The Blue-Eyed Monster

A Dragon Age Fanfiction by Lywinis

Sebastian looked up as the clatter on the staircase signaled Hawke's descent and nearly swallowed his tongue. The Champion of Kirkwall was clad in skintight leather trousers held up with what looked to be willpower alone. Her blue bodice was form-fitting, displaying her slender waist, and the white fencer's shirt she wore beneath it did little to hide the swell of her creamy breasts and the curve of her neck. Knee-high boots completed the effect, and she smiled at his expression in bemusement.

"Something wrong?" She glanced down at herself, totally unaware of the violent effect she was having on his body. He swallowed, feeling the rush of blood in his ears. Clearing his throat, he scrutinized her with new, hungry eyes. Andraste preserve him, but the woman was trying to kill him.

"Where are you going dressed like that?" He did the best he could to phrase it as a casual question. He grit his teeth, his jaw working overtime to keep him from darting across the room and pinning her up against the wall. She did not make it easy, either. She turned in a small circle, and he could see the swell of her buttocks as she moved, the muscles flexing. He swallowed again, his throat going dry.

"Isabela said that she was starting a game of Wicked Grace in the Hanged Man. 'Just us girls', she said, so Aveline and Merrill are coming too, I would imagine." She looked down at herself again, brushing a piece of imaginary lint from the front of her bodice. "I didn't want Isabela to spill wine on my robes again, and said so. She gave me this to wear instead. Do you not like it?"

"Isabela. Of course she would do something like this." Sebastian shook his head, trying and failing to repress the surge of jealousy that threatened to set him on fire.

"Now what do you mean by that?" Hawke's exasperation with him was giving way to irritation.

She crossed her arms, but all it did was draw his attention to her breasts again. He tried to control his breathing like he did when he was hunting, tried to draw on the inner calm that had served him well over the years as a Chantry brother, but it had fled with the inner flashing thought of someone coming up to her in the Hanged Man while she was dressed like that. Someone grabbing hold of her buttocks and squeezing as she shrieked in mock annoyance even as she glanced slyly over her shoulder at whoever had done it. Someone offering her a private drink and her taking them up on the offer. Men watching her. Lapping up the sight of her so exposed. Wanting her.

Mental images of her leaning back into the offending hand and whispering something sensual into the ear of the man who dared – faces flashed before the normally reserved man, each adding to the knot of anger that was building in his stomach. Each scene was worse than the last, the prince quickly running the gamut of the regulars at the Hanged Man and finally coming to rest on their companions, the ones closest to Hawke and the ones most likely to have something to gain from this.

Fenris, the Tevinter slave that had become close to her, offering her a sip of Aggregio Pavali from his own goblet, holding it to her lips as the red wine overflowed her soft mouth and dripped onto the pale swell of her breasts. The elf in his head bent to lick the drops up with his wicked tongue, and Sebastian banished the thought with a mental growl. The scene swapped to Anders, taking her upstairs and brushing her soft bare skin with little crackles of magic that made her arch into the apostate with abandon, tugging his hair as she responded with small cries of lust. Next was Varric with his clever tongue and outlandish stories, whispering in her ear as she draped herself over his lap, the chair big enough for both of them to share as she ran her hands through his chest hair, dropping small kisses on the dwarf's collar bone as he ran one of his hands up her thigh. Isabela plying her with drink until Hawke could barely stand, and taking advantage of her in one of the inn's back rooms, the smuggler had just been waiting for this moment, he knew it –

"Isabela is my friend, and I don't think she meant any kind of insult by letting me borrow some clothes! What has gotten into you?"

You have. You've gotten under my skin and now you're Fade-bent on driving me insane and making me old before my time. He realized his hands were balled into fists, the nails nearly breaking the skin as he struggled to maintain control.

