romdeau | a fishing date;

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.

She had to resolve herself not to let him continue, as tempting and thrilling as it was. Instead, she dipped a hand down to cup two fingers beneath his chin moments before she pressed her lips to his, a barely contained need to the gesture. Maker, that look he had was going to stay with her, she knew.

With her lips against his, she could drop her hands down to rest between them; one had fell to his chest and the other fell lower still. The latter pressed gently against his thigh. "You're going to drive me mad that way," she whispered against his lips, and she fully intended to let him know just how desperate he was making her with that mouth of his.

He answered the kiss fervently, brief, intense contact. His breath hissed through his nose from the warmth of her touch to his thigh. It took what residual self-control he had not to push more deliberately into it.

"Will it help to know it's not just you?" he asked. He pressed his forehead against hers, lips still parted and breath coming in choppy, shaky gasps. "I'm...Maker's breath, I can hardly think straight anymore."

She smiled just the same, catching his lips in hers and tugging deliberately on his lower lip only once. She didn't have the patience or the breath to keep him there, though her hand remained a consistent weight against him. That remaining ounce of restraint kept it there for now, not making any other untoward moves.

"So it's not just me," she teased warmly, bumping noses with him. Her hand opened and settled on his hip, squeezing gently.

"As if you couldn't tell." There was warm humor in his voice, mingled with the arousal that had his words thicker, softer.

He nuzzled against her without kissing her again, accepting the pause as a chance to regroup a little, regain breath and sense. He traced his fingertips down the curve of her spine, following muscle and bone and coming to rest at the waistband of her pants.

"I will say I didn't...plan...for this, but I'm not sorry for it. You're not cold, are you?"

She raised her eyebrows and could only smirk in response, though the edge of her expression was warmer and lazier than usual. She shrugged into his hold and kept close to the warmth of his body as she let her heart rate slow down just a little.

"For what it's worth, I didn't either," she said mildly. The curve of her lips softened, no longer so sharp in her amusement. "I'm not sorry either." Not with how things were going. He'd need to tell her if he'd rather back off or wait, though; it was his choice, as he had said before.

"I'm all right," she assured him. The edges of cold were pricking at her skin but it wasn't enough to chill her, not right then. "You?"

He smiled, his fingertips at her back in a light caress. "I'm glad. Glad you're not sorry, I mean."

He nodded, the nuzzling becoming kissing again. He lifted a hand to her cheek. "I can hardly feel the chill at all," he murmured against her lips. He was far too heated in other ways.

"Why would I be?" It had been her original intention, after all, to get them to this point. She wasn't sorry in the least, though she chided herself that it might be better to pick somewhere more comfortable when attempting to seduce him next time.

Cheek pressed into his hand, she leaned in and kissed him languidly. She smiled at the warm breath ghosting over her lips. "Good." She ran a hand once more down his chest, taking her time to simply feel him.

"Because we're in a boat?" He chuffed half a laugh, his grin ruefully amused. "That's something I have to admit I'm regretting just a little right now."

He pressed slightly into her touch, chest rising beneath her hand in a shaky inhale. "I don't...I don't want to stop."

"I'm not going to blame you for a small lack of foresight. I could just as easily say it was my fault for not waiting." As tantalizing as the thought was, though, she wouldn't have wanted to wait until they were back at the docks to drag him off somewhere. With her luck, Isabela would be waiting there and would see them.

She brushed their lips together once, her smile a little wider than before. "You don't have to," she murmured.

"We can always blame the brandy if we're desperate for a culprit." He reached up, his fingers teasing along the edges of the dark fringe of her hair. It wasn't true, though. He didn't have nearly enough alcohol in his system to change how he'd behave, and he was glad of it. If he was going to do something like this with her, he wanted it to be them, not booze talking.

He sucked a soft, swift inhale. "Good," he whispered. He ran his hand down her side and across the front of her waistband, testing by feel to see how her pants were fastened and whether this would be a matter of tugging on a few lacings or something more complicated.

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

Ugh, fun times.

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