Dragon Age Kiss Battle: 2013 Edition

[owlmoose]

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:

1. 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.


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


3. Multiple responses are both allowed and encouraged!


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


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


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


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


8. Send your friends! :D

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

Comments

Anora/Cailan

[lassarina]

wedding night

Sebastian/F!Hawke

[fireeye]

Technically against the rules.

Technicalities Be Damned - Sebastian/F!Hawke, M

[phdfan]

I hope this isn't too explicit for a kiss battle, just a quick mini-fill.

----

"You know, Hawke, this is technically against the rules."

They're crammed into the confession box, and Hawke is on her knees in front of him.

"Come on," she says, and her eyes are alive and dangerous in the half-dark as she unties the laces of his trousers. "Don't be a spoilsport."

"I made a vow-" he starts, but falls into a moan as she reaches into his pants and pulls out his half-erect member.

"Hmmm? You were saying?" she says, and grins.

"You know, I've completely forgotten," says Sebastian, and Hawke leans closer and plants a kiss right on the head of his cock.

Mahariel/Morrigan

[ossobuco]

The world is changing.

Re: Mahariel/Morrigan

[sakuratsukikage.livejournal.com]

He rolled onto his back, panting, and his eyes were wide, shocked. Morrigan followed him, bracing herself above him on one arm. "Surely it is not so much a surprise as all that," she said.

"N-no," he said, and blinked, swallowed. Something flickered in his eyes, and then his mouth quirked into a smile, shivered and then steadied, edging into crooked wryness as he looked down, at her shoulder, and the uncovered swell of her breast. To his credit, she thought, he did not look away with a blush. "It's just I've never actually done this with a woman." He blinked, and the firelight played across his face as he looked at her, reaching up to trace the curve of her breast, brush hair back out of her eyes. "What will this really accomplish?" he asked. "What will we create here tonight?"

Morrigan shrugged. "Life," she said. "'Tis a chance, for you and your friends. What more do you wish from me?"

He smiled. "Your friends, too, Morrigan," he said, and smiled at her scowl.

"Be careful," she said, "or I may yet change my mind."

"Then I will keep my mouth attending to other things," he said, and leaned up to press his lips to her breast, trailing them up the underside, his soft lips and breath hot against her skin. She sighed, let her back arch as he traveled up her chest, over her shoulder to her neck, his other hand coming up to brush hair off her forehead with callused archer's fingers. Sentimental. He was not nearly as sentimental as Alistair, but still, he was gentle. But not, she thought, soft.

"I suppose I'll never know," he said, a moment later, breath soft and damp against her neck.

"What?" she asked, almost snapped. He was stirring a fire in her, unexpected and unlooked for, with his hands and mouth and soft kisses.

She did not appreciate the complications at this late juncture. Besides, he was the Antivan's man, not hers, and even if he had been hers, it would not be for long.

"The changes you'll bring to the world," he said. "I suppose that's all right, this is enough." He braced both hands on her jaw, suddenly, and looked up into her eyes. "Morrigan," he said, seriously, earnestly. "Thank you, for my life."

"Ridiculous," she muttered, and rolled her eyes before she leaned down to kiss him, molding their lips together and nipping on his before sweeping her tongue into his mouth, pursuing his, pressing him down into the bed, under her, his mouth hot and yielding before her own, and he groaned and let himself be pushed back, let his hands slide down to her waist as his mouth opened and he gasped against her lips.

Carver/Aveline

[fireeye]

Agree to Disagree.

Carver/Aveline - Kirkwall, for One Moment, T

[missema]

As Guard-Captain, Aveline didn't rest and let others do the rough work like Captain Jeven did. She was right out there with them, pounding the pavement. It was her connection, deep and visceral to the place that had become her new start. There was much potential in Kirkwall, if they didn't squander it all with the infighting between all the various factions.

She rounded a corner near the docks, surprised to see a group of people in uniform. They were too well-armed to be slavers or bandits, too tall for the Carta. A passing thought made her think they might be smugglers before she got close enough to inspect the uniforms in the dim light of evening. They were blue. Warden issued.

"Aveline." Hearing her name from one of the assembled people made her tense with shock, but her rigidity faded when she saw Carver peeling away from the group. Warden Carver. A smile pricked the corners of her mouth and she did her best to suppress it, failing miserably.

"Hello Carver, and company." She said, feeling awkward as she nodded at the group of Wardens. They gave cordial if cool hellos and nods back to her behind Carver's brawny plated shoulder.

"First time back in Kirkwall?" Aveline asked.

