romdeau | a fishing date;

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.

Had he voiced those thoughts, she would have found herself reluctantly agreeing. She couldn't remember the last time she had let her guard down and allowed someone this close. Her companions had seen her at her messiest, at her bloodiest, and a few of them saw her in worse conditions. She could allow a friend to heal her but never to get so intimately close, not like this. It was almost overwhelming but she refused to let it get the best of her. Not now. Later, perhaps, when she'd think back on the whys and the hows, she might realize how open she left herself and how foolish it might have been to do so.

At the moment, she didn't care.

What did matter was his hands, calloused and warm over her body, and the way he was looking at her, the intensity in his gaze as he touched her. All it took were those words to make her shudder in his grip, lean in to his lips, and oblige him by lifting her arms.

He was gentle in pulling the fabric up, going so far as to be sure the neck of the garment didn't catch on her chin. He tossed it onto the same spot as his shirt so it wouldn't pick up any dirt from the bottom of the boat. It was then that he paused. She was pale in the darkness, the strip that covered her breasts the only thing left between them touching fully skin to skin from the waist up.

He ran his hands down her raised arms and brought his palms in closer to one another across the top of her chest. Light, gentle sweeps that ghosted the outline of her breasts beneath the fabric and slipped lower still. With his hands at her waist, he drew her flush against him. There was an instant shift from cool air to the warmth of body heat. His cheek slid against her jaw, and he kissed her ear again, a slow, wet tug of lips to her lobe.

Under his scrutiny, she truly did feel exposed. But there was no threat to his gaze and she met it head-on, arms raised over her head until he pulled away her top. She lowered them only when his hands passed over her skin, settling them against his sides as she did before.

The warmth he had, once she was pressed back against him, was intoxicating. Her fingers sought the contours of warm muscle, feeling rather than seeing the lines he had from practice and training. She might have commented on them, complimented him, had his lips not closed around her ear. The sound that tumbled out of her lips was more vocal than she'd been before but no less pleased; her shoulders hunched instinctively in every attempt to smother another shiver, and she tilted her head to offer him access to her.

She was beautiful, something he thought better expressed with his actions than the cliche of words. He lipped and flicked his tongue across the small, soft spot of skin, slowly following the line of her throat down. She felt beyond amazing against him. He found himself wrapping both arms around her to draw her in as close as he could, a full body hug.

"Mnhh, you feel...so good," he murmured. He was back to rocking his hips, less able to contain himself now than when they were fully clothed with layers of leather between.

Maker, that felt good. She wrapped her arms around him, a hand slipping into the back of his hair as his lips traveled downward. Her breath came in quiet, short, as he began to rock against her. She responded in kind, not so careful or coy any longer, the lack of clothing between them only adding to the friction. It was so very satisfying to let go, little by little.

One particular roll of his hips left her unguarded and she exhaled hotly against his shoulder, smiling. "Yes, like that," she whispered, kissing him at the joint between shoulder and throat, her fingers tightening briefly in his hair. Her teeth grazed across his skin.

He gasped and shuddered. Yes, that particular move had sent pleasure running roughshod through him, exactly the right angle through the clothing. There was no hiding his arousal, not that he was tempted to try now. He was achingly hard. The scrape of teeth across the top of his shoulder earned her one across her pulse point, careful not to leave a mark.

He pressed up again, a slow, controlled roll of hips and flex of thighs. A small vocalization came with his harsh exhale, a protracted sound he wasn't able to swallow back in time.

He settled a hand to her shoulder to guide her back a bit into the support of his other arm. His lips traced the span of a collar bone, tongue dipping into the hollow.

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anytime you'd like to work, internet. :V

Ugh, fun times.

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