romdeau | a fishing date;

"You did. And you weren't the first. Won't be the last, either." She could lose count how many people thought that way about her on a daily basis. She didn't bother worrying about it these days, which probably wasn't very smart, considering. At least she wasn't as nosy as Varric.

She smirked, bumping noses with him. "Did I?" she asked, nudging him slightly. "Your stubble, that's what." She cupped his cheek gently. "It keeps tickling me," she murmured beneath her breath, almost embarrassed to admit that. "But I do like it."

"I'd be disappointed if I were the last. Part of the fun of knowing you is hearing the wild stories that circulate. I think my favorite one to date is your fist fight with a high dragon," he teased.

He laughed easily. "Is it any better if I say it's not on purpose?" Of course, he had to ruin that claim almost immediately afterwards, jutting his chin to rub it against hers lightly. It was quite possible that under all the armor and the polish a brat lurked.

Almost within the same breath, he closed his lips over hers, tongue sweeping a tracery of the upper curve. His jaw worked as he opened his mouth a little more, taking it deeper. Both hands slid up from her waist across her back to draw her in close against him. He silently marveled at the contrast between softness in the press and the sinuous strength he could feel beneath his hands.

"Maker, I knew that one was going to get everyone talking." She shook her head, unable to keep the smile off of her face. "That's going to follow me into the next life, see if it doesn't. I don't think I'll ever be able to top that story no matter what I do."

She grinned as he leaned in, biting down on most of her laughter. She reached over with a hand to tug at his ear lobe gently. "Until you did that, yes," was teased softly in his ear.

It was all to easy to lean into the press of his body and let his hands roam her back, her head tilted into the kiss and mouth slightly parted. Her arm draped around his shoulders and her hand came up to cradle the back of his head, hopefully allowing him some ease as he lifted his face for her. Her lips closed around his and tugged once, tongue flicking out briefly to trace his bottom lip.

"That one would be a very hard one to top, yes." It was one of Varric's best stories to date, popular with Kirkwall's masses and elite alike. He had to wonder how many accepted it at face value. Among some of the refugees, hers was a name much larger than life.

He shivered lightly for that whisper and touch, more than ticklishness at play. His inhale through his nostrils was audible and quick.

It was back to eyes closed, losing himself in sensation. All of the little back and forths were gaining momentum in him, a slow burn on the rise. He made a soft noise when her hand settled in his hair and met the flick of her tongue with the tip of his. His fingers curved against her back in a harder press, the dig of short nails blunted through cloth.

"He'll find a way to overly exaggerate something else eventually." And Maker help her when that happened. She only hoped he'd do it if she ever left Kirkwall, so she wouldn't have to face the rumors head on around the city.

A wicked smile curved its way across her lips at that little admission of quickened breath. Her fingers lingered just a moment on his ear but she eventually released him even as her mind worked through some other ideas. She settled the hand back against his cheek, rough stubble beneath her palm.

Her tongue stroked the underside of his own, encouraging him. A quiet sound escaped her, an exhale and no more, at the press of his fingers against her muscles. With one last brief nip at his lip, she broke the kiss and ducked her head lower to kiss his jaw and further back beneath his ear. He had already tilted his head enough for her lips; now she could exploit it, sliding her lips against the side of his neck.

He tipped his head back just a little more, lips still parted. Maker's breath, but she was getting to him now. He hissed a breath through his teeth when she reached the spot beneath his ear and gave another shiver.

He wasn't completely passive for the attention, hands in a slow knead over her mid back. One lifted higher, following the curve of the nape of her neck and into her hair. "You're hair is soft," he murmured, a little surprised to find himself saying it aloud. He buried his fingers in it and stroked downward, letting it fall back to rest against her neck.

There. That was the reaction she was looking for. She contained the smug expression she was almost certain she was wearing as she continued down his throat, tongue flicking out from between her lips once or twice in her progress.

Hawke paused only once when his hands tangled into her hair, leaning back into his touch. Her answer was a smile and a softer kiss at his throat, followed by an almost contradictory nip at his collar. "I don't hear that too often," she teased against warm skin, hands finding his shoulders and kneading fingers into the muscle there.

He didn't have the benefit of a cuirass to hide the rise and fall of his chest, not that he was overly intent on masking his reactions from her. The second time she flicked her tongue was close to his pulse point. His exhale contained a trace of voice then.

"No? Good." There was a smile in his voice, even if she couldn't see it from the way his head was tilted. He didn't have any silly notions about being the only one she wanted to see when this was only a second date, but it was nice to know that perhaps he wasn't one in a thick crowd of contenders for her attentions.

"I'd hate to bore you with something you hear all the time." He turned to brush his cheek against the side of her head. "Especially given the fact that when silver tongues were being handed out, I wasn't even in the line. I'm lucky not to stutter these days." Although at times he still did if he was overly flummoxed.

"You manage well enough without one." It was murmured into his neck and she pressed another kiss there before she lifted her head, her expression almost lazy. She rolled her shoulders back into his one hand. "And the last person who told me my hair was soft was my mother, you know." People didn't typically get close enough and if they did, they were usually going for her throat.