"No, but don't tell my brother. Only here for a moment, anyway." Carver shook his head. "I don't want him or Mother waiting for me to come for a visit. We have business, and the Wardens are my family now."

"You can't just forget about all of us here. Family is important, Carver. They should know." Aveline protested, a frown on her face. Loyalty wasn't so easily forgotten, and after all they'd lost, neither was family.

Carver ducked his head down, lips unexpectedly capturing her still downturned mouth. The kiss was neat and hard, as if he'd done it a multitude of times before. His warm lips pushed into hers, insistent and forceful - just like the Carver she knew. What was different was the confidence behind it, the dark heat, the way it made her head swim. He was young, too young, but had come into his manhood in the Deep Roads and found a life that fit. All the time since that trip had made him keenly sharp, no longer a blunt instrument to wield, but a thinking man turned weapon. Deadly and fierce, his kiss said it all as it seared her lips. Time suspended, she didn't think to breathe as they kissed, just feel his touch, the hand lingering on the small of her back, her palm spread flat against the griffon insignia that he now called home. Her hand on his chest pushed gently, prying the two of them apart. This wasn't right, but that was probably why it felt so good.

"We'll have to agree to disagree about the family thing, but I won't tell your brother I saw you." Aveline said, coming back to her senses, desperate for something to say.

Carver let out a hard burst of laughter, as if the sound had been trapped in his chest and had finally broken free. "Agree to disagree, huh? You just won't tell him about that kiss."

"That's why you did it, you prat." Aveline said, smiling for the first time as she swatting at him. He jumped out of the way with a grin on his face.

"Maybe. Maybe I just wanted to kiss you. Take care, Aveline." He said, moving back towards the group at the edge of the dock.

She watched him stride away without looking back over his shoulder, black hair ruffled by the invisible hand of the sea breeze. The hard indent left by his lips was fading into memory on her own, but the feelings he conjured weren't so easily cast off. No, she would likely never mention that kiss - or that she saw him to anyone. But she was serious about agreeing to disagree. Family was never discarded, but she realized that this was probably for the best. His new life didn't allow for visits for tea or slow kisses, for what if and I wonders. What it called for was just what she'd gotten, something hard and quick that nearly felt familiar.

Aveline/Donnic

[fireeye]

Measuring up.

Two Men (Aveline/Donnic, Aveline/Wesley)

[violacea]

Wesley and Donnic were two very different men. It was evident, Aveline thought, in the way they kissed.

Wesley’s kisses had always been sweet, tender. A little awkward at first - they’d been each other’s first, in just about everything, and it took a while for them to figure out where noses and hands properly went during the whole proceeding. But it had been fun, she remembered, nervous laughter turning into genuine enjoyment. And as Wesley learned how to do the sorts of things that made Aveline swoon, he went about them with the same dedication as he brought to his higher calling.

Donnic - well, she wasn’t near his first in anything. And that was more than okay. Donnic had the confidence that Wesley sometimes lacked; his kisses were firm, his tongue dancing between Aveline’s lips before she had a chance to catch her breath. Sometimes, his confidence was harder to take - early encounters turned into something like wrestling matches, as Aveline tried to guide him in a direction that pleased her. It took a while, to match their rhythms. But Aveline had to admit, she rather liked being with someone who could sweep her away like Donnic did. Sometimes, it was nice to give up control and let him steer their passion in his own way.

“So,” Isabela asked once, over drinks in the Hanged Man, “does Donnic measure up to Ser Templar? You know, in the important ways?”

Aveline ignored the eyebrow waggle that accompanied the question. “There is no ‘measuring up,’” she answered. “It’s like comparing apples and oranges.”

“Oh, you’re no fun. Unless you’d like to elaborate on the differences.”

“Not in this lifetime.” But Aveline smiled to herself. She was lucky, to have had the love - and the passion - of two such men. "Those details belong to me."

Morrigan+Flemeth

[fireeye]

What makes a Mother.

Visitation (Morrigan+Flemeth, G)

[owlmoose]

No groan of hinges betrayed the opening of the door; no squeaking of floorboards marked anyone's passing. And so Morrigan did not realize her home had been invaded until she heard the soft rustling above her son's cradle. Looking up from her book, she then flung it aside as she leapt to her feet, grabbing for the staff in the corner next to the fireplace. "Leave him alone!"

Flemeth finished gathering the babe in her arms and turned to face Morrigan as she straightened. "Now, now," she said, voice hushed. "You don't want to wake him, do you?"

Morrigan froze, torn between the urge to snatch the boy from Flemeth's arms and her need to smack Flemeth with a binding spell that would hold her for a hundred years. "How did you find me?"

