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

Mahariel/Cauthrien

[ossobuco]

What we both have lost.

What We Both Have Lost - F!Mahariel/Cauthrien, T

[missema]

Loghain was never really hers - Cauthrien accepted the fact as she watched him walk around in Warden armor, a man with a new purpose. He had always belonged to Ferelden first and foremost, even when he hadn't. For a moment, Cauthrien let her mind wander, thinking about what it must be like for him to learn this new role after being so fierce a guardian dedicated to a world entirely different. Though her former general would not like the thought, he was probably feeling much the same as his new son-in-law at the moment.

Across the room, the Warden Mahariel eyed King Alistair with unabashed regret. Their affair may be over, but it was plain that she still had feelings for him. Ser Cauthrien watched the elven woman as she navigated the court, with plenty of well-wishers hanging onto her, desperate for Alistair to return her gaze. He did not even glance in her direction, despite several opportunities. If Loghain could find a mirror in Alistair, then Cauthrien saw some of herself in Mahariel. The thought was unsettling.

Her gaze must scorched, because the Warden looked over at her and their eyes locked. It was a shared moment with someone whom she wished no connection, and Cauthrien broke away first. She had nothing to say to her, even if Loghain did still draw breath and the Blight had been declared over. It had cost too much.

But didn't Mahariel have cause to think the same as she? Her gut clenched as she recognized another unwanted similarity between her and the elf.

For days, the two of them interacted but didn't speak. They were in close quarters in the castle together, but neither of their jobs necessitated direct confrontation. Cauthrien was glad of it - they'd seen enough of each other before. It still made shame well in her when she thought of how the Warden spoke to her outside the Landsmeet chamber, when she admitted that Loghain had gone astray. Had she known the outcome of that meeting, that he would become one of her instruments, Cauthrien might have fought the Warden and prevented her from going in. Not that there wasn't honor in being a Warden, but to her, there just wasn't enough. Not for Loghain, a man already a hero. What did he need to defeat Blights for when he had already driven out conquerors and brought independence to the land?

It surprised her to find the Warden in the stables one night. It was a place where Cauthrien went whenever her active mind wouldn't settle enough to let her body rest. Her melodic voice was singing, quiet but loud against the silence of night, as she turned ungainly Dalish words into something elegant. She surprised herself by listening, leaning against a wooden beam, arms folded as she watched the Warden tend to a horse, singing all the while.

Mahariel's song seemed to soothe the animals, who were calm as she tended to them. Careful hands worked in a way that suggested she'd taken care of the horses many times before, and Cauthrien wondered why she'd never run into her. Perhaps the Warden had wanted to avoid her, or maybe it was the other way around. Before she could give it proper thought, the singing stopped.

Her steps were soundless and quick as she approached, and had she not been watching, Cauthrien wouldn't have known she was there. She moves like an Orlesian bard, a voice in Cauthrien's mind sneered, and she tried hard not to notice how much her inner monologue sounded like Loghain.

Violet eyes met with her own once again, but neither of them spoke. Instead of talking, Mahariel covered Ser Cauthrien's hand in both of her own, the slightly smaller fingers covering hers. No one ever touched her, not like that. There were the rough shoves from her men, the genial slaps and bumps that soldiers gave each other in passing, but not anywhere as intimate or simple as this. Between them was understanding, not friendship but something deeper - kindred. The realization jolted through her, sending arcs of blue-hot pain down her spine, stiffening her body as she tried not to cry.

Cauthrien bent her head towards Mahariel, taking in the pine scent that seemed to follow the woman, even as she stood amongst the horses. Her chin tipped up towards Cauthrien, their mouths meeting. She was unexpectedly harsh, her lips greedy as she and Cauthrien kissed - their long awaited confrontation. Teeth scraping against lips, tongues fighting the other, chests heaving as both fought to pull in air and keep kissing the other. She felt a pull on her ponytail, forcing her head back as Mahariel ran teeth over her chin and jaw, coaxing a low groan from Cauthrien as she did. Never one to be outdone, Cauthrien redirected and bit the Warden's generous lower lip, enough to feel her start as pleasure and pain bloomed together as one.

She'd expected it to become less intense, but it didn't. As if neither wanted to give in first, they both held on, kissing wildly until they couldn't any longer. Cauthrien wasn't sure if she'd won or lost, but there really were no winners and losers in this, only the people left standing. They broke apart, Mahariel still standing too close to her, the rhythm of her breathing in tandem with her own.

