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

Hawke/Isabela

[cumuluscastle]

To the victor goes the spoils.

Varric/Hawke

[cumuluscastle]

Behind the scenes.

Untrue Tales, Varric/FHawke, T

[kye_shgall.livejournal.com]

The always lovely lady Hawke made a habit of sauntering into Varric's suite uninvited. Not that Varric minded all that much. He'd meant it when he'd told her that his palatial suite at the Hanged Man was her palatial suite, too. And that wasn't an offer he extended to just anyone, even if he did enjoy playing the magnanimous friend more often than he let on.

No, Hawke was the lucky recipient of a special arrangement. Varric had even gone so far on Hawke's behalf as to sit down with Bianca and have a real heart-to-barrel about things like love and jealousy, and how sometimes when a handsome dwarf really loves a crossbow he might also really love a human lady, too. But in different ways. And with vastly different methods of expressing that love. And maybe it didn't have to be a competition all the time. Did it?

Bianca had come around eventually, but with a few qualifying conditions. First of all, no matter how often Hawke dropped by for the evening, she wouldn't be moving in. Nor would Varric be moving out. Nor would there be any talk of anyone getting married to anyone else. That was wholly out of the question. And lastly, nothing about the budding and behind-closed-doors arrangement between Varric and Hawke would ever appear in print or in stories. Instead, the literary Champion of Kirkwall, who adventured her way through Varric's collected works, would find a lover in Fenris or Merrill, Anders or Sebastian, and always in Isabela. Those stories would last, while the other one—playing out between the red sheets of that wide, dwarven bed in the Hanged Man—would fade, ephemeral as a rumor.

What Bianca didn't anticipate was how much pleasure Varric, her love, and Hawke, her nemesis, would take in the spinning of untrue tales.

This evening, like any other, Hawke showed up unannounced, settled beside Varric, and asked, “No writer's block today, I hope?”

“Just the one scene,” Varric said, as per usual. “Can't make head or tails of it.”

“Oh,” Hawke said, her brow creasing as if she were truly concerned for the state of his writing. “Perhaps you need some inspiration.”

“I think that must be it.”

“Then tell me,” Hawke said, “whom am I seducing this evening?”

“Let's see if you can guess.” He shuffled his papers aside. Sparing only the ghost of a glance for his crossbow, he turned his gaze and his body to Hawke, who joined him.

His kiss, when it began, was timid, filled with a nervous energy that soon gave way to eagerness and then to passion. And if she thought he was role-playing Merrill when instead he intended Fenris, well, then... those were just the details they'd need a full night's labors to pin down.

Re: Untrue Tales, Varric/FHawke, T

[cumuluscastle]

The role-playing is very amusing. I like the idea that they keep their real relationship secret and spin tales about the other companions.

Re: Untrue Tales, Varric/FHawke, T

[jillyfae]

OH! This is splendid. *laughs* <3

Aveline/Isabela

[cumuluscastle]

Hands off, you tart!

Re: Aveline/Isabela

[(Anonymous)]

"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.

Re: Aveline/Isabela

[cumuluscastle]

Amazing. That was perfect. I adore Isabela and Aveline's friendship. That last line is the icing on the cake.

Bethany/Nathaniel

[violacea]

hundreds of miles away

The Distance Between (Bethany + Nathaniel, G)

[(Anonymous)]

She saw him sitting by the fire, all alone, and she hated the way her heart jumped into her throat.

The other Wardens in the group were sound asleep. From his tousled hair and the lines on his face, it looked as though Nathaniel had long since abandoned the attempt. His eyes were on the fire, but his mind was clearly so far away it might as well have been in Weisshaupt.

"Can't sleep?" Bethany asked, and watched him pull his thoughts back to the present with an obvious effort. His eyes flicked up to her, and he managed a wan, tired smile.

"I'm afraid not." He paused, watching her circle around the fire. "You?"

She shook her head, and lowered herself to the ground beside him. He was close enough to reach out and touch, yet not as close as she wanted.

He lapsed back into silence, and for the first time she noticed the half-filled sheet of parchment in his lap. She couldn't make out any of the words, but his handwriting was neat and spare. She bit her lip and looked down at her hands folded in her lap, the tips of her nails carving little dents in her knuckles.

"You must miss her," she said. It was almost a whisper. "While you're here, and she's back at the Keep. Or the other way around."

She didn't look at him, but she heard his quiet chuckle, imagined his eyebrow arching up his forehead. "That obvious, is it?"

It was hard to smile. Harder still to meet his eyes. "A lucky guess, perhaps."