Their relationship had taken a strained turn; his vows to the Chantry had forsworn him from any woman, no matter how much he desired her. And he desired her. He had expected her to move on, to fall in lust with some other man and leave him in the Chantry, but even after she had returned from the Deep Roads, she had haunted a pew and his thoughts. He had welcomed her presence, even as he had prayed nightly to Andraste to forgive him for taking such simple pleasure in seeing her smile at him. He had gotten in too deep, he knew, because he had found himself standing in the foyer of the Amell home one too many times, his arms full of books he knew she hadn't read yet. Now was just such a time, but it had finally stretched him to the breaking point.

"Sebastian!" Hawke's voice was a bark of anger. Cambert, the Mabari hound that usually dozed near the fire, sat up with a start and gave an uncertain growl. She shushed him with a slight movement of her hand, and the dog laid his head back down, ears pricked forward and alert.

"I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade, for there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light. And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost." Sebastian hadn't even realized he was doing it, but he murmured the verse over and over as he fisted his hands in his hair, trying to quell the jealousy and anger that had reared up and bitten him hard. Who was he to lay claim to her?

But the Maker knew he wanted to.

Since he had first seen her, his eyes followed the apostate as she walked across the Chantry to greet the High Cleric, waited with eager anticipation for when Hawke would come and sit beside him as he copied translated manuscripts into something that the printers would be able to reproduce. He had blotted many pages on accident for his wandering eyes, but he had never minded when she sat next to him and helped him work, their soft speech cutting through the hush of the workroom and dispelling the loneliness for a few hours until she had other errands elsewhere.

Now it was all about to shatter, because he was jealous of someone even thinking about her that way when he couldn't.

He didn't even realize that she was next to him until she laid a hand on his arm, causing him to jump. Her face was worried, and well she should be, because he had never acted this way towards her before. He drew a jerky, ragged breath, trying to calm himself.

"Sebastian, please, tell me what's got you in such a state. Whatever it is, I'm sure I can help."

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "It's nothing."

"Obviously it's not if it bothers you enough for you to start spouting the Canticle of Trials at me. Sebastian, look at me." She shook his shoulder when he didn't respond.

He finally brought his eyes to her, and her concern for him finally caused his willpower to crumble. His hands came up of their own accord, his fingers twining into Hawke's short hair as his trembling mouth slanted over hers. Hawke made a noise of surprise against his lips, and she stiffened.

He pulled back, his hands leaving her hair only reluctantly. He hung his head in shame at his weakness.

"That's what this is about." The tone of Hawke's voice held a note of amusement, and it sent a jolt of anger through him. She found this funny? His head snapped up as his face darkened in anger.

"What do you mean?" His voice was clipped and harsh now, his temper provoked.

"Sebastian, you're jealous? Of Isabela? Really?" she shook her head, giving a small chuckle. "Not that she hasn't tried, but she's really not my type. I don't think you should worry about me so much."

"Andraste have mercy. Have you seen the way they look at you?" Sebastian ground the words out through his teeth. "You might be oblivious, but I am not. I am a man, like any other, and I am not immune to it either. That I see you and think of such things makes me shudder to think what others would do because they do not know the discipline I do."

"Yes, because kissing me and then being holier-than-thou about your restraint shows you have great discipline. Sebastian, please stop it. I'm telling you that you have nothing to worry about." Hawke's voice was not annoyed, but it held a tinge of exasperation in it that made him feel like a child being petulant about sharing his favorite toy, and it only angered him more.

His lips curled up in a sneer. "Because you can handle yourself, I know. Did you ever think that maybe I didn't ask to be jealous? That I've tried so hard to avoid becoming…attached to you so that I could maintain my vows? To have you waltzing into the Hanged Man when I know you are dressed like that would unman me. I would have to kill them all to keep them from laying a hand on you."

"Who are you to tell me how I can dress? Since when have you had a claim on me?" Hawke's voice took an incredulous tone as her brows drew down into a scowl. "You don't own me."

She turned on her heel to march out the door, but Sebastian grabbed her arm and spun her back around to face him. The crackle of lightning at her fingertips signaled a warning, but he ignored her display of power. At this point, he was too embroiled in his own anger to care. He brought his face close to hers, bright blue eyes boring into green, close enough that he could taste the breath they shared.

