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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!!
Re: f!mage!Hawke/Fenris
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.”
Re: f!mage!Hawke/Fenris
Re: f!mage!Hawke/Fenris
And... I have to confess, though she's not mentioned by name, in spirit she is absolutely my in-game Amelle Hawke. My headcanon for her is that she doesn't use magic in Fenris' mansion, if she can avoid it. And the burning-down-the-house line is... oh, so absolutely something she'd say.
Re: f!mage!Hawke/Fenris
Re: f!mage!Hawke/Fenris
Re: f!mage!Hawke/Fenris
But this is seriously perfect, thank you so much! This is wonderful and amazing and akjdkfldkfdjfdfkslajdfd thank you :D