Dragon Age 1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Shout-out to my amazing Beta, without whom this would not be possible! Leave a review at the door, they make my day :)**_

_**Edit: **_**I decided to split this up into 2 chapters, it seemed to make more sense. Anyhoo, please read, review, and enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I own nothing...except a gremlin.**

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Golden eyes watched Hawke across the crowded common room of the Hanged Man; watched as another shot of whiskey was tipped back without even a flinch. Her beloved longbow was resting next to her chair, and the well-worn leather quiver bristled just next to it, apparently abandoned. Dark waves swayed softly against a deeply tanned face that held a beauty that could bring men to their knees. Those lovely features were marred by a deep frown as the Champion of Kirkwall poured more amber liquid from the bottle at her hand into the squat mug. Her head threw back again, the blankness of her expression completely unlike the friend the pirate knew.

Andraste's teats, why did people have to be so bloody complicated in their relationships?

Isabela set down her own mug with a sigh. Her hips swayed seductively, unconsciously, and both male and female eyes followed the barely concealed curves of her rear end as she walked over to the table Hawke occupied. Without a word, she flopped down into the chair next to her, putting her legs up on the table and giving the guards across from them an eyeful. She ignored the catcalls, for once, her gaze fastened to the impassive face of the Champion.

"How many are you planning on downing like that tonight?" she inquired with a tilt of her head and a gesture to the empty mug in Hawke's hand.

Hawke blinked rapidly a few times before replying, her speech as crisp and clear as if she were stone cold sober. One of her many gifts was apparently an unbelievable tolerance for alcohol, something the pirate captain both envied and pitied her for. Pity was the dominant expression flashing in her amber eyes at the other woman's response.

"Until it stops."

There was nothing in her eyes or her voice that betrayed what she meant, but Isabela didn't have to be a blood mage to figure out what was going on in Hawke's impressively equipped mind. Only an idiot could fail to see what had been simmering for years. Isabela's usually beautifully pouty lips twisted into a frown as she considered the identity of one such idiot.

"You'll just ruin your liver if you keep that up. You can't get drunk on this swill," was the casual response as the dusky-skinned goddess, as she had been dubbed, crossed her arms loosely beneath her ample bosom.

"Never hurts to try," came the cool answer, her monotone finally breaking into one that brooked no argument that the conversation was over.

Isabela was never really one to take hints.

"This attempt does," she said, her own voice mirroring her friend's finality as she leaned forward and plucked the bottle from Hawke's grasp. This was done so quickly that the Champion had to blink several times before she realized she was pouring nothing.

Hawke glared at her, gesturing with a gloved hand that revealed only her fingertips, but Isabela shook her head.

"Enough for one night. Go sleep it off, you'll feel better in the morning."

Hawke just gazed at her in a manner she would have called petulant if she had been feeling like losing any blood. She glanced to her left and spotted Varric on the stairs leading to the back of the tavern, concern reflected on his broad features. He nodded to her and moved across the room, ducking under a drunken swing that was aimed at the man to his immediate left, ignoring the crash of glass that exploded behind him. Isabela's eyes returned to Hawke as the dwarf came up behind her and rested a hand on her shoulder.

"C'mon Hawke, I'll walk you home. I'd hate to lose the favorite hero of Kirkwall. What would I talk about?"

She looked up at him with a quiet expression before shrugging and standing from her seat.

"Thank you, Varric, but I can manage to get home on my own."

She stooped and picked up her things before striding out the door, unaware of the hurt expression on her friend's face, but Isabela knew she would have turned and hugged him if she had been aware of it. She sighed again, her coppery eyes meeting those of the dwarf, who shrugged his broad shoulders and went back to his rooms. For her part, Isabela leaned back in her chair, balancing it easily on two legs as she let her head fall against the back, lost in thought.

Without warning, a wide smile started to curve her full lips. She knew exactly how to fix this entire mess. Now, if only Martin had enough of the stock she needed. She chuckled deviously. Hawke was going to be in for a huge surprise.

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Sebastian knocked firmly on the door to Hawke's estate in Hightown, his brow furrowed. The invitation he had received by messenger had been courteous, welcoming even, which surprised him immensely. He and Hawke had never been on the best of terms and especially not in the last few years. She had taken up the mantle of Champion, banished the fears of the people of Kirkwall and had risen to a position of respect and power. He had to respect her for that, even if he didn't care for some of her methods. Bodahn answered the door with a friendly expression, obviously expecting him.