"You did a good job obscuring your trail, I'll give you that much." Flemeth smiled with an expression almost like pride. "But you should have known you couldn't hide from me forever."

You were supposed to be dead. But Morrigan supposed that had always been a vain hope. She let her arms relax, just a little, and she took a careful step forward. "I don't suppose you wish to tell me why you are here?"

"I'm here to see my grandson." Flemeth pushed the blanket back off his head and looked him over: his reddish-blond hair, his peaceful smile. "Aren't you a fine boy?" She placed light kiss on his forehead. "A fine boy with a fine destiny." She held him out to Morrigan, who did not hesitate to take him and pull him close, shielding him from Flemeth with her hands and a spell of protection, murmured quickly under her breath. "And he would be a boy. Too proud to give me another girl then? Or too afraid?"

Flemeth raised an eyebrow at Morrigan, who shrank away. "I will protect my son," she said, speaking each word with clear precision. "I will protect him from all who might threaten him."

Flemeth chuckled. "Even me?"

Morrigan stared straight into her mother's eyes. "Especially you."

Flemeth lowered her chin, and her smile turned dark. "Just as a mother should. Just as I protected you, whether you appreciated it or not. But you need not fear me, my girl. At least, not yet." She leaned forward and pressed her lips to Morrigan's forehead, the same gentle gesture she had bestowed upon the babe. "Now, rest."

Almost without realizing she had done so, Morrigan closed her eyes; by the time she opened them, Flemeth was gone, the open door closed, a window left half-open. Shuddering, she went to the window and closed it, bolted the door, and settled back into the rocking chair, her sleeping son still clasped to her breast.

Isabela/f!Hawke

[rijsg]

Ulterior motives

Isabela/f!Hawke, Ulterior Motives

[arbryna]

It was small--hardly weighed a thing--but Marian was all too aware of the glass vial hanging in a pouch on her belt. That it was poison was bad enough, but Isabela had identified it as Black Hand, a particularly deadly substance that could kill a man in two breaths. Even tucked securely away as it was, padded with scraps torn from the dead guards' clothes, she felt it shift with each step she took. All it would take was one stumble, one misstep, and the vial could shatter--and she wasn't completely confident that her layers of clothing would be enough to protect her from the poison's effects.

Which was why, when Isabela whirled to pin her against a dirty Lowtown wall, Marian's heart jumped into her throat for reasons that didn't necessarily have to do with the pirate's close proximity.

"Isabela," she gasped as her hand shot to cover the pouch protectively. "What are you doing?"

The answering look in Isabela's eyes was enough to send Marian's blood racing to decidedly lower parts of her anatomy. "You never took me up on my offer," Isabela murmured. A rough fingertip dragged along the collar of Marian's armor, raising goosebumps in its wake. Isabela's lips curved up knowingly at the edges. "I'm not new to being turned down, but it usually involves the word 'no' at some point."

Marian wanted to answer, to explain that she'd been busy, and that Isabela's brazen offer had caught her so off-guard that she hadn't had the first idea how to respond to it. That would all require her to breathe, however--and somewhere amidst the solid warmth of Isabela's body pressing against her, the heat of her words brushing across Marian's jaw, and the feather-light touch of finger to skin, she seemed to have forgotten how.

Not that it mattered much. Isabela took her lack of words as an answer in itself, drawing back just far enough to press her mouth firmly to Marian's.

The strangled whimper that sounded in Marian's throat was entirely undignified, but she couldn't find it in herself to care. Isabela's lips were soft and full, tongue hot and slick where it teased at the entrance to her mouth. Desire twisted in Marian's belly as sure hands drifted down to her hips, holding firmly as Isabela's breasts crushed against hers.

When Isabela slipped a knee between her legs, Marian's own hands shot up to the back of Isabela's head, tangling in thick dark hair as she moaned into Isabela's mouth. Her head spun with the intensity of it all.

Just as she was on the edge of throwing caution to the wind and letting Isabela take her up against this dirty, cracked wall where anyone could pass by and see them, she felt nimble fingers slipping around to her front. She didn't realize their intent at first; she assumed they were working their way to the button of her trousers, or the buckle of her belt, and she ground wantonly against Isabela's thigh to urge her on.

Isabela's fingers were focused on another task, however--one that didn't become apparent until they had liberated the vial of poison from the pouch at Marian's belt.

For all her distraction, Marian still managed to be quick enough to close her hand around Isabela's before the pirate could make off with her prize.