"What was that for?" Mahariel asked, even though Cauthrien would bet everything she had that the woman already knew why and had manipulated the when. She answered anyway.

"It's for what we both have lost." She said simply, shrugging as if the answer was obvious. "What we'll never get back."

Mahariel nodded, carefully, slowly as she thought about it. "I had hoped it was more."

"So did I." Cauthrien replied. Until the words were out of her mouth, she hadn't realized that they were true.

Lust and want didn't come easily to her, she'd long since learned to repress them, but she could want Mahariel if she gave herself the latitude. But nothing in her could get past the Warden blues the elf wore so proudly, and the last few months on opposite sides weren't so easily forgotten. Whatever reckoning had been brewing between the two of them was lost between their lips, and Cauthrien allowed herself to be kissed one last time before letting it go for good. She watched with unseeing eyes as the Warden left the stables, leaving her alone.

There was nothing left but the future now.

Isabela/Alistair

[ryry]

Long time no see!

The More Things Change, Isabela/Alistair/(f!Cousland)

[lassarina]

Isabela can't resist. The King, here? It's the work of hardly a minute to gain unauthorized access to the Keep and make her way to the visitors' quarters (she's been there before, after all; traveling nobility do tend to bring portable wealth with them.) She finds the king alone before the fire, stripped down for a room that's far warmer than it needs to be, and he looks older, more tired than he did in the Pearl. Being in charge seems to do that to people. (But not her. Then again, a ship's hardly a kingdom, is it?)

"Well, well, well," she says, and watches him jump and flail and upset a mug of mulled wine in his frantic grab for his weapons. She leans back against the doorjamb and laughs herself silly, because the King of Ferelden is in naught but an undertunic and smalls, dripping with mulled wine and attempting to intimidate her with a Templar shield and a sword that is, admittedly, rather large.

"Isabela," he says, "what on earth are you doing here? It's a good way to get killed, sneaking up on me like that."

"Do tell," Isabela says. "I imagine your Warden Queen has surprised you a time or two." On the other hand, Lady Cousland--now Queen--had always favored the bow. Likely she didn't sneak around like Isabela did.

Alistair sighs and puts his weapons down, away from the slowly seeping pool of wine. "I assume you're here for a purpose other than tormenting me," he says, though there's little heat to the words.

Now that he's disarmed, Isabela crosses the room in the blink of an eye and presses her lips to his. The boy has improved since the Pearl. She nips his lower lip and presses her breasts full against his chest, and is both intrigued and disappointed when he steps back.

"No," he says, but it's kind.

Isabela rolls her eyes. "She's got you well-trained." She starts for the door, and pauses to glance back over her shoulder. "In more ways than one. It's good to see you again, Alistair."

She leaves him spluttering behind her, and hums to herself as she climbs back down the walls. She ought to make time to visit Ferelden sometime soon, see if the Queen has likewise improved her already excellent skills.

Nathaniel/Bethany/Anders

[ryry]

The two mages decide to team up on the archer.

Invitation (Nathaniel/Bethany/Anders, T)

[owlmoose]

Their ship will not depart until dawn, so Bethany accepts the invitation for an evening at the Hanged Man, and she and Nathaniel spend the entire night there with her brother and his friends -- drinking, talking, laughing, drinking some more. Somehow she ends up in a corner, wedged between Nathaniel and Anders, swapping gossip about the other Wardens of Vigil's Keep; eventually, the others all drift away -- each leaving her with a kind word, a pat on the shoulder, from Garrett a fierce hug, and, lastly, a wink from Isabela as she saunters off on her brother's arm.

Bethany thinks she knows what that wink is for. She leans back against the wall and watches them talk, Anders and Nathaniel, a light in Nathaniel's eyes that she rarely sees unless they are alone, or visiting his nephew. Isabela must have noticed, too. Then Anders laughs, a warm and hearty sound that makes her toes curl. She wonders if the men have even realized that they are alone. She clears her throat, and they both look up at her.

"It's late," she says, gesturing to the low embers in the fireplace. "Perhaps we should get to bed." Turning, she glances at Anders and holds his gaze; he lifts a brow, and his eyes widen as he sees the invitation there. Then he smiles, slowly, and gives her a small nod.