"Come in, come in, Messere, the others have not arrived yet and Serah Hawke had to step out. Follow me and I'll show you to the study."

Sebastian nodded and gave the dwarf a warm smile, patting Hawke's giant mabari, Pippi, as he passed through the foyer. The dog nuzzled against his gloved hand, clearly enjoying the light scratch bestowed behind his ears before wuffling and settling back down to a nap before the fireplace. The prince was escorted into the comfortably furnished room and he admired the numerous books that lined the walls, stacked almost to the ceiling. His bright blue eyes moved about the room as Bodahn politely shut the door behind him. Sebastian didn't hear the soft sound of the door locking as his attention was absorbed in the perusing of interesting titles the Champion owned. The older dwarf placed the key in his pocket, patting it lightly and muttering to himself.

"I hope Serah Isabela is right in this. Ancestors know I would love to see a smile on Messere Hawke's face again."

Sebastian roved his fingers over the spines of several tomes. The atmosphere reminded him very much of the Chantry's library and he fondly recalled the days and weeks spent diligently copying parchments. Another memory surfaced, however, one that had taken place recently and his handsome face pulled into a frown.

_Hawke strode into the small workroom where he sat on one of the numerous benches, a quill poised in his hand and his back hunched over his work. Only a few more of these and he would be finished for the day. He was pleased at his progress and looking forward to the precious few hours before nightfall during which he could walk across Hightown to practice his archery in the small training yard the Chantry had for the Templars. Her hands slammed down on the table across from him, her eyes sparking like heat lightning in summer._

"_Why did you say it, Sebastian?" she growled at him._

_His eyes met hers briefly before traveling across her delicate features. She must have just gotten back from some other mission, as blood still caked her hardened leather breastplate and her bow remained strapped to her back. Her lovely face was impassive as always, but he could see the mask slipping just the tiniest bit. She was furious about something, anger bursting off of her in waves. Sebastian repressed a shudder at the passionate emotion that leaked into her melodious voice and danced behind her mercurial eyes. Maker help him, now was not the time for his thoughts to be traveling in that vein. He ruthlessly squelched the curl of masculine interest that snaked down his belly. _

"_Why did I say _what_, Hawke?" he replied coolly, lifting a brow to signify that he had no idea what she was talking about. They hadn't spoken in weeks, not since she had foolishly agreed to go with Merrill to Sundermount and speak to the demon that had tempted the young elf down the path of blood magic._

_Her hands curled around the edge of the table and in his peripheral, he saw the lean muscles of her arms flexing at the motion, her knuckles whitening. Her eyes had narrowed to slits and he fought down an urge to lean closer to her, to inhale the faint fragrance of raspberries that always seemed to waft around her. Andraste's mercy, but it was intoxicating when she brushed her hair back after a fight, the tangy aroma mixing sharply with the salty scent of sweat as she strode by him, the exposed skin of her thighs flashing under the leather pleats of her armor as her hips swayed so enticingly-_

"_Why did you have to say such an ugly thing to Merrill?" Her sharp words cut through his reverie like a dagger, snapping him back and mercifully ending that dangerous train of thought._

_His own gaze narrowed as righteous indignation curled his lip in a sneer._

"_Because it is the truth, Hawke. She is going to kill everyone she cares about if she keeps traveling down the path she is on," he replied, standing to brace his hands on the table._

_He was surprised when she leaned closer, the stoic mask finally removed as her full lips tightened into a white line, her eyes glinting dangerously, making something deep within him stir to life, something he had thought he had long since conquered._

"_It doesn't matter if it was true or not, you didn't have to say it to her. Maker's Breath, Sebastian, she hasn't stopped crying for days. And it isn't just because of the clan." Hawke's voice hissed out in a low tone, making his stomach do a strange flip at the huskiness of the notes._

"_It's also because someone she viewed as a close friend went and called her 'filthy' and then rejected her offer of healing on account of her magic might 'taint' him," she bit out, her voice jagged as serrated steel. He bit back another urge to come even closer to her, to entangle his fingers in the hair he imagined was as soft as it looked and pull her to him across the table._