"Really?" Marian panted, quirking an eyebrow.

"Can't blame a girl for trying," Isabela replied with a smirk. She rolled her eyes as she let Marian reclaim the vial. "Let's get it back to Martin, then," she sighed, stepping back to give Marian room to walk away. "He'd never have missed it, you know."

Marian shook her head with a practiced grin, hoping her disappointment wasn't too obvious. She'd been a fool to think Isabela would want her.

Before she could get too deep into self-recrimination, a sudden warmth pressed against Marian's back. She kept her hand tight around the pouch containing the poison, and Isabela chuckled into her ear.

"Maybe once we're done with him," Isabela murmured, her breath hot against Marian's neck, "I can convince you to finish what we've started."

This time, the grin that pulled at Marian's mouth was genuine. "Play your cards right," she teased.

"Oh, sweet thing, I thought you'd have caught on by now." Isabela's hand dragged along the small of Marian's back as she moved around to continue the walk to the Hanged Man. She glanced back over her shoulder, mischief glinting in her eyes. "I cheat."

Marian bit her lip, watching the sway of Isabela's hips for a moment before she rushed to catch up. She couldn't be done with this poison business soon enough.

Isabela/Merrill

[rijsg]

Making new experiences.

Isabela/Leliana

[rijsg]

Reunited.

Isabela/Aveline

[rijsg]

Rivalry.

Isabela/Fenris

[rijsg]

Chains. And glistening.

Away With Us, Isabela/Fenris, K

[(Anonymous)]

“I should have known it would end like this,” Fenris said and, turning, looked up at the ruined city of Kirkwall.

“Forget all that,” Isabela said with a careless wave of her hand. “We have a ship and a perfect day for sailing. Strong wind, clear sky, and the sea spread before us, glistening like a waiting lover.” She looked past the ominous chains of the city's harbor; chose instead to see only the great expanse of ocean beyond.

“You poet,” Fenris said, forgetting about mages and templars long enough to crack a smile for the free-spirited woman beside him. On a whim, he ducked towards her.

Expecting the kiss, and welcoming it, Isabela turned up her cheek and smiled as his lips brushed her skin with a tenderness that was new from him.

She owned more and more of his heart each day. And vice versa.

F!Hawke/Fenris

[phdfan]

Couldn't trust anyone but you

Re: F!Hawke/Fenris

[w0rdinista.livejournal.com]

Fenris has had scarce little reason to trust in his life. Indeed, he cannot remember trusting anyone—and of course he cannot; his memory is full to bursting with cruelties gathered up and collected like shells across the shore at low tide. If there is trust anywhere in his past, it exists beyond a barrier he cannot breach. But, oh, he breached it once—once, and only for a moment before it was gone, fleeing through his fingers like sand or water.

But beyond Fenris’ own faulty memory, there is instinct. Instinct, too, tells him that trust is a fool’s luxury that leads only to pain, to humiliation, to degradation.

And yet.

He has tried turning away. It was a misguided effort to protect himself from any number of things, though mostly, if he’s to be honest with himself, the one he wished most to protect himself from was Hawke. Hawke, with her honesty. Hawke, with her concern. Hawke, with her honest questions and more honest answers. He trusts her—he cannot help but trust her, for she has never given him reason to do otherwise.

If trust is a fool’s luxury, more fool he; it is a folly he will gladly revel in.

“You’re thinking again,” she says, pale pink lips twisting into a smile.

“Perhaps.” It’s the only answer he gives, the only answer he needs to give.

“About?” She winds her arms about his neck, and it still amazes him that the closeness, the touch, the inherent possessiveness of the gesture doesn’t bother him. On the contrary, he presses closer to her, wraps his arms about her in turn.

“Ought I to make you guess?”

Hawke makes a face then. “You know how abysmal I am at guessing games, Fenris. How about a hint?”

“A hint,” he echoes, thoughtfully. His hand rests just at the flare of her hips where his thumb begins rubbing a slow circle. Hawke’s eyes flutter shut as she sucks in a slow breath.

“Would that happen to be a hint?” Her voice is pitched lower, soft as aural velvet, and Fenris knows with a firmer stroke, right where he’s rubbing now, there will be no more talk of guessing games, because there will be no more talk at all.

“It is not,” he says, sliding his hand upward.

“Pity.”

And even as they exchange volleys and caresses with equal ease, he marvels at how very well he knows her. When they sink down together upon the sofa, Fenris above her—and a small part of him still marvels at that, marvels that Hawke cedes control to him so easily—he knows the sound she makes when his lips brush her collarbone (a gasp), when his tongue darts out to glide along the curve of her jaw (a whimper). He knows beyond a shadow of doubt that every one of his ministrations are wanted.

