romdeau | a fishing date;

"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.

He pressed into her touch with an arch of his back. He could feel the warmth of her hands through the fabric, could tell she was exploring him with fingertips. It was intoxicating, feeling and knowing it. His breath spilled hotly in a shuddering exhale.

She drew another small sound from him, voice in his gasp. He could feel more of her minus the layer of clothing and took advantage with hands and forearms pressed against her back in his embrace. He, too, was trying to control the natural inclination of his body to rock forward and up without much success. He tilted his head. What she was doing felt too good not to encourage.

She lowered her lips to his pulse point and left small, doting kisses there, quick in her execution. As tempting as it might be to linger, to swipe her tongue along his throat and close her lips around a patch of skin, she knew it would show and he'd have more than he bargained for if anyone spotted it. She'd need to content herself with what she had and the Maker knew she would be more than satisfied with that.

Humming once more, the edge of her voice tapering off into a sound not unlike a moan, she pressed her lips lower still to his collar and then to a small patch to the joining of his shoulder and neck.

It was here that she paused, lifting her head to look at him. "This is all right?" she murmured softly, breathless, eyes alight with excitement.

"Ah, Maker," he murmured. If he had realized her reason for restraint in that moment, he'd have thanked her. It felt like teasing, instead, delicious and frustrating both.

He shivered again and gave a stronger rock of hips. Every soft press of her lips and light flick of tongue had him wanting more. "Yes," he said, his voice thicker and rougher now. "More than all right." His hands slipped down to rest at her hips, the squeeze too firm to be a casual hold, too much tension in his arms and chest.

Good. She shouldn't be worrying, not at this point, but it didn't hurt to check one last time. Leaning forward, she kissed him once more, deeply and fervently, to assuage her interruption. Her hands dropped downwards and found the ends of his shirt; she slipped beneath it and pressed them, finally, to toned and heated skin.

Answering the nudge of his hips with a roll of her own, she tried to keep herself from squirming too much with his hands on her, even if she liked them on her hips. She sighed into his mouth and slid her tongue across his in the meantime, distracting herself with the feel of him and the sounds he was making.

He met the kiss with a jaw working one of his own, all but holding his breath at the first touch of her palm to his stomach. In that moment, he couldn't even call to mind how long it had been since he had felt another's hands on him like that. How many times had they spoken casually in the Gallows with no hint of the possibility of this kind of attraction? The intensity of it took him by surprise.

She didn't need to worry about squirming too much. He encouraged her to rock against him with a flex of hips and arms, pulling her in. He pushed against the bottom of the boat with both feet, only letting up some when he could feel it rocking side to side from the pressure. His tongue twined with hers in a sensual thrust, encouragement to explore him as she saw fit.

She always knew Templars were powerful. The armor they wore probably weighed more than anything she ever wore, possibly even heaving than Aveline's. But it was another thing entirely to feel the muscle structure under her fingers, to know it more intimately, and to be aware that he was entirely willing. Her lips closed around his at the thought, groaning appreciatively into his hold.

Her tongue stroked the roof of his mouth, her concentration wavering only once as the boat rocked beneath them. An arm wrapped around his shoulders for leverage and her hand slipped further up his body, from his abdomen and stomach to his chest, admiring his body and its lines. It was a shame they didn't have enough room; she wanted to explore it with more than just her hands. That could wait for another time, she reminded herself, and to make up for her minor disappointment, her second hand joined the first beneath his shirt. Knuckles slid down his sides slowly, too slowly, and she kissed him with a renewed hunger

She was going to drive him mad with the slow touches, the deep kisses. It seemed she wanted this as badly as he did, neither of them toying now. Eventually, he had to break the kiss to get a deeper breath. He gasped and whispered against her lips, "I can take the shirt off if you want me to."

Despite the cool of the night, at the moment he felt like a furnace. He didn't think he'd miss the thin linen much. It sounded a forward proposition in his ears. He was comfortable making it because it seemed to him they had both been honest with one another from the beginning. There was nothing to be served by playing coy or adhering to social tenets that didn't fit either of them well.

That had been her chief concern (minor now, with how he had distracted her) about the shirt; that the air would be too frigid for him without it. She had to admit that it was exciting to challenge him to keep it on, but now she was growing impatient, greedy, wanting more. It was becoming impossible to keep still, even now, and he was warm and inviting just the same. He was eager, just as she was.

Eyes opening to meet his, she nodded and then smiled slyly. "Would you like to remove mine as well?" she invited.

He searched her gaze, what he could see of it, and nodded slowly. "Yes, I would. Mine first, though." He leaned back just enough to be able to reach down and tug up the hem of it without smacking his hands into her. He had it up and over his head in a fluid movement. He was careful when he tossed it to the side not to send it into the water or leave it high enough for the wind to take if it picked up. He shivered once from the cool breeze, far too distracted to care.

He was slower with hers, tugging up the hem and brushing his fingers along her stomach just above her waistband. He watched her while he touched her, too intent for it to be teasing.

She leaned back only enough for him to slide his shirt up over his head, her eyes admiring the outline of his form in the dark. Surprisingly, she kept her hands still and did not immediately attempt to touch him once more, though it was an exercise in restraint. Now she could see how well built he was. Hawke let her eyes purposefully roam up and down his figure, settling on his face with a mild and teasing lift to her lips.

It wasn't so easy to be still when he started on hers. The slightest graze to her bare stomach had her muscles tensing instinctively. She suppressed a mild shudder and closed her eyes.

He felt himself flush a little deeper. He didn't have to see well to know that he was being admired. It was a nice feeling if a little flustering. He was accustomed to very different sorts of gazes for the most part. If there was admiration, it was wrapped in awe or fear.

He liked that little smile, though, and the way her eyes closed. That was well worth taking his time. He continued teasing the hem up out of her pants, sides and back tugged free before he touched her again. He slipped both hands beneath her shirt and set his palms flat to her stomach. The caress upward was careful but firm enough not to tickle. Her skin was every bit as soft as it looked.

Turnabout was fair play, after all. She could almost feel the faint flush she had, though it was little about embarrassment and more about the sensation, the heat creeping up the back of her neck. His eyes were on her, she knew, just as hers had been on him. That alone almost made her squirm with anticipation. With a quiet exhale, she attempted to keep herself from arching into his hands, and when she opened her eyes, they were half-lidded and focused on him alone.

She needed to do something. To reciprocate, to distract him, anything. She couldn't keep still, not with him doing that to her. She contented herself with settling her hands on his shoulders once more, watching him dote and appreciate her.

His gaze kept returning to her eyes, an intensity building between them that was easily as dizzying as the physical touches and kisses up to this point. To some it may not have meant all that much, but for him there was vulnerability in stripping down. He imagined that just because she wore a different kind of armor than he, it didn't make it any less so for her. A metaphorical dropping of barriers beneath the literal sense.

He leaned in as his hands slipped higher, over the curve of her ribs, fingertips just brushing the underside of her small clothes. "Lift your arms," he whispered and chased the words with a gentle tug of lips to her earlobe.

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