"_I didn't say _she_ was filthy, I said her magic was. She's a kind girl and I'm sorry her feelings were hurt but she needs to understand-"_

"_Who in the thrice-blasted Void died and made you the Maker's right hand, Sebastian? What gives you the right to crush a person like that?" she asked harshly, cutting him off._

_A fire was starting to lick low in his abdomen as he stared into her flashing eyes, his disbelief at the audacity of her words mingling heatedly with a desire to see those clear depths clouding over with something even more powerful._

_His response was a growl._

"_I said what I thought, what I _know_, and if that damns me in your sight, then so be it," he ground out, his jaw tense, cerulean eyes unflinching under her furious glare._

_She didn't respond and their eyes locked for what seemed like an eternity. Perhaps he was seeing things, but he could have sworn hurt swirled in those crystalline depths before she jerked back and began towards the archway that led outside. However, she turned suddenly, hands whipping behind her as she pulled, strung, and let loose an arrow in one smooth motion. It landed, quivering, between his braced arms. He didn't bother to look down as her words raked over him cruelly. _

"_If this is how you treat friends - people who have tried to help you, who have stood by your side as you battled _your _demons - then don't look for me when you take back Starkhaven. I have no desire to be crushed under your boot, Your Highness," she said coldly._

_Without another word, she spun on her heel and was gone, leaving the prince frustrated in more ways than one as his gaze followed those swaying hips all the way out the door._

That had been months ago and he had heard little from anyone about Hawke, except for Fenris dropping by on occasion. They didn't always agree, either, but Sebastian knew the elf was genuine in his friendship. Through their conversations, he gleaned that Hawke had started spending more and more time outside the city, taking reckless chances and putting her life on the line for reasons that were entirely unworthy of her. He listened, offering a few words of comfort to the concerned man, but kept his own opinions to himself. If she wanted to throw away her life, it was her choice. She had walked out, not he; though a tiny part of him acknowledged that he had pushed her to it.

He let out a breath as he stared into the flames dancing in the fireplace, running a hand through the auburn waves of his hair. Maker, but she drove him insane. She had helped him without ever asking for anything in return; had fought his battles with him and had given no thought to it. He knew that she was a true and loyal friend, despite their differences of opinion. If only he could ignore the stirring in his blood every time he thought of her as easily as he was able to look past those dissimilarities to see the woman she truly was. Perhaps that was the entire problem; he saw her as a woman. "A desirable, practically delectable one at that," he thought, suppressing a shiver of desire. He may have decided to leave the Chantry, but he had still made vows to the Maker - vows he intended to keep as long as he could. If your word is worth nothing, then so are you. The teachings of his grandfather had been too deeply ingrained for him to just toss them aside.

And yet…

Shaking away his brooding musings, he moved to a table that had been set up nearby, filled with all kinds of delicious treats to entertain the senses. He nodded in approval. The Champion knew how to indulge her guests. It was nearly the end of autumn, but there were fruits, exotic and domestic, in large glass bowls; chocolates of every kind; sweet finger meats; wine; brandy - so many wonderful temptations. Selecting a plump, richly crimson raspberry - yet unwilling to examine his perhaps meaningful choice of food - he popped it into his mouth, savoring the burst of tang on his tongue. The berry was unusually sweet in its aftertaste, but it was certainly pleasant. He munched on another as he moved back to the books, determined to keep his mind off the beautiful rogue.

Unbidden, images wove their way into his thoughts as he swallowed the fruity delight and his gaze fell upon the wide, comfortable looking chair near the fire. It was upholstered in a rich green - almost like the color of her eyes when she was thinking of something especially mischievous, like kneeling between his knees as he sat in that chair, her naked breasts brushing his thighs as she took him into her mouth-

He shook his head. "Where had that thought come from?" he wondered as he placed another fruit in his mouth, the sweetness of the berry reminding him of her scent. He could see her in his mind's eye - long, gorgeous tresses tumbling across her body, brushing silkily against his bare skin as she leaned down to trace feather-light lips-

He shook his head again, trying to clear it. But it was as if a warm haze had settled over his mind, heating his blood as it thudded thickly in his ears. Slowly, he put another raspberry to his lips, and the taste exploded on his tongue. He could feel her slender hands running across his abdomen, down, down, to curl wickedly around him-

There was the sound of wood creaking and he dimly heard light footfalls on the stone steps leading up to the second floor of the study. His thoughts were lost in a whirlwind of lust even as he tried to pull himself out of it, attempted to think of anything else, to fight against the dull ache tightening in his groin.