"You're right." Nathaniel's nod is reluctant, and Bethany hides a smile; unlike Anders, he hasn't caught her meaning. Nathaniel stands and holds out a hand. "Good night, Anders," he says, voice rough. "It was good to see you."

Bethany looks at Anders, indicating her permission, and then he takes Nathaniel's hand in his as he rises to his feet. "Likewise," he says, and then he pulls Nathaniel close, kissing him on the mouth.

At first, Nathaniel is startled; Bethany sees him stiffen as his eyes fly open. Then they flutter closed and he leans in, lifting his other hand to Anders' shoulder, relaxing in to the kiss, and Bethany's breath catches in her throat. They break away, staring in each other's eyes for a long moment, and Nathaniel glances down before looking back up at Bethany, expression sheepish. "My apologies, Bethany, it won't--"

Before he can finish the sentence, she is standing, her hands framing his stubbled cheeks, and then she is kissing him, hard, her lips caressing his, her tongue darting into his mouth, and he responds, backing her up against the wall. When she pulls back they're both breathing hard, almost panting, and she takes a moment to be grateful that the bar is nearly deserted. "Or maybe," she says, winding a hand around the back of Nathaniel's neck, glancing at a smiling, flushed Anders through her eyelashes, "it will."

Nathaniel presses his forehead to hers. "Are you sure?"

She kisses him again, lightly, a touch filled with promise and desire. "Oh yes."

"In that case..." Nathaniel reaches out a hand, and Anders takes it, winding their fingers together. "Lead the way." Bethany grasps Nathaniel's other hand and pulls them both up the stairs.

Mahariel/Isabela

[ossobuco]

Tattoos, piercings, and scars.

F!Warden/Alistair (Mahariel preferred)

[merilsell]

And she's here to write her name
On my skin with kisses in the rain
Hold my head and ease my pain
In a world that's gone insane...

(yeah, these are the lyrics that inspired this prompt, not the fill xD)

f!Warden/Alistair

[brennacedria.com]

Let's try that again.

If At First You Don't Succeed (f!Aeducan/Alistair, PG)

[sakuratsukikage.livejournal.com]

It was definitely awkward. The first time, Alistair had knelt down, leaned in to sink one hand, half-tentative, into the hair into the back of her neck, beneath her braids, and pressed their lips lightly together. They ended up about right light that--Alistair was tall enough in the torso that it left them about equal. But now he was in his armor, and kneeling just didn't seem quite possible in the brief moments that they had. He tried to kneel down, putting one hand on the wall behind her, but the angle was terrible, and he bumped her nose into her cheek and she bit his lip by accident.

"Ow!" he yelped, and she laughed out loud. When she saw his indignant face, she just laughed harder, holding one hand over her mouth to try and stop as she doubled over.

"Sorry, sorry," she said. "You just looked so--haha. Mm. Sorry for laughing."

"See if I try to kiss you again, you minx," he said.

"That's so unfair, my height isn't my fault," she said.

"You're laughing at me," he said.

"Just a little," she replied. "Besides, I'm laughing at me, too. That was just sad. You'd think two experienced warriors, Grey Wardens even, would be able to figure out a little kissing."

His face relaxed, and a fond smile tugged at one corner of his lips again. "Yes, well, look at our past history," he said.

"Is that a dig at my leadership of this band of miscreants?" she demanded, but she was smiling, too, and reached up to rest both hands on his breastplate, curling her fingers around the straps and yanking him down. "Now, let's try that again."

She had to go up on her toes to meet him, as far as he could lean over in the armor, but she threaded her fingers into his hair as lightly as she could in her gauntlets, and he sighed into her mouth, lips soft and eager against hers. She tilted her head into it, avoiding any problem with noses, and let her eyes slide closed, just for a moment.

She bit down on his lip again after a moment, and grinned at his startled yelp, but swept her tongue into his mouth before he pulled away, and he sputtered a little, then kissed her back again, fumbling at first, then hotter, with more passion. When he pulled away, they were both panting.

"Ow," he said, "my back. Maker's breath." But he grinned at her, mouth kiss-stung and eyes sparkling.

"Next time," she said, "I'll stand on a tree stump."

