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.
The Last Silver, M!Hawke/Companions, T
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.