"Sebastian?" Her soft voice pierced through the heated fog of his thoughts and he slowly turned around, every thought concerning resistance flying out of his head as the soft scent of raspberries flooded his nostrils. Oh, Maker, he was doomed...


	2. Chapter 2

Hawke gave Bodahn a curious look as she moved stepped into her bedchamber. He told her she had a visitor waiting in her study. She was mildly surprised. It was unlike her manservant to admit people into the house that didn't have some kind of appointment or who weren't one of her close friends. Still, she trusted the dwarf and let the concern melt away as she ran a brush through the mass of tangles in her hair. She would stay in her leathers - the armor form-fitting, but protective. It was best to always be a little cautious, especially since she had not been the wisest in her habits as of late. She blew out a breath of irritation as her thoughts wandered to the source of her woes. It wasn't the time to be thinking of him this early in the evening. She wasn't drunk enough. Intoxicated was about the only way she could cope with the cold hole that ached in her breast at the thought of the archer.

He had rejected Merrill's friendship when he had said those awful things to her, but what hurt the most was that he had rejected his relationship with Hawke in the process. Didn't he see it was pride that motivated his actions? Perhaps she was just feeling spiteful, but dammit, he had caused her more than her fair share of grief over the years and she was bloody tired of it. Not to mention the nights where his tanned, auburn-haired form performed wicked, wicked things to her in her sleep-

Best not to go there, she thought, giving herself a mental shake. She had enough troubles as it was. Pulling the thick strands of her hair into a loose ponytail and splashing cool water against her face, she glanced into her looking glass and nodded to herself with a pleased expression. She may not exactly fit the role of a noble, but she was clean. Tucking the hem of her trousers into her boots, she walked out of her room and over to a door that led to the second floor of her study. Opening the door with a quiet creak, Hawke breathed deeply. What was that delicious smell, overriding the more permeated scent of old books that usually wafted to her nose? With a shrug, she closed the door, unaware of the new mechanism that locked it from the other side behind her.

Softly, she tread over to the staircase and bit back a frustrated groan at the sight below her. Sebastian, the object of her constant aggravation, was standing facing the fireplace, his broad, armored back toward her. He didn't react to her steps and she tilted her head in curiosity. It wasn't like him to be so wrapped in his thoughts that he missed the sound of someone approaching from behind. As she got closer, she could see the tense set of his shoulders and became a little apprehensive. It would be like him to come here only to argue with her further about Maker knew what. She blew out another breath as she reached the final step.

"Sebastian?" she called softly, watching the tension in his body increase dramatically. A small niggling sensation of worry slipped through her already negative thoughts. He didn't seem to otherwise register that she was there, so she walked closer, stopping just a few steps from him.

"Sebastian? Are you alright?" she asked tentatively. Unusual for her, but his stillness was unnerving.

Finally, he turned to face her and her eyes widened in surprise at the heat of his gaze. His pupils were dilated impossibly large, and combined with his usually bright blue irises - which were darkened to a shade closer to midnight - his eyes appeared almost black.

"Hello, Hawke." His brogue-tinged voice slid her name off his tongue like it was a favorite candy and she suppressed a shiver.

The Prince's eyes traveled over her well-fitted clothes as if he was slipping the material off one by one with his gaze and she swallowed the lump that formed in her throat. Now she felt like _she_ was the candy as he licked his lips, heavy-lidded cerulean orbs darting back up to lock on her wide, clear ones. She gulped again, tearing her eyes away from his to move away, to get some space even though he was nearly across the room. She felt entirely too hot and the roaring fire did little to alleviate her discomfort. She wandered over to the table, turning her back to him abruptly, aware of his burning gaze following her every motion and trying to ignore it.

Silence hung thick in the air as she looked curiously over all the decadent food spread out, brows furrowing in confusion. What was going on here? She twisted around to face him again and ask the obvious question, but almost let out a yelp of surprise to find he wasn't there. With a quick step, she moved towards the door, intent on poking her head out to see where he had gone, but she didn't make it that far.