Isabela/Merrill

[pariswriter]

Revelations

Hawke and/or Companions

[(Anonymous)]

Festival Kissing Booth

The Last Silver, M!Hawke/Companions, T

[missema]

The common thought amongst their friends was that Isabela caused the mischief for the most part, disrupting their already too-hectic lives. Certainly, she did like to cast herself in such light that most suspicion would fall on her, it suited her. The pirate wanted everyone to think of her and no one to really know her. Backwards really, until one thought of Hightown and how the world worked there. Hawke might have told her that she'd make a half-decent noble if he didn't think he'd get slapped for mentioning it.

Hawke did his share of taking advantage of events, of serendipity and not so unplanned encounters. At the Kirkwall fair, he sat behind a booth emblazoned with a scarlet banner and written in gold "Kiss the Champion of Kirkwall". It was for a good cause, for the Chantry orphans, and he'd been asked to help fundraise. No one had specified the how.

The booth had been doing steady business since he'd set up. Several of the other booth owners had stopped by before the festival even began to make their purchases. He handled each with grace, kissing maidens on the cheek and turning red when people suggested more. He didn't want more, not from the crowd.

His friends came by, each spending time with him. Sebastian had been first, chuckling at the booth but declining all invitations for a 'quick one on the house'. Aveline had glared crossly at him until he bounded over and kissed her cheek, a laughing Donnic at her shoulder. Isabela had refused to pay, deciding that a silver for a chaste kiss was highway robbery. Even the Seneschal came over, arms crossed over his chest, demanding that Hawke 'get it over with already' after plunking his money into the tin. He paid a sovereign - and Hawke hoped that he didn't think that entitled him to more. But Bran seemed content after their kiss, a little too pointed and hard for Hawke's liking.

His first true test was Merrill. She brought her silver over and placed it earnestly in front of him, expectant eyes big and round. Chin jutting out as she lifted her face, she let him capture her mouth, yielding at the first press of their lips. He liked that she smelled sweet and earthy, almost like a home he'd forgotten as they kissed. She was soft, issuing a kitten-like from the back of her throat as they broke away, almost making him want to extend it. Hawke didn't dare.

Fenris slunk through the crowd, but shook his head when Hawke asked him if he wanted a kiss. That was fine, Hawke didn't want to ask for more than anyone could give. Once Fenris departed, Anders appeared as if he'd been waiting for the elf to leave. Anders paid his silver, hooking his arm around Hawke's waist and demanding his kiss.

It was sweeter than he'd expected, but intense. His lips were almost pleading against his own, fire and ice dueling to make his case. If he hadn't known better, he would have sworn Anders had done the electricity trick that Isabela talked about so often, but even Anders wouldn't risk doing magic in a crowd. Hawke drew back from the other man, breath coming in hard rushes, unsure of what he felt. That was probably the intent of the kiss. Afterwards Anders didn't stick around, the first glimpse of templar armor had him deciding that there were better places to be.

The day went by quickly, and Hawke made a tidy sum, even more than the woman selling mince pies. The Grand Cleric said nothing as he deposited his full lockbox, shaking her head genially and glancing over at Sebastian. Hawke had to break down the few pieces of his booth that were left, the banner, the chair he'd dragged from home to sit in, the mabari he'd left guarding it all.

Varric was sitting in the chair when he got back, talking with the dog. Hawke didn't quite catch what he said, but then again, he wasn't meant to. "Hawke." Varric smiled his name when he got close enough. "I thought you were going to go home without seeing me."

"Didn't know you wanted to help the Chantry, Varric." Hawke answered, carefully avoiding the honey-brown eyes that were gazing at him. His hands were busy rolling up the banner, but nothing would serve as enough of a distraction.

"I'm more of a help yourself type, but I can be convinced to be charitable."

"Do you want me to convince you then?" Hawke asked.

"That was the thought." Varric said, his tone faking idle, as if he hadn't been thinking about kissing Hawke all day, holed up in the Hanged Man to resist the temptation. He set the silver down like a challenge, an offering between them.

Varric may have wanted to look like he had better things to do, but Hawke had spent his day waiting for the dwarf to appear. They never spoke about the undercurrent that linked the two of them in more than business. Years in the making, the tension coiled within him, turning energy into a dark, excited heat.

He leaned down to where Varric sat and caught his lips with a soft brush. It was strange to be so close to him, to inhale the smell of his leather duster as it lay pressed between them. The kiss grew into more than just a simple pass within moments, harder, fiercer, Varric's hand around his neck and Hawke's tangled in his hair. He could feel Varric's heartbeat, strong and steady as it went on, a mouth pressed to his, breath mingling together, one tongue shy and the other bold as they both learned the other.

