -” beginning to explain, before there was a pause, and suddenly Morrigan found herself shifted, far, far, far too much touching going on, the tunic Leliana wore all at once was beneath Morrigan. While still being worn. “- there. The only other pillow is me, since our packs are either empty because of doing laundry or filled only with hard, lumpy things.”

Morrigan had gone stiff, awkwardly cradled and surrounded by muscular legs, belly and chest beneath her back as well as her head. And arms were around her, keeping her in place. Feeling trapped and uncomfortable, she shuddered, rolling within the confines instinctually, a momentary thought of fleeing sending her into a panic. No one touched her like this! Not even that...that bumbling...insipid...filthy...Chasind man she had bedded once out of curiosity! It was too much, too disgusting! Too much of a trap!

All those lumps and milkfed body parts were soft and squished, trapping her like the thick mud of the Korcari Wilds, but there was also a great deal of muscle beneath all that, and it came into play, Leliana’s arms wrapping around her more firmly, “Get comfortable, lay down, stop it - you’ll tear your stitches.” A hand pressed to her shoulder, the other to her head, forcing her to lay her head down. “There, that’s not so bad,” fingers ran over her crown and cheek, making her earrings jingle, and Morrigan sought to calm her breathing.

Beneath her ear she became aware of a steady thumping as she lay on her ‘good’ side between Leliana’s legs, the dip of her waist fitted over the warmth of groin. There was also the langor from the concoction the Orlesian had fed her, tugging at Morrigan, and as her startlement faded, she swallowed thickly. This was most uncommon and strange, but the soft cradle Leliana’s body formed was strangely...comfortable. Like finding a perfect burrow to lay on that held dips that would be supportive. Nose wrinkling, she shifted once more with less urgency, and made use of the tall woman’s lower leg to support her own wounded one. When that seemed to fit as well, she sighed, the pressure taken off, the relief rather surprising. With a yawn, Morrigan scooted in place for a moment almost - almost - forgetting it was a person rather than a luxurious mattress as she was dragged down to healing sleep.

Edited 2013-02-16 01:53 (UTC)

Puuurple?

Thank you, this is beautiful!!! :) :) :)

Thank YOU for conceiving the prompt in the first place. :) (I kind of have a Thing for Fenris and FemHawke and trust.)

I LOVE THAT YOU LOVE THIS. <3 <3 <3

Oooh, me too! Absolutely love friendmancing Fenris, because I think it's so beautiful when their relationship is built on that solid foundation of trust. *fans self*

TOTALLY with you there. (And my preferred Hawke to friendmance Fenris with is my mage. It was a challenge, but so ridiculously happy-making.)

She hadn't celebrated last year. Hadn't seen the point. She'd still been crammed into Gamlen Amell's hovel in Lowtown, sharing a bedroom with three other people, none of which were the one she'd wanted beside her.

There hadn't been any reason to celebrate the beginning of her first year without him.

It had felt like more of an ending, really. The sun had set on the last day of the last year she would ever be able to say she'd been with him, and the days had stretched out ahead of her, each one promising to take her farther and farther from her dear Wesley.

Aveline had hated Kirkwall then, hated its filthy streets and fetid air and its overabundance of templars in shining armor mocking her at every turn. She'd lost count of how many times she'd caught the glint of sun off of silverite and turned, her heart catching in her throat as she saw the flaming sword emblazoned on a breastplate, blade proudly pointed up toward a face that wasn't his.

She'd hated Hawke, too--hated her more than anything else, for being the one to drive a dagger into her husband's heart--for being the one to take him from her, even if he'd already been lost beyond saving. It hadn't been fair, but fair was a concept she hadn't been overly concerned with at the time; it hadn't been fair for him to be taken from her, hadn't been fair that her king had been betrayed and she'd been forced to leave behind everything she'd ever known to escape the flaming darkspawn.

No, there hadn't been cause for celebration last year. Being alive was cold comfort compared to all that she'd lost.

She'd kept fighting, though. Surrender was never an option. She'd managed to carve out a place for herself in Kirkwall, landed a position with the City Guard. She was starting to rebuild a life that got more bearable every day--with no small amount of help from the woman she couldn't hate now if she tried.

"I didn't know you were on patrol tonight."

Aveline chuckled to herself; it was almost disturbing how all she had to do was think about Hawke and she'd appear. "I'm not," she replied, peering up at her friend. Sweat matted Hawke's hair to her face, and splatters of blood decorated her clothes, but she appeared uninjured. Aveline would have chided her for wandering around picking fights on her own if she thought it would do any good, but past history told her otherwise.