"She's a hundred miles away," she wanted to say -- no, to scream. "I'm right here, right now. I could comfort you, I could be the one to help you sleep. She would never even know --"

But she forced the words down, like bile. She wasn't that person, wasn't someone who would ruin another's happiness for the sake of her own. She was Bethany Hawke, full of sunshine, dutiful sister, steadfast Warden. Even if it all brought her nothing but ashes and bitterness.

And yet...

She leaned in before she could stop herself, a quick, light brush of her lips against his cheek before she pulled away. His skin was warm, and even in that brief instant she could feel the scrape of his stubble against her mouth.

His eyes were already widening as he turned toward her. "What was that for?"

"Just saying good night, I suppose." She turned away, hoping the firelight would hide...everything. "I think I'm going to try to sleep again."

She raised a hand to her lips as she returned to her sleeping roll, pressing them together, imagining she could still feel the tingling warmth and the prickling of his stubble.

It would have to be enough.

Isolde/Teagan

[violacea]

you're not alone

f!Warden/Isabela

[violacea]

an unexpected reunion

Security Breach (Isabela/f!Cousland(/Alistair), T)

[owlmoose]

(Also inspired by lassarina's Isabela/Alistair(/f!Cousland) prompt fill The More Things Change.)

It had been far too easy to get onto the Denerim palace grounds, Isabela decided as she swung into a hallway through an open window. The patrol patterns too predictable, too many entrances left unguarded. She should probably have a word with the occupants about that. Or maybe I shouldn't-- maybe I like it this way. A slow smile spread over her face as she padded down the hallway, keeping to the shadows. Then she chuckled to herself. Handy as it was for her to be able to move here undetected, protecting her old friends from assassins was a higher priority.

Silently counting doorways, she eventually found the one she sought: the queen's private chambers, a dim light shining through the cracks in the closed door. Word was that the king had made for Orlais after leaving Kirkwall, so Isabela expected to find her quarry within, alone. Not that Isabela wouldn't have welcomed His Majesty's company. She grinned, then pushed on the door. Unlocked, it swung open, silent on well-oiled hinges. She slid into the room -- empty, on a quick glance -- and secured herself behind a sofa before peeking her head out to take a look around. No one was in sight, so she nearly jumped out of her skin with a scream as someone came up behind her and put an arm around her shoulders.

"Hello, Isabela," a warm voice purred in her ear. "Fancy meeting you here."

"You-- how--" Isabela forgot for a moment that she was supposed to be the one doing the sneaking as she sputtered in surprise, jumping to her feet and pivoting to face Elissa Cousland, queen of Ferelden, dressed for hunting in soft leather armor. "How did you do that?"

Elissa smiled, a mischievous quirk of her red lips. "I've been practicing," she said. "You have no idea how handy it is for a queen to pass through a crowd or a palace without attracting notice." Her hand tightened on Isabela's shoulder. "Or to follow an intruder through the palace without being caught."

Isabela snorted. "Nice trick. And here I was, worrying about your security. I see my fears were unfounded."

"Mostly. Although if you could give me the name of the guard who accepted your bribe, I'd appreciate it."

"Done." Isabela leaned forward. "So, surprised to see me?"

Elissa nodded. "Though not as surprised as I might have been." Her chin twitched in the direction of her writing desk. "I received an.... interesting note from Alistair today. Said he saw some old friends."

"And how much did he tell you?" Isabela stepped forward and rested her hand on Elissa's exposed collarbone.

"Enough to know that I probably shouldn't be doing this." Elissa's smile widened. "And enough to know that I still want to."

She lowered her mouth to Isabela's and kissed her, a gentle brush of lips, tender and teasing all at once; Isabela's fingers tightened against smooth skin and she sighed. Elissa had always been more practiced, more controlled than Alistair, and the years had only increased her skill. When she backed away, it took all Isabela's control not to lunge forward, take that plush lower lip between her teeth and beg for more.
Instead, she brought her hand around Elissa's neck, stroking her nape, the soft hairs that escaped her braids. "Your husband sent me away well before this point," she murmured.

"I am not my husband," Elissa replied. And she pulled Isabela into an embrace, kissing her again, lips warm, inviting, taking Isabela's breath away. "Besides," she continued, breathing the words into Isabela's mouth, "he'll appreciate hearing the story when he gets back."

Isabela laughed, then gasped as Elissa pushed her over the back of the couch, capturing her between strong arms, pressing her into the seat cushions. Clearly, tonight was a night to surrender to the unexpected, and Isabela did so with relish.

m!Hawke/Aveline

[violacea]

laughter

f!Hawke/Cullen

[violacea]

nothing I can say to you

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

[sarasa_cat]

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.