And then it was over, Varric's chuckling lips pulling away from his own. Hawke was nearly dizzy as he drew back, rocking on his heels and reaching towards his yet-to-be-dismantled booth.

"I've wanted to do that for years." Hawke admitted.

"Been waiting years for you to do it."

"Drinks tonight?"

"Count on it." Varric smiled at him, getting up out of the chair. He didn't have to say it, but Hawke knew a date when he heard one.

"Finally." Hawke muttered to himself as he watched Varric amble away. He turned back towards the Chantry, giant edifice dark against the blaze of the dying sun - he had one more silver to give the Grand Cleric.

Alistair/f!Mage!warden

[sarasa_cat]

Gifts, or Wonders of Thedas

(note: prompt refers to Alistair's interest in runes, legendary magical creatures, and neat little magical items.)

Laughter and Sweetness, Alistair/F!Amell, T

[missema]

"Would you like it?" Solona asked, an eyebrow slightly raised as she did. The purse of her lips made him think she was teasing, but he didn't know what about.

"What do you mean?" Alistair countered. They were in the Wonders of Thedas, and he'd indulged his curiosity and gone over to look at the runic tokens and stones.

"You've been picking it up and putting it down since we came in. I thought you might like it. As a gift." Solona leaned over, body just brushing his as she picked up the small runestone on the table next to him.

"It looks interesting. I just don't know what it is. A small rune of some sort?"

Solona laughed as she looked at it, then turned back to give him a fleeting kiss. Just a quick press of her mouth to his, gone before he could do more than just return the simple contact. This one tasted like laughter and sweetness.

It was those kinds of kisses he loved, the kind that seemed so routine and everyday that he might not remember them individually, but he loved what they meant. They were his, proof that he was loved and loved someone. It was the quick, short kisses that showed their familiarity, that they were past the fumbling awkward stage most of the time. The warm touch of her lips to his when she went to bed, the quick peck before they set off in the mornings, they were the everyday kind of wonder he never took for granted.

"It's a shiver rune. Mostly used for distinctly non-combat purposes. It's small because it was made to fit into smallclothes."

"Why would anyone ever want to put...ah." Realization dawned and he snapped his mouth closed. "Perhaps not." He said, looking around at the Wonders of Thedas. "These mages do make some interesting items." By interesting he meant disturbing, but he didn't want to talk more about it. Flames grew on his cheeks already, and he busied himself with books - there was no way they could be as bad.

Banked laughter sat behind her eyes as she watched him squirm. "Indeed." She said, enjoying his discomfort. She bought it anyway.

Cullen/Warden Surana (f)

[sarasa_cat]

Sorry about all of that

Aveline/Isabela

[fireeye]

Put your money where your mouth is.

Flemeth/anybody

[ashfae]

I know something you don't know

Flemeth/Alistair, Sands of Time, PG

[sarasa_cat]

The young warrior paced the edge of the swamp, worrying himself sick about the other warden—that pretty elf girl who slept inside Flemeth’s hut.

“Save your energy. She’ll survive,” Flemeth said.

“How do you know? And what if she doesn’t? I saw her take four arrows straight to her chest, and then an ogre hit her with a giant spear and, oh, Maker,” the young warrior sobbed, “it was horrible.”

“I’ve seen far greater horrors in my life, and far greater miracles. Save your breath.”

“But how do I know that you and Morrigan aren’t doing— things— nasty, evil, witchy things to her? Why won’t you let me see her?”

“Haven’t you ever learned that patience is a virtue?” Flemeth suppressed a smile. The young man reminded her of his father. How fitting she rescue Maric’s son at the moment Loghain betrayed Maric’s line. A promise made. A promise kept.

Maric’s son squared his shoulders, he planted his feet, and drew himself up to his full height. “I insist you let me see her. She is the last Grey Warden in Ferelden beside myself. And that— that means I am her commander. I must know of her status.” As an afterthought, Maric’s son pointed his finger at her in an attempt to punctuate his demand.

The sight of him made Flemeth throw back her head and laugh. “Do you plan on filling your father’s shoes?”

“What?!”

“Oh, you think I do not know who you are?”

The young warrior’s eyes grew wide as his jaw slacked in surprise.