"Just feeling nostalgic for the dirt and grime of Lowtown, then?" Hawke said with a smirk, sinking down onto the steps next to Aveline. "I'll bet you miss that lovely aroma of chokedamp and sour sea air when you're tucked away in your bed at the barracks."

"This is the docks, Hawke," Aveline corrected. "Not Lowtown."

Hawke shrugged. "Same thing. If anything, it smells worse."

"I can't argue that," Aveline said with a quiet laugh. Hawke's shoulder bumping into her own drew her attention back to her friend.

"So why are you down here this late?" Hawke asked gently. "You're not brooding are you? Because I might be forced to take drastic measures."

"That won't be necessary." Aveline smiled softly, turning contemplative as she looked out across the harbor. The sky was lightening ever so slowly above the horizon; the sun would be rising soon. "I used to do this every year," she said slowly. She still wasn't used to the way Hawke made her want to share things. "Whenever I could, that is. Find somewhere quiet, watch the first sunrise of the year. Always suited me better than drinking myself silly and making a fool of myself like everyone else."

"It does seem more fitting." Hawke's smile turned awkward as she looked down at her hands. After a moment, she took a breath to speak again. "Did you do this with him?" she asked carefully.

Pain stabbed at Aveline's chest, as sharp as if the wound was fresh. "Never got the chance," she replied tightly.

"I'm sorry." Hawke's hand slipped onto Aveline's knee and squeezed. "I just...well, you didn't do it last year. I thought..."

"Last year," Aveline said, trying to redirect the conversation to happier topics, "I was too busy dragging your arse out of whatever fire Athenril had dropped it in that week."

With a grin, Hawke withdrew her hand, leaning back on her palms. "Well, it's a very fine arse. It would have been a shame to get it singed."

Aveline shook her head. "Flames," she muttered under her breath, unable to stop a smile from tugging at her mouth.

Hawke bumped her shoulder again, more gently this time. When Aveline looked up, the mischief had left Hawke's expression, leaving a warm, sincere happiness. "It's good to see you looking forward for a change."

For a moment Aveline was startled. She hadn't thought her grief had been that obvious--but then, Hawke had always been a little more perceptive than most. "Not much use looking back," she said with a shrug. "Can't change the past."

"No matter how much you may want to," Hawke said softly, her voice tinged with regret.

Drawing a deep breath, Aveline pushed back the familiar urge to argue; Bethany's death hadn't been Hawke's fault, any more than Wesley's had been. It was a conversation they'd had over and over, so much that Aveline could play it all out in her head without voicing a word of it by now.

"Wesley's...death," she said, forcing the word past the lump in her throat. "It left a scar, but he wouldn't want me to spend the rest of my life in mourning. I doubt your sister would want that for you, either."

Hawke's smile was bittersweet and strained. "Father used to say that scars were just marks of battles won."

"Smart man."

"He was," Hawke replied, her smile growing as she met Aveline's eyes. "I think he'd have liked you."

For some inexplicable reason, the statement made Aveline uncomfortable. She scoffed a little to herself, chalking it up to her own unresolved father issues. "I can't imagine I'd have much in common with a runaway mage."

"You and I find plenty enough to talk about," Hawke pointed out with a smirk.

Absurdly, they fell into a companionable silence then, both looking out as the sky brightened in the distance.

"So what are you doing wandering the docks at this hour, anyway?" Aveline finally asked.

"Just cleaning up a bit of refuse," Hawke replied with a shrug. "Your patrols should be quieter down here from now on."

Aveline chuckled. "That's what the guard's for, you know," she told Hawke for what must have been the thousandth time. "Not that we don't appreciate the help. Couldn't sleep?"

Hawke shot her a skeptical look. "You lived at Gamlen's long enough. Could you?"

"Fair point."

Across the harbor, the sky was changing color, the deep blue of twilight overtaken by soft shades of orange and pink. The silence this time was less comfortable, more filled with a nervous sort of tension. Aveline could feel it, even if she wasn't quite sure where it was coming from. Hawke seemed to be more anxious as the sun grew higher, leaning forward to rest her forearms across her knees as her fingers fidgeted restlessly.

When Hawke sighed, Aveline finally turned to question her about it, only to be met with a sudden press of lips to the corner of her mouth. Hawke must have been aiming for her cheek, because at first she was as stunned as Aveline herself. After a moment, though, her lips softened, moving gently against Aveline's skin in a gentle caress that could have been chaste if it hadn't gone on so long.

Before Aveline could even work out what was happening, Hawke pulled away, her cheeks flushed pink in the first light of morning. "Happy First Day, Aveline," she said shyly, blue eyes sparkling in the faint sunlight as they darted to meet Aveline's for a brief second. Then she was standing, walking off toward the walls that bordered Lowtown.