Bethany/Varric

[violacea]

a first for everything

F!Hawke/Sebastian

[missema]

Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow

Forever and Today, F!Hawke/Sebastian, PG

[fireeye]

She watches him at night, cool midnight pooling in her eyes. Most nights now, Sebastian invariably gives up on the comfort of sleep; instead, he takes to wandering the halls, the gardens, and rarely into the city itself. Hawke keeps step with him, tireless.

During the day, she likes to stand where he can’t avoid her. Too often in Court, Sebastian catches himself staring, mesmerized by the way she moves, the way she preens under his attentive gaze, her dark eyes that reflect the night sky.

It can be difficult at times, but he tries very hard not to watch her.

There are night that Sebastian hates her, when she sits at his bedside and brushes her pale fingers through his hair. There are days that he longs to touch her, when she’s vanished, Andraste knows where, and he never knows when she’ll return. If she’ll return.

But more often then not, she’ll flicker at the edge of his vision. And she always comes back at night, if only to watch.

Hawke smiles whenever she provokes a reaction out of him, such as when he pointedly steps around her, and grimaces when his chamberlain walks right through her. His reaction to the newly legislated provisions and protections for orphans and widows confuses the older man, while Hawke laughs voicelessly.

Sebastian stands on the balcony one morning, while Hawke sits with her back to the painted sky, watching him. Part of him wishes she would talk, but he’s not sure what they have to talk about.

Noticing his attention, the ghost blows him a kiss, and vanishes in the sunlight.

Varric/Merrill

[cumuluscastle]

Tell me a story.

Merrill/Bethany

[lea_hazel]

Dangerous women.

Cauthrien/Nathaniel

[serindrana]

Marriage.

Varric and Isabela

[w0rdinista.livejournal.com]

keeping secrets

Nathaniel/Velanna

[(Anonymous)]

My lady

Re: Nathaniel/Velanna

[fifmeister.livejournal.com]

I'm pretty sure no one's looking at this post anymore, but I couldn't not fill a prompt for my OTP. Better late than never, right?

-

"You are a funny human, you know," Velanna says. "Despite what you may claim."

"Indeed?" Nathaniel stirs next to her, watching her through heavy-lidded eyes. He appears half-asleep already, sprawled across the bed and basking in the afterglow. "And how do you figure that, my lady?"

"That." Velanna pounces on the word, turning onto her side and propping her head on one hand, bringing herself face to face with him. "How you still call me 'my lady' even after all this time. We’re not exactly strangers anymore, after all."

"Far from it." The grin snaking across his face is almost wicked. His hand moves beneath the sheets, and she can't suppress a shiver as his fingers trace wandering patterns on her skin, lingering at all the places that make her breath catch and coherent thoughts flee.

She grits her teeth, summoning all the concentration she can muster. "What I mean is—is—"

Nathaniel flips onto his stomach, one hand still exploring while the other pulls the sheet away. He leans down close, and her muscles tense at the brush of his warm breath just above her navel. "Yes?" he murmurs. It's practically a purr. "What do you mean, my lady?"

She looks down at him, watching the grin flicker in his eyes. Damn him and his smirking!

"Perhaps I just won’t tell you," she huffs. She plops onto her back, folding her arms over her breasts and staring stubbornly at the ceiling.

"Hmm." He draws out the sound, letting his voice vibrate against her skin in the most infuriatingly pleasurable way. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure."

His lips brush against her stomach, the touch so light she can barely feel it. "Still?"

Velanna steels her jaw. "Do your worst, human."

"Oh, a challenge." She feels his mouth stretch across her skin as he smiles. His fingers skim up and down her sides, making her jump. When he begins to trail kisses from her abdomen over her ribs, a little moan escapes her despite her best efforts.

Somehow her arms loosen of their own accord, twining around his shoulders, fingers threading in his hair as he kisses his way between her breasts. By the time he reaches her neck, pausing to nip at her collarbone, she can feel her body betraying her—muscles trembling, breaths shuddering, heart beating far too fast against his chest.

"So," Nathaniel whispers. He presses his lips to the hollow of her throat, so gentle it's almost chaste. "What was it you meant to say?"

She sighs, lets her hands slip down his back. "I have no idea."

Nathaniel laughs, the rich, rumbling chuckle he saves only for her, the one she'll never admit she loves. She scowls at him even as she tilts her face upward, and then his mouth finally meets hers and somehow she doesn’t care if he's the funniest human in all the world.