Desired.

With Hawke, there is no disdain, no mockery, no humiliation or rejection. There is no fear of a misstep. There is only her, and her response to him. And as he angles his mouth over hers, he knows what that response will be. Her arms tighten around him as her hands clutch at his back; she parts her lips with a moan, all acceptance and eagerness. There is no pain hidden in this pleasure, and it has taken time for Fenris to stop expecting pain, and all that comes with it. His tongue slides against hers and she arches beneath him, both hands sliding up his back to fist in his hair.

Kisses are intimate things. There’s nowhere to hide in a kiss; it’s like a shaft of daylight in which every flaw is thrown into relief. And as Hawke’s teeth graze his lip, chuckling huskily when he groans, Fenris knows this is who she is. There is no concealment here, no lies as her tongue swipes a path along the ridge of his teeth.

And there is no scorn as she pulls away long enough to breathe I love you before losing herself in his mouth again.

Anders/F!Hawke

[phdfan]

THAT kiss

Another First Kiss, Anders/f!Hawke, T

[ashfae]

"It wasn't how I wanted our first kiss to go," Anders admitted.

Hawke smirked. He wouldn't be able to see it, spooned behind her in the bed she now thought of as theirs, but he probably knew she was smirking all the same. "So you admit you'd thought about it."

Anders' arm squeezed around her waist, and voice was almost indignant. "You know blighted well I thought about it. I barely thought about anything else. Three years--" His arm squeezed harder, and one leg moved so it rested between hers, skin sliding on skin. "--three years of imagining kissing you--"

"Among other things."

His chuckle was a low rasp that tickled her ear, and one hand slid northwards, seeking and finding curves; not with intent, just warm, wonderfully familiar contact. "Many other things. But I thought our first kiss would at least involve some finesse. I wanted to leave you breathless, and instead I just sort of lunged at you. I should be ashamed of myself, really."

He didn't sound in the least ashamed of himself, or of where his hand was wandering, and Hawke laughed. "Believe me, love, you left me breathless."

"Mm." His mouth nuzzled at the skin below her ear. "Not good enough. I want another attempt."

"Another first kiss?" Hawke rolled over in his arms. "Well, I've always been a believer in second chances..."

A few minutes passed before they came up for air, and when they did, Hawke was grinning. "Also third and fourth chances. Ninth chances, even. How many first kisses would you like?"

Anders laughed. "How high can you count?"

author's note: Yep, the TMBG song is thoroughly in my head now.

Cullen/F!Amell or Surana

[sakuratsukikage.livejournal.com]

La belle dame sans merci/the beautiful lady without mercy.

Re: Cullen/F!Amell or Surana - T/PG-13 for language

[brennacedria.com]

((Note: This is actually an excerpt from a WIP for my non-Warden Amell, who specializes primarily in the school of entropy.))

“I heard it from the Knight Commander himself this afternoon: they’re planning to summon you for your Harrowing at midnight.”

The girl allowed herself a tiny smile at both the news and at the way the young man worried over the message he delivered, but her expression was hidden almost entirely by the shadows that hid them. Hidden or not, he must have sensed how pleased she was, because he scowled. “I’m touched by your concern.”

“It’s not some trifling matter, Vrania,” he hissed, and the touch of a smile on her lips widened into an open grin. “I didn’t just randomly overhear the order. I’m to be in attendance. I— I’m…”

“…to strike down the horrible abomination that I’ll become as a result?” she teased. “You know as well as I do that’s not going to happen. For one thing, I’d have to fail for that to even be an issue.”
Winding her arms around his neck, Vrania scraped her nails through the dark blonde curls at the nape of his neck and pulled him as close as his armor allowed her. “And as for the other possibility, I don’t think you could hurt me if you wanted to.”

Stiffening, he tried to push her away; when she wouldn’t release her grip on him he relented. “Maker’s breath, woman, what do you think you’re doing?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper.

“I should think that’s quite obvious,” she replied, lifting on her toes and almost brushing her lips against his. “Come off it, Cullen, meeting me after curfew every third night since Wintersend at least? You may as well admit why; no matter what happens at this point, we’re both in the same amount of trouble if your Knight Commander were to find out about our visits.”

Vrania could just make out the crease in his brow as he frowned. “Then this is the last time you’ll be seeing me like this.”

“No it’s not,” she smiled knowingly, bringing one arm from behind his neck and tracing a casual line along his jaw. “Not only can you not stay away, you know how those idiot apprentices are with their rumors. No, we’re safe only so long as they don’t sense a change in either of us.”