Waves lapped against the bottom of the steps that led down into the water, catching the light as the sun slowly rose higher. Aveline's skin tingled where Hawke's lips had lingered; her fingers reached up to cover it as her mind raced. Of all the ways she'd thought to start this new year, she'd never expected that.

As she stared out at the harbor, a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. Last year, this day had felt like everything was ending. This year...

This year, she thought, something might just be beginning.

Thanks!

Thank you!

They are both lovely. :)

Why did this prompt make me think of one of the more depressing parts of DA2? Although inspired by my Mari Hawke/Cullen, I’ve generalized this for any female mage Hawke who, by the middle of Act 3, has developed a close friendship with Cullen (if not something more).

.

Cullen sprinted down the path through the dunes on the wounded coast, but he arrived too late. Ser Thrask lay dead.

Without removing helmets from the templars who lay slain in the sand, Cullen already knew their names. He had liked these men despite their foolishness, but their misplaced trust brought them the danger Cullen knew would come.

No one ever listens, and no matter how Cullen warned templars he commanded, they insisted on doing otherwise. If only he had known before their insubordination had gone too far.

Cullen stared down at Thrask’s corpse. The man had been wrong to trust mages put under his watch. Fatally wrong. And now this day of the year would live on in infamy, remembered for the recklessness that resulted in a horrible loss.

If only Cullen had arrived earlier.

He kicked a small stone and watched it skip over the sand, into the base of gnarled thorn bush. Cullen did not wish to speak with Hawke. She openly admired Thrask, and had done so for years, right from the start. More than once Hawke had badgered Cullen to hear Thrask out. “Meet with him outside the Gallows, if you must, but speak with him. He’s a good man. I trust him,” she had said, time and time again.

Cullen glanced over at where Hawke and her companions stood. He wondered what Hawke had known of Thrask’s rebellion. Judging from the disaster that surrounded them, he suspected she knew little more than he. Hawke wouldn’t have allowed this mess to happen. She would have told him. Cullen was certain of it.

From the corner of his vision, Cullen watched Hawke dig the toe of her boot in the sand. She stood twenty paces away, ringed by her companions. Together, they spoke quietly, exchanging words Cullen could not hear from a distance. Carver was with them. Cullen would ask him later what had been said.

Cullen turned toward Paxley and Hugh. “Go back to the boat,” he said. “Get help. We need to bring these bodies back.”

Those who had died that day deserved proper funerals and interred in the Chantry’s crypt. Without their bodies, the Order could not pay compensation to their next of kin. They had made their mistakes but it was Cullen’s duty to see them returned.

As Paxley and Hugh walked away, down to the beach, back to the boat, Cullen sent another stone sailing. It shot out from a cloud of sand kicked up by the side of his boot. He sucked in his breath as he drew himself to his full height. After summoning two more of his men, he began to walk over to where Hawke stood with her companions.

Cullen’s dealings with the witnesses and the survivors went by in a haze. He hid behind his mask of professionalism as his stomach soured, and questioned them more for the sake of procedure than to gain any new information. Hawke was angry. Her companions were bothered. The rest were misguided fools. But Cullen appeased Hawke. He assured her he would go easy on survivors who had involved themselves in this troubling conspiracy.

When nothing more was left to be said, Cullen commanded his three most trustworthy men to escort the few surviving mages to the boat. “Weapons sheathed,” he muttered. “This matter is done.”

He could have followed them, but he did not. Instead, he escorted Hawke and her companions away from the scene of the crime, pointing them back toward the coastal road that would return them to the city.

As they walked over the dunes, Cullen heard the sounds of his men lugging armored bodies back to their boat, behind him. Cullen scrambled up the loose sand as Aveline led the way. Sebastian and Isabela strode behind her. For a moment, Carver hesitated until Cullen quietly ordered him forward. Cullen glanced back. Hawke appears lost. Her vacant eyes stared forward.

“Come on,” he said, waving his hand, motioning her to walk in front of him.

Beyond the summit of the dunes, they walked single file, following a narrow path through the long beach grass until their boots hit hard packed soil. They were at the mouth of the trail that led up the side of a cliff, up to the road. Aveline walked point, taking them up through the switchbacks. Cullen remained as the rear guard, mostly to make sure no one straggled, but also to provide a response if ambushed from behind by raiders who snared them in a trap.

The switchbacks were steep and tight. Cullen looked up the face of the cliff as he stood at one of the turns. Aveline and Sebastian were almost to the top. Once Hawke’s group safely reached the road, Cullen planned to leave them and return to his men. As for Hawke, he would find her later, meeting somewhere they could safely talk. He wanted to ask what she knew about Thrask’s unauthorized dealings with those mages, but all of that could wait until they met someplace private.