And so she just gave him a simple shrug and a smile. "I can't imagine you stuttering, though." She wondered what she could do to see him in such a state. That was a goal worth chasing.

She ducked her head and brushed her cheek to his once more, enjoying the feel of the stubble he wore, and when she might have gone back to his throat, she turned instead to his ear. She locked her lips around the lob and tugged gently, hoping to garner another one of those sounds she liked.

"Oh, you say that now. Wait until you see me really flustered." He figured it would happen sooner or later. He merely hoped it wasn't in public when it did, as that always made it worse.

He smiled then, reaching up to tuck a lock of it behind her ear. "Mothers are wonderful for the flattery. No one will ever make you feel better, or worse when they're disappointed." If there was any sadness in the statement, it was mitigated by the warmth in his tone. He knew of her loss but also didn't intend to shy away from the topic or treat her with kid gloves because of it. There was much to be said for good memories.

"Spend enough time with me, and you won't have to imagine it. I was much worse when I was younger. I would've hardly been able to look you in the eyes."

She surprised him with that, getting more of a sound than she had managed yet, a quiet, "Mnnh..." He bit his lower lip. "Unfair," he said, his toes curling in his boots.

"You say that as if I don't want to see you stuttering or flustered. Just once, for the experience." Lying through her teeth with that one, obviously. She tried to imagine him red in the face and stuttering something almost incoherent and she couldn't help the faint grin that settled on her lips. She would definitely need to see it sometime.

Thoughts of her mother came heavy-handed with too many emotions and too many of them weren't fit to be expressed in public or to others. But she smiled just the same because he was absolutely right. She tilted her head into his fingers as she spoke. "It's a gift they have, I think. Perfect for guilting you into doing things and even better on the days you need a shoulder to lean on."

Hawke smiled against him, releasing his ear if only speak. "You did leave yourself open for it," she whispered slyly. She squeezed his shoulders tenderly.

"Mmhmm, just once," he said very dryly. There was no way he believed that. If he didn't already know her well enough to know she liked to stir a little trouble, the smile would have told him.

"It is," he agreed, "a wonderful gift," the warmth still in his voice. He didn't often allow himself to think of his family. When he did it was fondly.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, "did that sound like a complaint? It shouldn't have." He turned to press a kiss to her throat, warm and wet with the briefest tease of tongue tip. Higher, and he gave her a light scrape of his teeth just beneath her earlobe.

She didn't try to protest it. The look he had was enough. So instead, she just grinned and raised an eyebrow as if invite a challenge. "I promise to restrain myself when I visit the Gallows," she finally said. "But that's all I can promise."

Her fingers absently traced his shoulders, then dipped over to his back to find lines of muscle beneath his tunic. "Did your mother have a knack for guilting you too?" she asked. "My mother could get even my brother to duck his head with just a look. It never failed to quiet him, either."

She hummed, which turned into a tiny, threadbare chuckle as she felt the tip of his tongue. She turned her head for him, closing her eyes. "My mistake, then," she murmured absently.

"Then that's all I'll ask," he said with a half smile. Anything outside of work was fair game as far as he was concerned.

"Ridiculously. She just...there was this one look. Yes, exactly like that. It didn't even have to be head on. She could do it from the sides of her eyes." It was funny in hindsight. No matter how old he got or how "sophisticated" he thought he was, which was never very, the look never failed to bring him to heel.

He smiled against her, his eyes sliding shut as he continued the slow exploration of her throat, her reactions. He lipped her earlobe, giving a gentle tug, and followed along the outer shell, hoping for another of those sounds, or at least to have her as breathless as she was making him. One hand slid down to the small of her back to press her in close. He rocked up, little more than a slight flex of thighs and hips. It was getting harder to remain still beneath her.

"Oh, yes, I know exactly what look you're talking about. The look." It could never be used for one thing, either. It was simply there to make victims feel as a small as a thumb. "Mothers can be so frightening when they want to be," she muttered, amusement in her eyes.

It was a struggle to keep still under his mouth and his hands. Her ear was more sensitive than she realized and she shivered once, the warmth of his breath ghosting over the outer shell as he continued. A soft, surprised sound slipped out eventually with the roll of stronger hips beneath her and she bit at the side of her lip to cut it off, embarrassed.

Fingers dug briefly into his back and then worked in small circles, kneading. "Cullen," she whispered, a little breathless at the attention.

There was another of those small sounds, enough that he found himself voicing a deeper echo of it, too quick and breathless to be a moan. He felt just a little dizzy, and it had nothing to do with the ale or brandy. His name in that tone had his grip on her tightening, the hand in her hair dropping down to clutch across the back of her shoulder.

"If you want me to slow down or stop, tell me," he breathed. He had no plan, no idea where they were going with this other than the fact he felt more heated by the moment. He knew that at some point one or both of them would hit a place where they needed to decide whether to stop or go further.