"Hawke," his voice purred from behind her as her hand landed on the knob, making her jump.

His larger gloved hand covered hers before she could react. She craned her neck to look back over her shoulder at him. His eyes were dark pools and she bit back the soft sound that was building in her throat at the hunger reflected clearly in their azure depths.

"Seb-" The rest of his name didn't make it past her lips as she was spun around, his movements so fast that she couldn't see them.

One hand caught her wrists, placing them high above her head, as the other braced against the door. One of his strong, muscular thighs slipped between hers to keep her off balance. The weight of his upper body had her pinned in place and she couldn't keep back the tiny gasp. He tilted his head as his gaze roved over her features, stopping on her mouth and staring intently.

She tried to find her voice, but it only came out in a husky whisper.

"Sebastian, what are you doing?"

"Hmm?" was the only reply she got, as his handsome face inched closer to hers, their lips mere centimeters apart. His unoccupied hand lifted from the wood of the door to trail idly against her flushed cheek, a small smirk curving his lips. She shuddered at the contact, his touch scorching through the leather of his gloves.

"I like it when you say my name like that, Hawke," he murmured, pulling off the thick glove with his teeth and discarding it before running the pad of his thumb across the petal softness of her lips.

"In fact," his breath fanned over her cheek, smelling of berries and something spicy as his mouth hovered over hers, "I want to make you say it over and over again."

Then his lips slanted across her own and she forgot how to breathe, let alone think. It was slow, teasing, but oh so erotic. His mouth glided silkily against hers, nibbling ever so softly on her lips before pulling back and then returning; a melding of lips so that she couldn't distinguish where one ended and the other began. Then his tongue was gliding against her bottom lip and she parted them in a small gasp before it delved in, sweeping across the honeyed cavern of her mouth. It retreated, expertly inviting her tongue to follow. Tentatively, she did, as his swirled gently around hers. A quiet moan escaped from her throat as she dipped into his mouth, tasting raspberry and something incredibly sweet.

Heat speared through her body at the flavor. She found she couldn't get enough of it, feeling a little bolder as the sugary taste burst against her tongue. He groaned against her lips as she plundered his mouth as he had hers, her back arching just a little as his fingers trailed electricity across the soft flesh of her neck, his thumb resting on the fluttering pulse of her throat. He pulled away, desperately needing air before nuzzling the sensitive skin just beneath her ear, making her eyes float shut.

"Hawke, do you know just how exquisite you smell?" His voice rumbled against the softness of her neck, the vibration of his lips there sending a heated shiver rocketing down her spine.

His lips dawdled lazily down the column of her neck, his tongue flicking out to tease at the smooth skin, causing her to let out a tiny mewling. He placed an open-mouthed kiss on her throat where the sound quivered. She was burning up, her skin feverishly hot as she panted lightly through parted lips, a dull ache beginning to throb deep in her core. He lifted his head to plant feather-light kisses along her jawline, returning to her lips hungrily.

"Do you know how long I've wanted to taste these lips? How they've teased me in my wanderings in the Fade?" he murmured against her mouth between languid, drugging, bone-melting kisses, his words lighting a licking flame in her blood.

"Sebastian," she breathed, tilting her head back to allow him to access the other side of her throat, her body undulating against his, making him growl as he pressed his lips against her collarbone. Maker, this was going to kill her, she knew it.

Hawke pulled at her trapped hands, wanting badly to touch him, to make him tingle as hotly as he was making her. He chuckled against her throat, lifting his head to once more meet her eyes in a searing glance that stole all the breath from her body.

"You want to touch me, Hawke? Perhaps, like this?" he purred as his hand caressed the curve of her waist, down to wrap it almost possessively around her hip, before traveling back up in a seductive line that caused her to lightly buck against him. The timbre of his voice was a deep baritone, the richness of his brogue a delight to her ears. She bit her lip against his sensual assault.

"Maker, but I love it when you do that," he breathed, lips finding hers again, his own teeth gently tugging the pink flesh from between hers to sip at it maddeningly. "You have no idea how much it tries my patience to watch you worry your lips when you think; how much it drives me crazy."

Oh, but she did. She'd never tell, but it was why she did it. Hawke could see the longing in his face when he thought she wasn't looking. She would add just a little more swagger to her normally graceful stride, taunting him mercilessly, because it was how she felt; taunted, teased beyond endurance with wanting what she thought she could never have.

