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a fishing date;
There were no impromptu trips to Sundermount, in fact. Merrill had holed herself up with the Eluvian, avoiding Hawke whenever possible. The Arulin'Holm stayed at the estate, locked away somewhere, and the Dalish woman didn't want to see or hear from Hawke without good cause. Which was understandable (upsetting, but understandable), and she let Varric and Isabela take over Merrill's undertaking. They'd update her whenever possible and she was infinitely grateful, though she knew things couldn't stay that way forever. Eventually, they'd need to talk, and that would happen when Marian was good and ready. For now, she wasn't.
First on her mind was Anders and his mage underground. He would disappear for days on end, surfacing only to work in his clinic where he would refuse to go on any errands. Too busy, he'd say, occupied with his patients and his manifesto. It didn't stop him from pressing worn papers into her hands at every opportunity, the bastard. Her desk was full of Anders' scrawl, damning evidence if anyone should walk in and ask about it. She'd been certain to lock them in the bottom drawer, out of sight and out of mind, but she couldn't put him off any more than she could push aside the trouble she had with Merrill.
With her hands full of Kirkwall's smaller troubles - bandits, a few raiders on the outskirts, and a blood mage or two - she had nearly forgotten her plans with Cullen until she returned one night to a note on her desk at the end of the week. Even such a simple thing was enough to brighten her mood considerably and she packed that evening, though she wasn't to meet him for two more days.
She used the time to tell only a few that she'd be gone from the city, that no one was kidnapping her, and that she'd be very cross if she came back to find Kirkwall burning in her absence. Only Isabela and Varric gave her a hard time for her attempts at discretion, asking for details and gaining nothing.
By sunset on the second day, she was down by the docks to meet him, a pack slung over one arm and her blades across her shoulders, her eyes on the ships and the few workers lingering around. She couldn't be too careful, even now.
First on her mind was Anders and his mage underground. He would disappear for days on end, surfacing only to work in his clinic where he would refuse to go on any errands. Too busy, he'd say, occupied with his patients and his manifesto. It didn't stop him from pressing worn papers into her hands at every opportunity, the bastard. Her desk was full of Anders' scrawl, damning evidence if anyone should walk in and ask about it. She'd been certain to lock them in the bottom drawer, out of sight and out of mind, but she couldn't put him off any more than she could push aside the trouble she had with Merrill.
With her hands full of Kirkwall's smaller troubles - bandits, a few raiders on the outskirts, and a blood mage or two - she had nearly forgotten her plans with Cullen until she returned one night to a note on her desk at the end of the week. Even such a simple thing was enough to brighten her mood considerably and she packed that evening, though she wasn't to meet him for two more days.
She used the time to tell only a few that she'd be gone from the city, that no one was kidnapping her, and that she'd be very cross if she came back to find Kirkwall burning in her absence. Only Isabela and Varric gave her a hard time for her attempts at discretion, asking for details and gaining nothing.
By sunset on the second day, she was down by the docks to meet him, a pack slung over one arm and her blades across her shoulders, her eyes on the ships and the few workers lingering around. She couldn't be too careful, even now.
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"Yes, I did. I thought you would have told me how inappropriate I was being." She shrugged. "Anyone else would have told me off, I suspect, if they had your position. I was making a gamble with someone else's reputation."
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Something almost defiant sparked in his gaze. "If you're good enough for these Marchers to save their city state, surely you're good enough to date their Knight-Captain?" Something about that look boded ill for the first person who thought to bring it up to him in a negative light, if that day came to pass. "I wouldn't be worth seeing if I were the sort of person to bow so readily to possible negative attention." For all of her detractors, Hawke had more than a fair share of supporters, too. If he was the sort who feared public scrutiny, he wouldn't have accepted his promotion, a controversial decision given both his age and country of origin.
"I'm glad I surprised you."
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"I think it would be understandable considering what your job is." He'd told her how hated the Templars were at times, how Meredith's views alone lost them some favor with how harsh she was. Even if she had some of the city rallied behind her, Hawke was still someone many had cause to fear and even hate. "You have enough to worry about without me adding to your trouble." That was why she was even more pleased that he chose otherwise. It spoke to his favor, in the end, even if she would have thought no less of him had he rejected her advances.