"I forbid you to walk out that door in those clothes. Maker help me, but I will do something drastic if you try."

She snorted, jerking her arm out of his hand. "You forbid? You sodding arrogant prig. I'd like to see you stop me." She moved to the door again, only to yelp in surprise as she was lifted like a sack of grain and tossed over his shoulder. Cambert gave a whuff of disapproval, but Sebastian turned to the hound, his gaze stern.

"I did warn her. Forgive me, but your mistress needs to be disciplined." Cambert wagged his tail and laid his head back down, content to resume his nap. He was convinced he had to be dreaming. He had never expected to act like this. In moments, he would wake in the Chantry, swollen and aching and unable to fulfill this fantasy, so he might as well enjoy it while he could.

"Sebastian Vael, you put me down right now! I swear I will set you on fire! Put me down this instant! Bodahn!" He was aware of her fists on his back, rather ineffectual at best, as he carried her across the small reception area to the stairs.

She was still cursing and struggling, making her harder to hold onto than her would like. He swatted her rump with the flat of his hand and was rewarded with an indignant cry as his palm connected with the seat of her trousers. He let his hand linger there a moment before beginning to climb the stairs, Hawke's struggling not bothering him much. His upper body was corded with muscle from drawing heavy bowstrings for years, and the slight apostate was not a heavy burden.

"Bodahn and Sandal are out doing the shopping, remember?" His voice was light, as if chastising a forgetful initiate. "Besides Cambert, we're alone here."

"Sebastian, I'm warning you – " Her threat was cut off with a cry as he swatted her again. He crossed the threshold of her bedroom and kicked the door shut with a booted heel before he set her on her feet.

She promptly slugged him in the jaw. His head rocked back, but he just smiled at her and locked the bedroom door. She did have a decent right hook; he rubbed his jaw absently. Well, that proved he wasn't dreaming at least. He wasn't sure if he should be happy about that or not, but he had been pushed too far, and he was stubborn enough to hold his ground.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" She was genuinely angry now. Lightning danced across her skin as she tried to control her emotions. "You have no right – "

"I have every right. You provoked me and would not heed my warnings. I told you I would do something drastic." His voice was still light and chastising, and it made her swing her fist at him again. He caught it easily, along with the other as she tried to free herself. Spinning her around so that he could press her into the door, he kissed her so roughly that their teeth clicked together in a moment of carelessness.

She struggled, her whimpers serving as a balm to his pride. He continued the bruising kiss, melding his body to hers as he held her hands above her head to keep her from getting free. He released her mouth, reluctant but in need of air. His breathing was coming in shaky gasps and he knew he had lost his mind. He rested his head against the door next to hers for a moment before looking into her face.

Her lips were swollen from his kiss, and she was worrying her lower lip in between her teeth. He used his other hand to tip her chin up so he could taste her lips again. He was gentler this time, pressing small kisses to the corners of her mouth and trailing them along that bruised lower lip, an apology for the necessary roughness. To his surprise, she began to respond, a small breathy sigh that sent a jolt of desire straight to his belly. He deepened the kiss, his tongue tracing her lips and causing her to let out a whimper. He took advantage of the moment and delved into her mouth, his own groan swallowed by her warmth. He broke the kiss and rested his forehead to hers, both of them breathing heavy.

"Don't you see? I could not bear to have them look at you, touch you, not when I couldn't." His free hand traced over the curve of her jaw, and she leaned her face into his hand, following his caress.

He released her hands, and she laced her fingers in his hair, the pads of her fingertips sending a delicious thrill down his spine.

"There were better ways to tell me," she said. Her eyes were half lidded and he saw a heat there that made his blood roar into his ears as he felt himself twitch against his trousers.

"I could just show you, instead." He brought his hands up and cupped the back of her head, bringing her mouth to his. Her fingers tightened in his hair, causing him to growl and press his body against hers in unconscious possession. She moved her hands from his hair to the ties on her bodice, but he pushed them away, breaking the kiss so he could concentrate on what he was doing.