"No," she replied quietly, resting easy in his grip. She shook her head and turned to look at him, hand going up to tip his chin up for her. She kissed him briefly, eyes meeting his. "Maker, no. You're fine," was whispered against his lips. No, this felt nice. It was surprising, too, how willing she was to lower her guard with him so far.

With the next kiss pressed to the side of his mouth, though, she paused. "The same for you, though," she said, gently. "If you want me to stop or slow things down, I will."

He tipped his head up readily to meet the kiss, a slight smile playing for the reassurance. He shivered at the next press and turned inward cheek to cheek. His lashes brushed the upper curve of her cheek when he blinked.

"I'm good," he murmured. He was far more comfortable with her than he had expected to be, with no desire for overthinking beyond wanting to be sure he wasn't bulling his way through something she might want time to consider. The corner of his mouth touched the corner of hers, and he parted his lips again.

He gave over to a full kiss, again and yet again, each time more fervent. He teased her lips apart for another twine of tongue to tongue and pressed up beneath her in another slow rock. His boot sole scudded a couple of inches over the planks.

Lips curving upwards at his admission, she nodded, turning her head to meet his lips again. There was a hunger in her kiss this time, which refused to wane between slips of tongue and their briefer kisses. She kept having to remind herself to settle her hands somewhere and to keep them there, too used to moving quickly in one way or another.

They eventually found a more secure place, one at the back of his head and the other on his shoulder. Her fingers slid into his hair as his had in hers, marveling silently at the touch. Her attention stayed on the way his mouth felt, the heat behind his kisses, until he pressed against her once more.

Maker, that was going to drive her mad. She nipped at his lower lip in retaliation for the noise that slipped out, this time more akin to a soft moan, and this time she rocked herself against him instead.

Every inhale was a quick one now, the stealthy sound of breaths a faster rhythm than the steady lap of water against the sides of the skiff. He had his eyes tightly shut and an embrace of her that left no space between them. His hands weren't still, both of them in a knead over her back, digging into the muscle there. And still the kiss continued.

He gave a small half laugh when she nipped him. The playfully punitive nature of it didn't escape him, but then she came down on his next rock up and his whole body shuddered from the unexpected pleasure of it. He broke the kiss to look at her. He lifted both hands to cup her face, each kiss that followed short and intense, as though if he broke it all into smaller pieces somehow the desire would be any less consuming.

She was content to arch against his hands though she never strayed far enough to break away from him. Hawke was practically glued to him, her chest against his, and she could feel every intake of breath. It made her all too aware that she wasn't the only one growing restless, though the kisses were dizzying and electrifying all on their own.

When he pulled away, she stopped to look at him, concerned that he wasn't ready for that sort of reciprocation just yet. Her worry was pointless and she knew it the moment he cupped her face, and she leaned into his touch greedily, kisses more fervent this time. Fingers twined loosely in his hair and she kept him there, close, her mouth on his and her cravings all too evident.

His hands slipped lower, fingers curving beneath the collar of her shirt to follow the line of collarbones. He kissed her chin, the center of her throat, the hollow, sensual, hungry presses of lips and tongue. Lower yet, he pushed his hands between them to caress the upper curves of her breasts, thumbs nearly meeting between them.

It was likely impossible to see in the starlight, but he was faintly flushed. He could feel the heat in his face, neck, and ears, nothing akin to embarrassment. His hands shifted to her shoulders to hold her there while he kissed all along the border of her collar, shoving the fabric aside with the side of his cheek.

She squirmed lightly as he trailed his lips lower to her chin and her throat, hands coming up to her chest. Pressing against him faintly, her breathe quickened and she fought for control over the unconscious movements of her body. She rocked against him just the same, swallowing the tension building in her throat.

It wasn't long before she became somewhat frustrated, feeling the restrictions her clothing had. She'd covered up on purpose for the cool night air, the leather armor serving its purpose well. Here, it wasn't helping. Her hands finally came between them and she nudged him back just enough for her to undo the strap that came down her chest and to let it fall. She dipped her head to kiss him hungrily while she unbuttoned her outer tunic.

He leaned back at the urging and watched her nimble fingers on the fastenings until she had him captive to more kisses. While she unbuttoned, he unbuckled his belt. It slid from around his waist and hit the bottom of the boat with a hollow thunk from the metal.

Next he worked on the jerkin, the leather not as thick as armor. It came unfastened easily and hung open at the front, his linen shirt a looser fit beneath it. He didn't question her again, letting his kisses stray to her jawline.

She pulled off her outer tunic and let it drop as well, her hands leaving his chest only so he could pull out of his jerkin. Her eyes strayed downwards in admiration and she was disappointed at the darkness, that she couldn't see as much as she wanted to. Her hands would be her eyes instead and she let them slide down his chest, fingers pressing in and chasing avid lines of smooth muscle hidden only by his shirt.

Lips brushing the side of his cheek as he moved lower, she closed her eyes to savor the feeling. She smiled briefly and turned her head, lips pressing below and to the side of his ear.

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