owlmoose | Dragon Age Kiss Battle: 2013 Edition

Welcome to the 2013 Dragon Age Kiss Battle!

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

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

THE RULES:

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

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

Multiple responses are both allowed and encouraged!

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

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

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

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

Send your friends! :D

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

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

remembering how to misbehave

When Isabela sauntered across the room and draped herself against the table he was sitting at, Sebastian realized it had probably been foolish of him to believe he could take a drink in solitude. Especially at The Hanged Man. But it had been a long day, and it was an unpleasant anniversary, and he'd wanted stronger drink than the Chantry kitchens would have afforded.

"Well, look what the tide washed in," Isabela drawled, leaning back on her arms in a way that highlighted her already impressive assets. Distractingly. "Let you out, did they?"

He frowned, raising the glass of Starkhaven whiskey--vintage the year he was born--to his lips, drinking deeply.

"You planning on drinking the whole bottle?" she continued, evidently undeterred by his silence.

"Yes," he replied.

She lifted her eyebrows in mock surprise. "Why, Princess. Didn't know you had it in you. Then again, all those stories, all those tantalizing little hints about the man you once were... he could hold his liquor, I imagine."

"He could."

She turned down her full lips in an exaggerated little pout. "Sounds like he was my kind of fellow, this lad of yours."

Sebastian drank down the remainder of his whiskey and poured himself another glass in one swift move.

"Not at all," Sebastian replied, as the heat of the whiskey warmed his belly. Feeling magnanimous, he offered Isabela the bottle, and the pout turned to a smirk as she took a hearty swig. "He was unrepentantly selfish."

She gestured broadly, taking herself in. Sebastian snorted and shook his head. "No. His selfishness was entirely genuine. Though you pretend very well, I grant you. I'm afraid I know the difference."

He didn't miss the little furrow in her brow, or the way her gaze suddenly shifted past him. "Not sure I like the way this talk's listing, Princess. Can't we just stick to the good stuff? Drinking and gambling and," she paused, and walked her fingers across the back of his hand, "taking pleasure?"

"Taking," he said, "grows very tiresome, after a time."

She sighed. "Always wondered if you'd be a happy drunk or a dark one. Pity it's the latter. Sure you wouldn't like to remember the nice things?" Isabela grinned down at him. "I could help. It would be fun."

"Would it?" he asked mildly, pouring yet another tumbler of drink. He offered the bottle again, and she raised the neck of it to her mouth, wrapping her full lips seductively around the entire lip, never taking her eyes from his as she drank. "It was fun for me, perhaps. Less so for them. I never cared as much for their pleasure. But it made for a story, I suppose. Fucking a prince."

A flush of color spread to her cheeks. He almost smiled. Of all the things to startle her. She regained her composure quickly, though, lifting one shoulder in a shrug and drinking deeply from his bottle again. "Bet your time being pious has taught you to be... kind to your fellow man."

He bowed his head, eyes following the swirling pattern of the wood table's grain. Out of the corner of his eye, he had a perfect view of Isabela's firm thigh. For a moment--just a moment--he let himself imagine those thighs wrapped tight around him, let himself imagine how glorious Isabela would look with her head thrown back and the fall of her dark hair tumbling around them, let himself imagine how warm she'd be, and how good she'd feel.

Then he pushed the image away, and pushed himself up from the table.

"Your bottle's not empty."

"Keep it," he said.

"It's no good, you know, pretending." Isabela crossed her arms over her chest, but this time, he felt certain, it wasn't to bring attention to her breasts. "You can hide if you want, but you're not going to be happy while you're doing it. And neither is she."

"That's enough," Sebastian said, but when he tried to step past her, she slid effortlessly between him and the door, reaching out to grab his wrist. He let her keep it, for the moment.

"Don't you remember?" she asked. "Don't you want to remember? The warmth. The comfort. The laughter. The connection. Surely you knew some of that, too. You're wound tighter than that bowstring of yours, and don't think I don't see it. There's more than this... self-flagellation and drinking alone. It's crimina--"

And because he could be as fast and as sly as she, Isabela's lips were still parted to speak when Sebastian darted forward and pressed his lips to hers. She released his wrist, but only so she could grab the back of his neck and tug him closer. It wasn't a tender kiss, or a gentle one, but it was still somehow kind, and it gave as much as it took. For both of them, he thought. She'd kept him company at a dark moment, on a dark day, and for all her teasing, all her prodding, he knew she meant well. In her incomprehensibly Isabela way.

And she was right. There was a kind of comfort in this.

Perhaps that true for both of them, too.

Standing so close, he wondered how someone so long bound to land could still smell of the sea.

"Isabela," he murmured against her soft lips, smiling faintly at the surprise still widening her eyes, "you seem to be under the mistaken impression I've forgotten. I haven't. But this choice is as valid as the other."

Then he gently pressed his lips to her still-furrowed brow and stepped around her, heading for the door and the cool night air that would clear his head and steal the warmth of kisses from his lips.