Backthreading, nsfw

[questionablewit]

[[Backthreading nsfw romantic history post for 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?"

Comments

[questionablewit]

Hawke is only dimly aware of the name he calls her at that point. She's only dimly aware that such things as words and names exist at all, because he's holding her hips and driving into her, or she's driving against him, or both, and there is no holding back, no longer any possibility of restraint. She comes undone above him, crying her pleasure aloud to the air, a sound older than any language, and he follows afterwards with his own wordless paean of exultation.

Thereafter follows a few minutes of nonsense murmuring as she kisses his face and mouth, tasting the sweat on his forehead and riding out the last of their climax. It's as she disengages, lying beside him once again, that she remembers. "Did you just call me Marian?" She sounds surprised more than anything; only her mother calls Hawke that, since Bethany left, and Anders surely knows it. Even Gamlen has learned to refer to her as Hawke. It's not a name she uses nowadays, and she hasn't introduced herself as Marian since she was a girl.

[birdhousesoul]

"Hmm?" He's still a bit foggy himself. "Did I?" He supposes he must have. "That's your name, isn't it? Your mother seems to think so."

They do talk, sometimes. Sometimes even when Hawke is busy doing other things. The writing desk alone is loaded with tasks Anders does not envy. Were he less busy himself (even while ignoring the mage underground, he knows Darktown's quota of knife-fight wounds and bad falls down rough-hewn stairs will never be exhausted, with the occasional breech birth thrown in for variety), he would volunteer to help her sift the legitimate correspondence from the merely interesting.

"Should I not? I suppose it's a little like ... that rosey outfit you're always changing into when you get home. You've got the armor for outside, but you don't wear it in..."

[birdhousesoul]

this RP has a theme song