questionablewit: (z Anders - kiss)
[personal profile] questionablewit
[[Backthreading nsfw romantic history post for [livejournal.com profile] birdhousesoul. Set not long after they hook up, before All That Remains]]



Hawke falls back on the bed, sweat sticking her hair to her forehead, skin flushed. It's the middle of the night, but the fire in the fireplace still burns enough to cast more light than shadows on her skin, and on the skin of the man next to her. "That was amazing." Still breathing hard, she smiles brilliantly at him, then decides that's not enough and rolls towards him for another kiss. She can't seem to stop kissing him now that she's finally able to. Not that she's tried hard to resist the urge for the past...week, maybe two weeks? It seems longer, and not long enough. "Andraste's flaming pyre, Anders, where'd you learn to do all this?"

Date: 2011-12-28 09:08 pm (UTC)
birdhousesoul: (Default)
From: [personal profile] birdhousesoul
"I can't quite quantify it yet. I haven't kissed you enough to capture all the little details. All I can say is that I've done more than my fair share of kissing, and nothing comes close to what you do." He stops short of saying anything about enchantment, because no reminder of Sandal should ever be spoken in this bed. "Out with it, now, I've unburdened myself of practically my entire life story. The least you can do is regale me with tales of pastoral amours. And you kissing women, pastoral or not." He can hate the idea and really like it, all at once.
Edited Date: 2011-12-28 09:09 pm (UTC)

Date: 2011-12-28 11:39 pm (UTC)
birdhousesoul: (Default)
From: [personal profile] birdhousesoul
"Ah. I know your weakness. You like a man who's kind to animals." He finds it more difficult to imagine a young Marian than she might think, and it's mostly that he has a hard time filling in the setting around her. He's seen the landscapes and the rural accoutrements, he knows Ferelden backwater towns and fields, but the life itself eludes him. Forever getting into trouble, and forever curious about things. Just rambling about, as a child, with no supervision, no one to reel her in if she seemed likely to veer outside their control. No one to give chase if she ran ... and why would she run? She had a home. She had people she loved.

"I'm picturing the farm boy. He's nowhere near as dashing as I am."

Date: 2011-12-29 12:42 am (UTC)
birdhousesoul: (Default)
From: [personal profile] birdhousesoul
"The Circle," he confirms, "most likely, would have given your father a very good education indeed." Another reason it's hard to convince some refugees that Circle life isn't paradise. Free food, shelter, a career set for life, an education; all in all, more than they can expect to scrounge for themselves in Darktown, or the Old City slums. "Better than some nobility might be able to acquire, depending." It's a parenthetical comment, absolutely irrelevant to Lonny the farmboy and his hayloft idyll, and Anders reminds himself they are not having a conversation about Malcolm Hawke, they are having a conversation about things Malcolm Hawke hopefully never knew. "So all this in the hayloft, this was more a collaborative learning endeavor. Whose idea was it, I wonder?"
Edited Date: 2011-12-29 05:49 am (UTC)

Date: 2011-12-29 08:58 am (UTC)
birdhousesoul: (Default)
From: [personal profile] birdhousesoul
Other things to do. He knows the story. He does not say a word about Carver. He spares her, too, condolences on the Blight sickness that took her father. It's not the time to speak of death, Karl's or her father's or anyone's, except as a passing fact, the milestone that marks a shift, the stone in the river that diverts its course. He holds her closer as she notes these moments, though, for comfort, and wishes he could have done when these were happening. Someone should have been there. She shouldn't have been the one to shoulder the responsibility of a whole family, that young.

If she hadn't, though, she wouldn't be his Hawke today, and that's unthinkable. "Thus you progressed onward, to greater heights," he suggests, "beyond the home fields and into the wide world, where I'm certain you made many acquaintances and broke many hearts. Not your fault, of course, the heartbreaking, just an inevitable consequence of being this beautiful and there only being one of you, not nearly enough to go around."

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Hawke

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