“Yes, yes,” Flemeth said. “The very last of the Great King Calenhad’s bloodline, hidden away from royal life, raised in a monastery. And now he stands before me, a Grey Warden. I know how you were made. I know what powers run through your blood.”

Maric’s son narrowed his eyes.

“And you have every right to be suspicious of me!” Flemeth laughed.

She sauntered toward him, watching how his muscles froze. Was he ready to spring into action or would he run off like a coward, letting history slip through his fingers with the sands of time.

Flemeth stood toe to toe with Maric’s son as she looked him in the eye. “You are a smart boy,” she said. She put her hand on his shoulder. He did not flinch. “Yes, a very smart boy. But will you hurt the one you love most to save what you love?”

Maric’s son frowned at her. “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Of course you don’t!” Flemeth dug her fingers into his shoulder as she laughed. “No, but you will.”

She leaned forward, pressing her lips to his, remembering the time when she was a young, beautiful woman. He gasped, but he did not pull away. She lingered on his bottom lip, firmly kissing it. She pulled away.

His eyes were as round as saucers. He said nothing.

“Yes. Oh, yes. You’ll do.”

M!Brosca/Morrigan

[virusq]

You came back!

F!Aeducan/Gorim

[virusq]

Stealing is wrong, your highness.

Thief (f!Aeducan/Gorim, G)

[owlmoose]

"C'mon, Gorim, it'll be fun." Sereda bounced up from the sofa, grinning. "We haven't been to the market in ages."

Gorim looked over at her. "The market, my lady? Surely you can get anything you want sent to the palace."

She shook her head, soft brown hair swinging past her chin. "It's not the same as getting my hands on the merchandise, if you get my meaning." She winked, and then her expression sobered. "And I've told you a hundred times, knock it off with the 'my lady' business already. There's really no need."

Gorim sighed. "You may see it that way, but I doubt your lord father would agree. You're fourteen now, my lady, and certain rules must be followed. Rules about obeying the law, and setting a good example for the common people." He lowered his eyes. "Not to mention rules about being alone with lower-caste gentlemen."

Sereda waved off his concern, as she had every time before. "You're not getting rid of me that easily," she said, grinning, a warm smile that hit Gorim in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to go to her, to pull her in his arms... but that was the surest way to get himself thrown out of the palace for good. Taking a deep breath and a moment to master himself, he looked at the floor and scratched his still-patchy beard.

"Propriety aside, I'm still not sure we should go to the market. Disguised, you are at risk; if you go openly, you'll attract too much attention to get away with anything."

"Which is why we go disguised. The risk is part of the game." Sereda raised an eyebrow at him. "Stone and steel, Gorim, when did you get to be such a spoilsport? You're fifteen, not a hundred and fifty."

Gorim stood and faced her, straight into her beautiful brown eyes. "When the king named me your second and charged me with your safety. A duty I take seriously, even if you don't."

Her eyes softened. "Of course I take it seriously. But it's not at if we're heading for the Deep Roads. I trust you to be able to take care of anything that might come up."

Despite himself, Gorim felt his chest swell with pride. "Including getting chased out of the markets by the city guard?"

She laughed. "Especially that."

Gorim found there was a smile on his face, and he made one last attempt to talk her out of it. "Stealing is wrong, my lady."

"I find most things are more fun when there's a little wrongness to them, don't you?" Sereda bounced across the room and right into him, pressing her lips to his in a swift kiss, brushing past so fast that he didn't have time to react before she pulled away. "Now let's get down there before market day crowds die down and it becomes harder to sneak by." She grabbed her daggers and went out the door, leaving Gorim behind.

He stood still, just for a moment, lifting his fingers to his lips as if to recapture the feeling of her kiss. Had he imagined it? No, he decided as his fingertips came away with a smear of lipstick, it had been real enough. Perhaps in the market she would steal another kiss. To go with the heart she had made off with, long ago. Smiling, he fastened his sword to his back and followed her out of the palace. Yes, this just might be the day.

Isabela/F!Hawke/Varric

[virusq]

Like hugging a pincushion.

Varric/Bethany

[virusq]

When the stars start falling.

Oghren/Oghren Jr.

[virusq]

Completely platonic and entirely sober fatherly kisses (which no one will ever mock, or by the stone...).

Leske/Rica

[virusq]

A kiss, in exchange.

Zevran/Rinna

[lea_hazel]

"Cruel to the end."

Re: Zevran/Rinna

[1smut_princess]

Happy or angst? I can see both.