She leaned forward to kiss him once more, just another brush of lips, her hand squeezing his shoulder. Against his lips, she murmured, "I'm glad you did too."
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"I have a feeling whatever trouble might come from this is the sort I'll enjoy addressing." There was something to be said for usually being soft-spoken and fairly agreeable only to surprise others when a different side came out.
His hand slipped back from where it was resting into her hair, a light cup of rough fingertips against her scalp. He smiled slightly against the murmur and captured the fullness of her lower lip between both of his. It lingered a little too long to be a tease. As he broke the kiss a second time, he pressed a smaller one to the corner of her mouth and turned his head to brush cheek against cheek, staying close.
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Hawke shook her head with incredulity, though she did not contest what he had to say. If he wanted to handle it, who was she to stop him? She'd done enough protesting before at the restaurant about the consequences this would bring them both. If he was prepared for the risk, then so be it.
The tingle that came from his reciprocation wasn't from the brandy, she could tell that much. She leaned back into his fingers when they kissed and even when they parted, cheek against his. Her arm went up across his shoulders and kept him there, the gesture oddly gentle for all of her previous innuendo. A slight turn of her head granted her access to nudge the side of his jaw and press another kiss there, smiling.
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And then he wasn't thinking about that at all. He tipped his head for her, the pulse at the side of his throat visible and quickened. His arm that had rested across her shoulders lowered into an embrace with her turn toward him. "I think we might want to cap the brandy," he murmured. It would be a shame to have a spill when things were going well.
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With her lips over his jaw and leaning towards his neck, she almost didn't let herself think on what he'd said. But then she remembered the weight against her leg and she paused, drawing away with a smile. "That's probably a good idea," she said, looking around for the cap. She found it between their feet and grabbed it, corking the bottle and setting it aside, someplace a little safer than before. There was still plenty left in it, she noted, enough to let them continue if they fancied.
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He leaned back enough to give her room to take care of it. After she had it off to the side, he reached to pull her back in close again. His eyes were well adjusted to the darkness now. He could see the pale curve of her cheek, the glitter of her eyes from the shallow shadow of brow. He shifted a dark spike of her hair to the side with two fingers. As his hand passed lower, his thumb brushed the cusp and then the side of her chin, light pressure to encourage her to tilt her head.
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There was some mild shifting to be had so that when she finally went back to him, she had more to work with and could even be closer than before without the worry that either of them might lose their balance or knock into any bottles. She lifted her face at his urging and rose her hands up to his shoulders, though her attention was on his eyes and the curve of his lips, drawn in to his gaze. With another shift to accommodate him, Hawke went back in for another kiss from him.
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His arm tightened lower across her back, hand curved against her side. He broke the kiss to trail smaller ones along the line of her jaw, taking his time because he could. "I think," he whispered close to her ear, "this is much better than having to rush."
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She squeezed her shoulder once more when their lips parted and she could not stop the little shiver that ran up her spine as he dipped his lips to her jaw. Tilting her head for him to have better access, she smiled, toes curling in her boots. "I agree," she murmured softly, hand spanning downwards and resting on his chest.
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Reaching his hand up again, he cupped the back of her head, stubble scratching lightly over her jaw. He found her lips yet again in an insistent kiss and the first light flick of tongue. He trusted she'd let him know if he went too far.
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The next kiss gave her a better opportunity to reciprocate, her hand moving from his chest to cup his cheek. Her lips fastened around his lower one, nipping gently without teeth.
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He flicked his tongue against the bow of her upper lip while she took his lower. The rise and fall of his chest was visible now, breath more audible on his inhales. He quickly tired of the half twisted position both of them were forced into by the shape of the boat and reached a hand down to the back of her thigh to encourage her to come more across his lap.
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Carefully, and reluctantly, she disentangled herself from his lips to glance down at how they were sitting. "Just a second," she whispered, trying to see in the dark how this would work. She grasped his shoulders for purchase and half-stood, sliding over and positioning herself in his lap. It would be a slightly precarious situation but she was confident in her own balance. She tipped her head down once to kiss beside his mouth as she made herself comfortable, smirking at him.