The templar frowned, shaking his head as if clearing a fog. He smiled softly afterward, though, twirling a bit of her dark pink hair between his fingers. “I still can’t believe you can get this color in your hair from a few cups of raspberry juice,” he commented as if they’d been discussing her hair dyes the entire evening.

“It took a bit of practice to get the color even,” she admitted, just as careful to keep him away from where this conversation could lead as she was to avoid earlier topics. There was no reason for him to know that she’d not used anything but her own will to maintain the color in months. If he was new enough at this templar business not to recognize magic, there was no reason to point out any more of her power’s signature than necessary.

“It suits you, though.”

Grinning, Vrania grabbed the throat of his breastplate and pulled him back down where she could reach him and glued her lips to his. He didn’t even resist, his hands tangling in her short hair. After a few moments his eyes widened as he finally realized what he was doing, and he pulled away.

“I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t keep you,” he stammered, “considering what you have ahead of you, of course.”

“I’m up late most nights, Cullen,” the grin from earlier still hadn’t faded as she very deliberately eyed him head to toe and back again. “I think I can handle a late night tonight, Harrowing or no.”
Shock turned to mild horror as he finally understood her implication and took a number of steps back. “I- no- that wouldn’t be proper, I’m sorry.”

“Fuck proper,” Vrania laughed and he paled even further.

“I- I’ll see you later toni- another time, Apprentice Vrania,” he bowed stiffly before fleeing down the dark corridor toward the barracks.

Still smirking slightly, Vrania waited a few moments before beginning the trip back to the apprentice dorm.

f!mage!Hawke/Fenris

[mako_lies]

give and take

Re: f!mage!Hawke/Fenris

[w0rdinista.livejournal.com]

It is like a dance. So much is, between them. A delicate, careful compromise.

They move together, and sometimes apart. Forward. Back. On occasion they will move aside completely, though whether it is out of avoidance or let the other pass, neither can say. Concession. Understanding. Compromise. They must move carefully—more to the point, Hawke must, and she knows she must. After three years of stilted silence running under forced conversation like a river coursing beneath a jagged layer of ice, Hawke pays attention. She is careful in that she takes care; she does not want to misstep in this dance of theirs, shattering something so fragile just because she didn’t think before opening her mouth.

They amble back to Hightown after drinks and cards at The Hanged Man, her veins buzzing pleasantly with drink, emboldening her, loosening her tongue. Stay with me, she wants to say. He does, sometimes. Or she with him. Sometimes they lay together upon her bed or his, sated and drowsing until the sun rises and shines through his tattered drapes, or until Hawke’s household awakens and Orana begins breakfast while Bodhan and Sandal load wood into the fireplaces to ease the night’s chill from the stones. Sometimes he doesn’t stay, and Hawke knows his reasons are his own. But Hawke knows if she gives him room to leave, it is all the sweeter when he decides to stay, just as Fenris knows the decision to stay is sweeter when it is his own.

Tonight the sharp corner they turn reveals his home first; the windows are dark, such a stark contrast to the yellow glow coming from the Hawke estate, every window lit, warm and welcoming. But that matters little as they walk through the door, passing into the still-ruined foyer, shafts of moonlight guiding their steps as well as any lantern. They brush against each other as they enter the foyer together, hands glancing against hands, fingers touching but never quite twining, legs brushing, arms grazing, but never with quite enough contact to make anything ignite.

She could, though. Ignite. Every brush, every brief, barely-there touch makes heat swirl and pound under her skin. But she breathes in, settles her mana, and wills the power, her connection to the Fade, even now prickling in her blood to stop. Or at least settle.

Not here, Hawke reminds herself. Not here. She will not use magic in Fenris’ house; it is a concession he is unaware of, but a promise she has made herself nonetheless. And so, with a deep inhale and a slow exhale, she calms the heat simmering in her blood, hot and sparking in the deepest places where her magic lives and swirls and thrives.

But then Fenris’ hand is at the small of her back as they climb the stairs, warm, impossibly warm through her clothes, his touch doing absolutely nothing to ease the heat in her veins, and she turns.

“Do you wish to stay?” he asks, his voice low, the tenor of it skating across her skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake as he draws her closer against him before the large fire.

“I will if you like,” is her reply, light and open, because he has given her what she most wants, and it’s not even that she’ll be staying, it’s that he wants her to stay. She does not presume to intrude upon his privacy, and she knows there are nights he prefers to sleep alone.