FHawke/Merrill

[kye_shgall.livejournal.com]

just an ordinary mirror

Isabela/Nathaniel Howe

[owlmoose]

Rogues

It takes one to know one, T

[jillyfae]

"Oh, and don't you look pretty in blue?"

Nathaniel coughed, trying not to stare too incredulously at the lovely deadly? pirate stalking around Hawke and headed right towards him. He had been many things in his life, heir and archer and lost and found, and a Warden for several years now, but he was rather sure 'pretty' had never been one of them.

"I bet you look even prettier when you take all that blue off, now don't you?" Her smile widened as she leaned in closer, the brush of her breasts against his arm probably the sort of thing that distracted most men from the light brush of fingers against his belt-pouch.

He grabbed her wrist and raised an eyebrow at her.

"Can't blame a girl for trying, now can you?"

"Of course I can." It was very difficult to keep a straight face at the mock despair that curved her lips. Plus the breasts really were quite remarkable, especially so very close up. "Give me a reason not to?"

Her frown switched to a grin almost faster than he could blink, and she rocked up on her toes, leaning her weight against him and pressing her lips to his, warm then hot and soft then firm and just the slightest flick of her tongue as she leaned back on her heels.

"There's more where that came from, my pretty. I have always been such a fan of Warden stamina." She winked as his fingers loosened, and she blew him another kiss as she walked away.

He hadn't even gotten her name.

Anders/F!Hawke/Fenris

[phdfan]

Never thought I'd find myself here

Sebastian/Fenris

[phdfan]

A nice surprise

Sebastian/F!Hawke

[phdfan]

The first and last kiss

Once and Only

[jillyfae]

She never thought she'd ever get to kiss him. First a Brother, then a Prince, and for all her mother told her she was an Amell, and the equal of anyone in Kirkwall, she knew she was really just a farm-girl, a tavern-rat, more comfortable with bandits and mercs than nobles.

Even as Champion, the recognition scratched rather than soothed, an itch between her shoulder blades where she couldn't reach. Too much, too soon, too fragile. It wasn't real, not in any way that mattered.

He didn't seem to care about all the things she knew, however, one warm summer night outside the Chantry, a whisper of how he wished they'd met in better times, so they were both free to act on their desires. And perhaps, some day, after the storm they could both feel brewing finally broke, they'd have another chance?

It was more hope than she'd ever allowed herself before, a murmured agreement in the dark, the warmth of his hand against her skin, the brush of his lips against her mouth.

Of course, the storm broke more than buildings, destroyed more than lives, darkness and rage in his eyes as he left, betrayal too painful to forgive. She never saw him again, though she never forgot that one sweet moment of possibility, treasured that ache of hope in her heart, no matter how painfully it had shattered.

Fergus Cousland/Anora

[missema]

Almost doesn't count

Confidant, Fergus/Anora, PG

[fireeye]

Fergus remembers Anora as a little girl in ribbons, not the sly and slithering creature that requests an audience with him in private at Highever. She is unarmed, but her escort are still uneasy when he sends them out into the hall, for good reason.

The teryn listens, silent and rapt, as she lays platitudes at his feet. Her would-be fealty, her lips on the back of his hand, and ease at spinning catches him off guard, and that which she outlines at first seems almost benign.

He stops her, not short of treason, and unravels the flaw in her scheme.

“Rendon Howe murdered my parents. My wife. My son.” Fergus lets that sink in. “With your father’s blessing, need I remind you.” He pulls her hands from his shoulders, and pushes her back. “And now you ask me to take up arms against my sister?”

“Half-sister,” Anora scoffs.

“Sister,” Fergus states with certainty. “And Queen.”

“You could have been king,” Anora plies jealousy. Fergus can’t help but wonder at how deeply she believes the corruption of a human soul. “After Cailin, it should have been you. Your sister will bring this kingdom to its knees.”

In answer, he summons her escort. Anora’s façade cracks when the teryn orders them to return her to her cell.

His sister isn’t stupid, and Fergus wonders if this is why she had Anora sent to Highever in the first place. Anywhere else, Anora might have grown a seedling of support from otherwise still soil.

That same night, he relays the encounter, short and to the point, in a missive to the Denerim palace. Before he seals it, he calls to mind the last time he saw his baby sister, hardened by the Joining and the Blight, and hesitates before scrawling each word with care. What would you have me do?