romdeau | a fishing date;

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.

Her thigh muscles tightened at the feel of him beneath her, the realization that he was just as aroused as her pushing her stomach into backflips. She swiped a tongue across his shoulder and kissed that same spot again to express it, breath coming quickly. She squeezed him tightly even as she forced her body into some semblance of control, slowing her rocking just enough so they weren't frantically rushing.

They had time tonight. She was determined to make the most of it.

Carefully, she allowed herself back, trusting in his grip. One sharp inhale followed the path of his lips and tongue, her head tilted back just slightly. She made a noise of approval in her throat, followed close behind by a whisper of his name.

She was going to unravel his control if she kept saying his name like that, those breathy whispers more powerful than she likely knew. He felt her slow and believed he knew why. This was on the brink of running away with them entirely, and it would be a shame to race through it without the chance to enjoy it. Oh, but it was getting harder by the moment to hold to that resolve.

He kissed lower, sensual presses of lips over the center of her sternum. He kept her secure in the backward tilt, but it was the clench of her legs over him that kept her truly anchored. He felt his chin brush cloth and took a shuddering inhale. He glanced up, a heated look from beneath the shadow of sandy lashes, and brought his hand at her shoulder forward to tug down the cloth, lifting it out as well as down to accommodate the curve of her breasts and free them.

She wasn't used to being exposed, for the layers of clothing and control to be peeled away from her any more than she was prepared to enjoy it so much. He was a sight, lips against her chest, following the inevitable path downwards. Her threadbare restraint barely held her in check to keep her still for him, concerned that if she pressed too eagerly she might upset their careful balance.

But that look caught her unawares, the heat and intensity behind his gaze all but staggering. Her breath caught in her throat as he pulled her free of the band around her breasts, the sound almost deafening to her in the silence. Eyes searching his face and drinking in his expression, her legs hooked tighter around him - not for stability but for the feeling and the friction - her fingers combing out of his hand and dragging downwards along the back of his neck.

He could feel as much tension in her as he carried within himself. It was a heady realization, all the more potent when their gazes met and held. He felt the temptation to say how little this was typically like him, not out of worry or fear of what she was thinking, but to let her know how much of this was her effect on him.

Once again he decided it better to let his gestures speak in voice's stead. He pulled up briefly into the clench of her fingers, his hair and cheek brushing her upper chest, and then he kissed lower. The soft upper curves of her breasts, the dip between. He forced himself to a slow enough pace to have him trembling with want.

The first touch of his tongue to her nipple was a gentle sweep of a half circle. His lips closed for a drawing kiss, his breath coming quickly. A low moan escaped him before he was aware it was coming. She truly was beautiful, his one complaint that he couldn't see more.

The doting kisses he trailed down her chest made her shiver, the contrast of smoother lips and tongue coupled with the rough texture of his stubble leaving her wanting more. Fingers threatened to curl tighter in his hair and she restrained herself only slightly, using the tips of her short, blunt nails to trail lines down the back of his neck and over his shoulder blades.

She could feel how taut the muscles in his back were as he dipped his head further down her chest and she wished she could see him better, even if her imagination could do some creative things with what she was given.

His moan startled her; against her breast, the sound reverberated through her, eliciting a soft groan in answer. Her palms found their place on his back and she began to knead at his muscles, head tilted down to watch him. She couldn't look away even if she wanted to, even in the darkness.

He enjoyed the way her hands couldn't settle, a restlessness he felt, too. His hand at her back kneaded an inward press of fingertips spread broadly. He settled her more securely back against his hold as he drew more deeply with his lips and flicked with his tongue.

He could feel her watching him with the weight of touch. It had him flushing deeper, a rising heat beneath her fingertips. The rock of his hips was a steadier rhythm now, a fight for friction and pressure met well by the way she moved.

His desire was mounting toward ache. He felt it sharply deep in his belly. He opened his mouth wider, his tongue in a delicate sweep toward the underside of her breast before breaking the suction altogether to kiss toward the other side. He felt as though he could explore her this way all night if she let him, if it didn't make him crazy first.

For all that this trip was a good idea, she started to wish they'd gone somewhere else where they could stretch out, where it wouldn't be so cramped as they moved. Hawke couldn't - and wouldn't - complain, however; the forced closeness was more than enough, edging towards maddening as he continued to roll his hips against hers.

Her breath came short, her entire body feeling taut enough to be coiled like a spring. She arched into his mouth, his tongue laving across sensitive skin and her fingers pressing into his back at the same time. Something akin to a whimper was prized from her mouth and she fought to control the sound, biting down on it with an audible click of her jaw.

Her grip loosened as she exhaled and then it was her turn to rock against him, a little more insistently, in want of that delicious friction he kept giving her. She needed to do something, to reciprocate somehow, even if she could let him continue for as long as he wished.

He closed his eyes. It was dark, but even that little bit of shutting out one sense immediately enhanced the others. Every breath and gasp, her muffled, high sound lanced through him and contributed to the ache for her. The contrast of soft and firm skin, the way she molded herself so well against his hands, body and mouth, he responded instinctively, taking all she offered.

The rhythm of his breath fragmented in the harder grind. For a brief moment, he was left gasping against her with lips parted as though in surprise. A turn of his head centered him over her other breast. He regained enough control of himself to offer similar attentions, intimate and thorough.

He was going to unravel her into nothing at the rate he was going. The thought made her smile, the idea of the Knight-Captain of the Templars being the one to bring the Champion down. And here she'd been the one so high and mighty, arrogant enough to propose a game she thought she'd win with ease. It was absolutely thrilling.

She couldn't get enough of the quiet sounds he made, nearly muffled against her skin. If she couldn't hear them, she could certainly feel them against her. She felt too warm, the grip of her legs tightening around him. There wasn't much more she could take. Need was consuming her, a little at a time, until she felt she'd be hollowed out by the feeling. She nudged her hips against his and dropped her head forward, breath ragged.

One hand slid upwards to tug at the ends of his hair to get his attention.

He felt her breath stirring his hair, quietly pleased to hear a similar choppy rhythm to his own. He could think of few things more embarrassing than being the only one really worked up.

It took him a moment or two to realize the light pull on his hair wasn't just another caress. He released the latch of his lips with a final soft flick of tongue and met her gaze, heavy lidded and flushed. "What is it?" he whispered.

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

Ugh, fun times.

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