“I would like nothing better,” he murmurs into her ear, one hand sliding into her hair, the other to her hip, and the warmth against her skin can’t begin to compare to the warmth beneath it right now. When the kiss comes, it is Hawke who begins it, who closes the scant distance between them with a groan as Fenris’ fingers trace a path from her hips to her waist, his arms sliding around her. She brushes her lips lightly, teasingly against his mouth, until his fingers tighten on her, until his breathing grows too ragged with her teasing, and she gives him what he is asking for, until her mouth presses against his like his hands against her, moving against his lips so very slowly. Thoroughly.

There are no demands right now, no frantic hands or biting kisses—there is time enough for that. Tonight there is only the soft sound of hands gliding across clothes and skin, ragged breaths and half-whispered endearments. Hawke is only barely aware of the faint blue glow around her hands as her palms drag up Fenris’ chest to his shoulders, and she realizes first that it’s the faintest tremors of mana slipping free, and second that the only reason she’s seeing it is because the fire in the hearth is dead and cold, the room dark.

Fenris notices too—of course—and something about it pulls a soft chuckle from his lips. Barely a laugh at all.

“Sorry,” she says, sheepishly, and with a breathless little laugh of her own, shaking out her fingers. “Shall I?” she asks, nodding at the cold hearth, and when Fenris nods, she sets the log aflame, lighting the room in warmth and flickering light while providing an much-needed outlet for the gathering heat. It will take time for the chill to recede from the floor, but they neither of them are in any sort of rush.

“Why… do you apologize?” he asks, taking one of her hands in his and pulling her closer.

“It’s nothing,” she says, smiling and shaking her head. “You needn’t worry.”

“I did not say I was worried,” Fenris counters. “Only that I want to know why you feel the need to apologize.”

Hawke considers a fib. Briefly. But, no, that would be worse, so she shrugs and sighs, holding up one hands and wiggling her fingers. “Seems abominably rude, don’t you think? To perform magic uninvited in another person’s house?”

“And do you… always refrain in this way?”

Another shrug. “As well as I can.” She grins, ducking her head. “You don’t always make it easy, you know.”

Then his fingers are beneath her chin, lifting her gaze to meet his, and the firelight warms his features, dances in the pale strands of hair, sets a light deep in his eyes. Her breath catches and her heart thuds hard against her ribs.

“You of all people, Hawke—you have no cause for such restraint.” The fingertips beneath her chin slide until his hand cradles her jaw, fingers resting lightly against the side of her neck, just barely tickling her hairline. When he speaks, his breath is warm against her lips, and Hawke’s vigilant construction of compromise crumbles like a house of cards. “Just as you have no reason to make such apologies.”

“You say that now,” she replies, and though she tries for levity, his hands are so warm on her, and his mouth is so very close to hers that the jest came out sounding too breathless by half. “You say that now,” she tries again, “but just wait until I’ve burned down your house and you’ve nothing left but a smoldering ruin.”

“And yet the house was once Danarius’. Do not think I have any sentimental attachment to it.”

“…Fenris? Are you giving me permission to burn down your house?”

Another kiss comes then, his mouth slanting over hers, the faintest rumble of a chuckle vibrating against her lips, down to her chest, down to her toes, and she wraps her arms around his neck, sighing into it. Their dance has changed; no longer a careful series of steps, they are now lost in something far more intimate, with remarkably little footwork at all.

“Only if you truly believe you have nothing at all better to do with your time, Hawke.”

f!Warden/Leliana

[ashfae]

Andraste's grace

Interrupted - f!Brosca/Leliana - G

[lea_hazel]

Their relationship had been interrupted at the worst possible time. Well, honestly, it was their relationship which had gotten in the way of the Blight, and not the other way around. The battle with the Archdemon had seemed like a vague, distant possibility, and Natia thought she had all the time in the world. She and Leliana shared their first kiss just outside the gates of Denerim, the day before the Landsmeet. Only days later they were marching to battle, and after their great victory Leliana announced her departure, it seemed to Natia, very out of the blue.

Looking back, Natia cringed to think of her stuttering, awkward love confession, a desperate ploy to convince Leliana not to leave. For a long time, she thought she had been grasping and that her desperation had only driven Leliana farther away. Which is why she was surprised to recognize her scrawling, elaborate hand on a letter in her correspondence pile. There was no mistaking the long flourishing loops. The letter was not addressed to the Warden Commander, but instead bore her given name only.