"You didn't answer me, Hawke." His velvety voice beckoned her back to the present and she moaned quietly.

"Yes," she replied softly, and he released her hands, tugging off his other glove as he did so.

He touched her lips with his again, the kisses turning hungrier, fiercer, as his desire for her began to overwhelm him. She grasped his shoulders, desperate to have something to anchor her in the swelling tide of desire that was threatening to engulf her in its blazing wake. Her hands moved down, the sweet taste of his mouth on hers driving her need higher. She had to touch him, to feel him. Hawke fumbled at the fastenings to his glittering white armor.

His larger hands were wreaking havoc on her body, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her still-clothed breasts; flicking over the pebbled tips that he could feel through the leather; making him groan against her mouth passionately. Maker help him, but he wanted her; needed her. His manhood was heavy and thick in the tight confines of his small clothes and he slid his thigh higher between her legs, the heat of her making his hands flex in anticipation. Andraste, but if it felt this good now…the thought trailed off as her clever rogue fingers found the last clasp that held his breastplate to his chest and it thudded dully to the rug beneath their feet.

The chainmail shirt he wore quickly followed as she unfastened the ties and it fell to the floor with a chiming of metal rings. She tugged at the hem of his soft undershirt, moaning as her head tilted back when his wicked tongue traced the shell of her ear. Then her hands were ghosting up the bare skin of his chest and he shivered at her touch. Sebastian busied his own hands with untying the leather cords on the sides of her brigantine, humming in delight as the material fell from her body and he found nothing more than a breast band to inhibit his questing fingers. She was incredibly soft, her skin like silk beneath his calloused palms. He traced the curve of her upper body as he trailed blazing kisses down to the tops of the creamy slopes of her breasts. Her thumbs found his flat nipples, nails grazing lightly over the sensitive flesh. He lifted his head to growl out her name.

"Maker, Hawke, but you make me burn," he whispered hotly into her ear, relishing the soft sound that fell from her lips at his words. She was intoxicating and he couldn't get enough.

She pulled his shirt apart and pushed it off his broad shoulders, her hands tracing teasing, and dangerous, patterns across the muscles of his chest, questing lower. He braced his own hands back against the door, his eyes squeezing shut and bending his head to kiss a fiery path along her shoulder as she worked at the strap of his belt. He slithered a hand down to help her, tanned fingers finding and pressing the hidden button that released the buckle.

"Sebastian." She called his name huskily, making his manhood twitch. He smirked into the soft skin of her throat, loving the feel of her fingers sliding up his chest to stroke through his hair.

With a finger, he tugged down the band that kept her breasts hidden from his view, hissing in a breath between his teeth as he drank in the beauty of her. How often had he lain awake at night, imagining what color her nipples would be? They were a dusky rose and stiff from the attention that he had already given to her body. He lowered his head, his tongue darting out to flick against one rosy bud. She cried out, her back arching at the contact. Their hips met intimately at her action and the feel of her womanly heat pressing against the straining flesh of his manhood was just too much. With a swift motion, he pulled her from the door, his hands gripping her hips as his mouth worshiped her breasts - suckling them, nipping them, driving her desire higher and higher. She stepped out of her boots as they went, shimmying her hips against his as her trousers pooled on the floor and making him groan into her mouth. The sensation made her shudder with the power of it. He kicked off his boots blindly as he pressed her back, herding her towards his goal. As the softness of the plush rug in front of the fire met his bare feet, he swept her into his arms before laying her down on it.

He quickly shucked his leather trousers, pausing to stand over her and memorize her every curve; every hollow. Maker's Breath, but she was a beautiful sight. He drank her in like a drowning man. But his insistent body would tolerate no more delays. He knelt at her side, large digits stroking down her body to pull her smalls from her hips, revealing her fully to his heated gaze. He stretched out beside her, resting on one elbow as the fingers of his other hand combed through the curls at the apex of her thighs. He found the engorged bud of her womanhood and lightly circled it with his thumb, sliding his free fingers over the slick folds. She thrashed beneath his ministrations and he felt masculine pride swell at how she responded to his touch. He teased her, slipping the tips of those fingers inside her tight body and crooking them up; sliding out; repeating; drawing her further and further into a spiral of need and pleasure that left her breathless.