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He blinked as she drew back then realized why, nodding. "Of course," he murmured. He held to her waist to help steady her with the back and forth roll of the skiff over the water and smiled faintly for the kiss. When she settled, it was far more comfortable and he was able to hold her without an awkward stretch.
"I don't think I thought all of this through," he said in amusement. "Next time I'll at least rent a flat bottomed boat."
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Carefully gauging how much she could move or tilt herself without upsetting her position, she leaned her forehead against his. "Perhaps next time we won't be in a boat, though I wouldn't say no to this sort of trip again." All things considered, with the two of the inexperienced with boating, things were turning out very well.
From this angle, it was easier to press her lips again to his, this time latching onto his lower lip and tugging briefly just to prize open his mouth for her.
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He pressed up into the lean. "We should probably spread the boating out. Cuts down on the chance of mishaps, not to mention the season is shifting. Soon enough the weather won't be cooperative." Which just meant they'd have to be more creative about their entertainment options.
He made a soft sound and parted his lips for her. His hands spread across her back with fingers in a warm press. He wasn't going to let her tip or spill.
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She bumped noses with him as she shifted once, fingers tapping his shoulders idly in thought. "How many places in Kirkwall could we stow away to, though?" she murmured. She could think on the possibility later, when she wasn't so distracted by his presence and his mouth with that damnable smile, but it would be a concern if the weather would be changing soon.
Cullen was warm against her and she slid her arms around his shoulders, relaxing into his grip. It was all too satisfying to coax those small sounds out of him, to see him willingly participate in what she'd only thought of doing before. Her tongue flicked out against his, tip to tip, and she sighed into his mouth.
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"I'm sure we can find a few suitable places. We're not hiding, after all, just being discreet." He thought that Lowtown and Hightown both were out for completely different reasons, but there were bordering districts that weren't quite parts of either, not to mention the Docks, where some of the taverns and inns were respectable enough and with the benefit of being low profile.
With her kiss, those thoughts retreated. There was something almost maddening in the gentle, half teasing back and forth. He invited her deeper with a stroke of his tongue and rocked upwards beneath her. One hand slipped back up into her hair for a tangle of fingers, his grip tighter than before.
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There was a thoughtful tilt to her lips which was quickly erased when they kissed, and she reached up to cup his face gingerly, relying on him to keep her steady for the moment. It was perhaps a little dangerous, what with his hand tangled in her hair, but no one ever said she didn't thrive on a little thrill now and again (and most of the time).
And she certainly had it here. His tongue, his hips against hers even so briefly. She inhaled quietly and tangled her tongue with his, deepening the kiss. She hummed against his lips.
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He still wasn't completely satisfied with the position. He wanted her to be able to relax against him, more contact. In between halfway losing himself to the deep, brandy tinged kiss, he thought of where else they might be able to sit and how. He answered the twine of tongue languidly, drew back, and gently nipped her lower lip.
"How about if I sit on the bench?" It would mean she had to straddle his lap, which she might find to be more than she wanted in the moment, he knew, but he felt bad that she was left fighting for balance while he sat more securely.
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Little by little, she'd know more about him, why every lingering kiss seemed deeper each time, and how every nip or slide of tongue was more sensual than the last. A little like a thief, she'd prize them away. She was already more than pleased with how things were progressing, her tongue answering his without shying away.
There was some reluctance when he pulled away, Hawke nearly leaning right after as he worried at her lip just briefly. She raised her eyes to his and then glanced down at them, eventually nodding. A hint of a smirk was left on her lips as she scooted back and then stood. "That might be a better idea," she agreed.
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"Definitely a flat bottomed boat next time," he said with a low chuckle. "I didn't realize how much the sides would be in your way. I think you'll find this much better." He knew he would. It would put them mostly flush, no straining for contact and feeling the boat roll at every little shift of balance.
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She chuckled with him. "It's all right. Besides, this is surprisingly more comfortable." It beat straining sideways or forcing one of them into awkward positions.
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anytime you'd like to work, internet. :V
Ugh, fun times.
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Power outages suck.
Oh, ick.
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