Natia picked up the letter and turned it over and over in her hands, unopened. The paper was very fine, folded over and sealed with dark red wax, impressed with a seal she did not recognize. She lifted it to her face and instantly recognized the familiar scent of Andraste's grace, Leliana's favorite flower. She pulled out her pen knife and slid it, slowly and with infinite care, between the enveloping folds. The wax seal popped off and the vellum came unfolded in her hands. 'Dearest,' it said, and at the bottom was signed her name, the capital L sprawling in loops across the bottom of the page.

She felt her mouth splitting into the widest smile, and her face grew warm. Glancing right and left to make sure of her privacy, Natia lifted the letter to her lips and kissed the name at the bottom. If she could not kiss her face, this was surely the next best thing.

Shianni/Zevran

[ashfae]

a gift

Re: Shianni/Zevran

[1smut_princess]

Brazen, brash, and tasting of onions and the alcohol that flowed freely at the palace gathering, the kiss was sloppy and without polish. It didn't matter. Curling an arm around the Alienage girl, Zevran pulled Shianni closer firmly, fingers trailing over the line of her smooth jaw before parting.

She laughed, face tucking into his shoulder, the wintry chill of the desiccated estate garden making her breath puff clouds of steamed frost.

The green and cream woolen dress was warm under his hand, and Zevran snorted, "What is it that amuses you so?"

"Aw nothin' really - you're just different," Shianni's nose crinkled as she leaned back, squinting at him, her green eyes the same shade of oak leaf as her dress. "And I didn't get you a present, even though you got me somethin'."

"Ah," as he reached for some sort of understanding. Winking, "Very well then, I accept your most gracious gift."

He wasn't entirely certain as to how he was different. Or different from what. Himself? Others? Fereldens? Shems? Other men? Women? Knowing what it was she meant was likely important, but Zevran wasn't inclined to probe at the moment. The redhead would tell him or not tell him as she chose.

Another laugh. "See? Polite - that's different."

"And why should I not be polite? It is you who gave me a gift," jostling her lightly with an elbow as they resumed walking in the frozen garden, the sounds of revelry in the estate loud. "It is only recently that I am becoming acquainted with receiving gifts, and I must say that the first one I ever was given, I was not overly polite about it. Mostly because I had gone my whole life without one before, so did not know how to take it. It was all rather clumsy on my part."

"Yeah, well, it's not like I've ever had a nice kiss before, so it was probably kinda clumsy too!"

Tugging Shianni to a halt, Zevran cocked his head to one side, speculatively. "It was a nice one nevertheless. Skill is not always so important, but meaning is more so. Something freely given has meaning and worth."

A great deal of it.

Shianni might not be the prettiest - nor the most homely - of women, but there was a startled brightness that made her lovely at his words. "Yeah, well, there's not always much like that to go around."

Smiling lopsidedly at her, "Quite true. Now, shall we go and stumble through some dance steps where it is warm, or continue wandering?"

Flemeth/Varric

[ashfae]

knowing the value of stories

(...it seemed a good idea in my head)

Meredith + Amelia

[ashfae]

(no incest, please, sisterly kiss)

Bethany/Nathaniel

[rose_in_shadow.livejournal.com]

Post-nightmare

Bethany/Nathaniel - PG

[ryry]

Nathaniel woke up in a cold sweat with his heart racing, as he sometimes did. Even the most senior Grey Warden was susceptible to nightmares, some of them more terrifying than others.

When he opened his eyes, instead of seeing the bloodied mouth of the darkspawn that had been gorging itself on his liver in his dream, he saw her face.

Sometimes, she slept so peacefully, he envied her. His Bethany -- did he really think that? No, perhaps, not his, but in moments like this he felt like they were the only two people in the world. Like she was a blessing from the Maker, come here to ease his lonely and frightened heart in the depth of night.

He placed his hand on her cheek as gently as he could so not to wake her. His Bethany. His Bethany. Nathaniel shifted his body ever so slightly and gently touched his lips to her -- a prayer, a thank you, a small token of his love.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she was smiling. "I was just dreaming of you," she whispered.

"Sometimes," he whispered back, "I worry that you are my dream and nothing else."

She kissed him gently on the lips. "I can't be," she said, her breath like a ghost on his lips, "If I were, I couldn't do this." She kissed him again, sliding her arms around his neck and drawing him close.

Alistair/f!Hawke

[rose_in_shadow.livejournal.com]

When I think of you

Fenris/Anders

[(Anonymous)]

Debts paid

Nathaniel/Anders

[ryry]

I've had enough of you.

Meredith/Orsino

[(Anonymous)]

Push & Pull

Mahariel/Sigrun

[ossobuco]

Libraries.