Certain she was ready for him, he easily tugged the strings of his smalls. The material discarded, he let out a breath of relief as his aching manhood was freed from its cloth prison. She stared down at him in wonder and he smirked, kissing her parted lips with a hunger that could no longer be denied. He pulled back, his lust-darkened eyes asking the question. Hawke found herself returning his smirk, running her hands down his body to curl her fingers around his length, caressing the head with a light pressure of her thumb. He jerked against her hand, letting out a guttural sound.

"If you do that again, love, I won't last," he gasped out in a strained voice. It had been a very long time since he had felt like this and it was going to be his undoing if she kept that up.

She relented and he settled between the cradle of her legs, the tip pressing against her wet heat insistently. She pressed a soft kiss to his lips as his hands grasped her hips and pulled her to him. He was drunk on desire, on the taste of her; the feel of her body against his as he slowly pushed inside her sheath. She cried out, the sensation of his pulsing manhood inside her blurring the line between pleasure and pain. With an effort, he stilled; despite the demands of his body telling him to move. He placed butterfly-light kisses across her cheeks and her closed eyes, determined to make the experience as wonderful as possible for her. He had to admit to himself as he waited for her body to adjust; he cared for her, deeply.

Hawke wasn't another in the nameless string of lovers. She was _his_ Hawke; his friend, his passion, his reason for being. The realization hit him with the force of a charging ogre and the warmth that burst in his chest made him gasp, even as it spread to fill his eyes with an emotion he had not ever dared to express to anyone. What shocked him more, as she rolled her hips, demanding that he move, was the same expression reflected in her gaze back at him. Sebastian couldn't help himself, grinning madly as he slanted his lips across hers; their kiss matching the tempo of their joined hips; a dance their bodies knew better than they did. His thrusts were slow and languid, filling her in an achingly teasing way that was making her steadily go mad. Hawke wiggled against him and he groaned into her mouth, finally speeding up. The cord that tensed low in her belly coiled tighter and tighter.

The wave crested and she was swept away in a mind-shattering climax that echoed through her body over and over. The slickness of her womanhood made Sebastian feel as if he would lose his mind with the exquisite pleasure of it. He felt the tension in his lower back, her hands everywhere as he braced above her. Then her short nails trailed across his shoulders and he lost all control, pounding into her body as his own release exploded through him, spilling into her and causing a second wave to crash over her as they spun over the pinnacle together.

Panting, he rolled to lie beside her so he wouldn't crush her with his weight. The euphoria slowly dissipated, but the warmth in his chest remained. He pulled her to him and she curled into his side, fitting there as if she were the final piece in the puzzle. He let his eyes drift closed, sending a prayer heavenward. She shifted against him, running lazy fingers in a circular motion across his abdomen. He cracked a cerulean eye to look over at her flushed features with a chuckle.

"Not sated, love?"

She smiled. "Not even for a lifetime, but I was wondering…why did you come to see me?"

He raised a brow, the pieces clicking into place swiftly. He was going to have to send that pirate a gift, though he doubted anything could match what he had received.

"I'll tell you later, love. For the moment-" He let his voice trail off as he pulled her on top of him, bringing her down for a kiss that soothed the aching, empty place in his heart.

A prince needed a princess and he was going to start treating her as such, even if he had to spend his entire life proving to her just how deeply she had been etched into his heart and his soul.

With luck, it was going to be a very long time, indeed.

Isabela leaned against a post near the bar of the Hanged Man, pulling a long draught from the rat-flavored whiskey bottle in her hand. Her golden eyes hovered on the door and her lips curved into a smirk as she saw Hawke and the Prince walk through, their fingers linked together as they moved through the crowded room. As they approached her, Sebastian's handsome face split into a wide grin that was almost goofy and the pirate had to fight back a laugh. Hawke was quiet, as usual, but she had a pleased expression on her face – serene, even.

"I take it you liked my little present?" Isabela asked as Hawke went to go find Varric, the archer's lips lingering in a soft kiss on the Prince's cheek.

The pirate's face was all innocence and Sebastian arched a brow.

"My dear Isabela," he drawled, his brogue like rough velvet and blue eyes twinkling, "it was hardly a small present."


End file.