He continued up the next switchback and around a boulder. That was when Hawke stopped.

“Go on, keep moving,” he said.

Hawke refused to budge.

“We cannot stop here.”

“Is something wrong?” Aveline called down from above.

Cullen stole a glance backward over his shoulder. Behind him grew a thick thorn bush that clung to the side of the cliff. He peered down and saw no one else below. “All’s clear,” he called out. “Keep moving to the main road.”

“Alright,” Aveline responded. Everyone continued forward, all except for Hawke.

“Hawke!” Cullen barked. Her name came out too harshly. He bit down on the inside of his lip. “Hawke, let’s go.”

She remained motionless as Cullen stepped forward, so close to her that he’d only need to lean his weight forward for his breastplate to touch her back. “Hawke,” he said again, trying hard to hide his exasperation. “Keep moving. We can’t stay here. It’s not safe.”

He might as well have given a command to a statue for all of Hawke’s lack of response. He stole another quick glance down, past the dunes, off to where his templars remained busy, before he dared to press his gloved hand to Hawke’s forearm. “We’re more than halfway up. This is a bad place to stop.” He squeezed her arm. “If you need to, we’ll talk when we reach the top. Let’s go.”

“Knight Captain?” Aveline’s voice called down from far above. “Is something wrong?”

“All’s clear. Move everyone up,” he called back.

Cullen stared to move forward but Hawke remained planted where she stood. What choice did he have? Cullen immediate felt awash in the shame for being an ass, given the circumstances, what else could he do? They were open targets while half way up the cliff. Gripping Hawke’s arm just above her wrist, he twisted it, locking her arm against the center of her back. He clamped his free hand on her opposite shoulder. “Move.” He steered her forward. She took two steps and stumbled, but he hauled her upright before she could fall. Three more steps to the next switchback and around another rock, and then she wrenched herself free and threw her back against the cliff wall. Tears streamed down her face.

In a gesture of concession, Cullen held up his hands, palms forward. “Calm down. We need to move up and join the others.”

For a moment, neither of them took a step, but when Hawke pushed herself away from the cliff wall, Cullen thought she would continue up the trail. Instead, her face crumpled. She burst into a mournful wail and sank to her knees.

No matter what Cullen said to her, not a single word appeared to register. He spoke her name softly, pleaded with her, apologized for taking her by the arm. He begged her to get up and walk with him up the trail. Instead, she fell forward, beating the ground with her open palms, face crimson as she openly sobbed.

It hurt to see someone so distressed, worse when it was a mage.

Cullen’s first reflex was wrong. He knew that. He stifled the instinct drilled into him by the Templar Order. Hawke was merely upset. He had no reason to silence her and drain her. No matter what, she would not hurt him. Of that, he was certain, despite the aftermath he had witnessed below.

If only he had arrived before that disaster began.

Crouched on all fours, Hawke heaved heavy sobs. Calling her name did nothing, and trying to haul her forward surely would not work at all.

To the Void with protocol. If he crouched behind the rock, he could remain out of sight from those he commanded. And, if an ambush occurred, one shout to Brother Sebastian would send down a rain of targeted arrows.

After a deep breath and a final glance over his shoulder, Cullen unbuckled his sword and dropped it to the ground. He worked fast to remove his gauntlets and arm guards. He would have unbuckled his breastplate if he could, but undoing the straps on his back would require Hawke’s help. Instead, he remained armored as he dropped to his knees and pulled Hawke into his arms.

Damn his blasted shell of breastplate for being so unyielding.

He held her tight against his body, despite the armor he wore. Rubbing her back with the palms of his hands, he whispered her name, waiting for the tension inside her to yield.

No other words came to him, nothing at all that could make any of this better. How had he gone so terribly wrong in overseeing the doings of his men?

He did all he could to comfort her as her weight fell awkwardly on his lap. Maker damn the armored faulds still buckled and cinched to his hips. And the Blight could take his breastplate and pauldrons. The only thought on his mind was how wrong it was for heavy steel to cut between him and Hawke as he cradled her to his chest.

What could he possibly say to her? Nothing. So he kissed her. Kissed each of the tears staining the sides of her face. There was no other action he could do, nothing at all he could say. Why had the power of language been reduced to sheer inadequacy?

Nothing could be said that would easy Hawke’s sadness. He kissed the ridge of her cheekbone, tasting the salt and dust and anguish she wore as her sorrow spilled from her like blood flowing from a wound.

Thank you both, very much.

Thank you.

ow ;_; I love Cullen's automatic Templar training, and how he's shoving it aside here, and this just reminded me how much I liked Thrask and how sad this entire quest made me :(

oh ;_;

oh, chilling, and beautiful ;;

Oh, Fergus. ;; So loyal, yes.

oh, this is beautiful. I love all the little layers of damage he has built up, and yet the trust they have together. Yes. ♥

i should add that i keep coming back to read this one. i love finding a new fic where i can hear Varric's voice in my head when i read his lines and this is one of them.

keeping secrets

That horrible Act 3 quest that ends with Thrask's death made me realize during my first PT of DA2 that everything was definitely going to shit before the credits rolled. I cannot even begin to say how much it depressed me. Oh wait, I already have. That quest radically changed my initial Hawke. The person she was after Thrask's death was not the same as the person before.

With a little polishing plus putting it fully back in my Mari Hawke's world, this quickly written scene could become interesting. But it will always be an "ow."

"Seriously, though." Isabela leaned back against Aveline's desk. "You've been without for what, three, four years?"

Aveline made a show of shuffling her papers. "That's something I don't care to discuss."

The pirate's low laughter filled the room. "Oh, but I do. I care to discuss it very much. Three years? Wouldn't you forget how to do it after so long?"

Aveline shoved her chair back so hard it crashed into the bookshelf. "That's it! I've had it with you!"

Isabela leaped back, holding her hands up in a gesture of surrender. "Easy, big girl! Only trying to help." She lowered her hands and sidled a bit closer, hips swaying. "Three years without so much as a kiss? Don't you think Donnic will know?" She inched even closer, putting one knee up on the desk and a hand against Aveline's breastplate. "Don't you think he might...notice?"

Aveline jerked back. "Hands off, you tart!"

The truth was, Isabela wasn't saying anything that Aveline hadn't already thought of. In her darker hours, long nights spent at the barracks going through paperwork, she couldn't stop her imagination playing it out. Like some scene from a comedic play, she saw herself biting - Maker, no, not the biting - or, or slobbering; saw Donnic excusing himself with a hand to his bleeding lips. And of course the entire guard would hear about it in two, maybe three hours. Varric would probably put it in his next serial.

Aveline shut her eyes tight. "Just...get it over with."

Isabela raised her eyebrows. "Oh, big girl, don't you know it doesn't count if you're not enjoying it?" She reached out and took Aveline's chin in a firm but not unkind grasp. "Open your eyes. I promise you'll enjoy it." She gave a lascivious chuckle. "I know a good kiss."

"If I hear any gossip about this, I...I'll..."

"Relax." Isabela leaned forwards, impossibly close, and Aveline had a million what in the Maker's name am I doing moments before the pirate closed the gap between them and pressed her lips against hers. Her lips were soft, slightly salty-tasting; so very different from kissing a man. Isabela slipped her hand into Aveline's hair and deftly unknotted the tie, letting her carrot-colored hair fall. "You've got such lovely hair, sweet thing," she whispered against Aveline's mouth. "Loosen up a bit."

If that's the way it's going to be... Aveline pushed forwards suddenly, ignoring Isabela's startled gasp, and slammed her down on her desk. "Poxy tart."

Isabela grinned up at her. "Lady Man-Hands. You'll be all right."

Next month's Hard in Hightown serial had a particularly filthy tryst between an inexperienced guardswoman and a knowing pirate.

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Page 15 of 17

Dragon Age Kiss Battle: 2013 Edition

Re: Infatuation, T

Re: Sebastian/Bethany, G

Re: Anders/Hawke, PG-13

Re: Leliana/Morrigan: The Wasp and the Kitten 2/?

Re: Zevran/Hawke

Re: F!Hawke/Fenris

Re: F!Hawke/Fenris

Re: F!Hawke/Fenris

Re: F!Hawke/Fenris

Re: F!Hawke/Fenris

Beginning (F!Hawke/Aveline, PG)

Re: Exploring the virtues of squishiness

Re: Exploring the virtues of squishiness

Re: Zevran/Rinna - Angst

Re: f!Hawke/Cullen - Nothing I Can Say

Re: The Last Silver, M!Hawke/Companions, T

Re: Soldiers Like Us, Aveline/Wesley, T

Re: f!Hawke/Cullen - Nothing I Can Say

Re: Forever and Today, F!Hawke/Sebastian, PG

Re: Confidant, Fergus/Anora, PG

Re: F!Hawke/Fenris

Re: The Last Silver, M!Hawke/Companions, T

Varric and Isabela

Re: f!Hawke/Cullen - Nothing I Can Say

Re: Aveline/Isabela