One hand slid from her hair to the knife at his belt and with a deft movement, he slit the laces of the bodice she wore, the ribbons parting like water under the sharp blade. He tossed the dagger to the side with a clatter and pushed the sleeves of the bodice away, his fingers parting the open fencer's shirt she wore to expose her shoulders. His mouth moved from her lips to her jaw, placing feathered kisses there as he marveled at how soft her skin really was. The scent of honeysuckle wafted up to him from the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Perhaps it was perfume, perhaps it was just Hawke, he couldn't tell. He gave an audible groan and attacked the spot, nipping and sucking on the skin there, making her writhe and tug his hair again. He passed his tongue over the spot, pleased to see it would leave a mark.

"I am going to mark you, sweetling. No man or woman will be able to look at you without knowing you belong to me." He murmured these words against her skin, knowing she could hear him by the goose bumps that raced across the flesh of her shoulders. Her breath quickened as he licked the spot again, tasting her soft skin that was his to explore.

He tugged the shirt farther down, effectively trapping her arms at her sides for the moment but freeing her breasts for his perusal. His lips traced down her sternum between the two creamy mounds and she shuddered. His hands, rough from his practice with bow and blade, cupped her breasts. He rolled his thumbs over both of the nipples, pleased to hear a gasp from Hawke as the skin pebbled beautifully. He bent his head to suckle one side, his thumb and forefinger giving the other ample attention.

Hawke was squirming, trying to free her hands. A low keening noise was coming from her in short bursts, and it only served to drive Sebastian on. He laved her nipple with his tongue, his teeth scraping gently over the skin. Hawke arched into him, breathless, and he cupped the other breast in his hand, squeezing as his thumb traced a circle around the already overheated flesh.

He blew a gentle breath on her glistening skin, his eyes on her face. She let her head drop back, her eyes closing as the back of her head met the door with a low thump. He was pleased with the blush that had made its way across her feverish skin, and he traced it with his fingers as he moved to her other breast with due diligence. She was squirming against him, and her hips bucked into his with delicious friction. A gentle nip and she gasped, her lower lip between her teeth again as her eyes squeezed shut.

"You have no idea how many times I saw this in my thoughts," he said, bringing his lips back to the delicate shell of her ear and tracing it with his tongue. His voice was a low rumble in his chest, and he could see that it was having just as much an effect on her as his tongue. She sagged against the door as he spoke. "I ache for you, sweetling. I ache to explore you and touch you."

His hands gripped her rump as he spoke, drawing her up against him so that she could feel his arousal. She took the opportunity to press a kiss just under his earlobe, her tongue darting out to taste the skin there. A low growl coursed through his chest as he reflexively tightened her against him, his hands kneading at her flesh.

"Free my arms, Sebastian," she whispered, wriggling against him. "This isn't fair."

He chuckled. "I told you that you were being punished. I'll think about it."

She made a frustrated sound, nipping at his neck. He clucked his tongue at her, smirking at her impatience.

"I'll free you when I'm ready, and not a moment before, sweetling. Why, if I let you go now, you'd scurry off and I would lose my chance." His hands roamed her back, fingertips tracing the spine. He kept speaking, interspersing words with kisses to her shoulders, throat, and breasts.

"I keep seeing you with them, seeing you in their arms, and it drove me mad. My imagination is quite the active one. Fenris spilling wine on you, leaning in to lick it off of these perfect breasts – " he drew his tongue over the top of one of her breasts, eliciting a hissing intake of breath from Hawke. He could tell she was seeing what he was describing to her in her mind, and he kept going.

"Anders took you upstairs at the Hanged Man. He used his magic to make you wild and wanton for him. I can't use magic, but I bet I can get the same reaction." His left hand slid down her front, skimming past the juncture at her thighs lightly enough to make her twitch and thrash her head back and forth. "Mmm, yes, I thought so." The hand brushed back up, and she whimpered.

"I even considered Varric at one point. He has a clever tongue, and I could see you draped across his lap like a prize. The way his hands ran up your thigh made me itch." His knee pushed her legs apart gently, and he grabbed her thigh, hoisting it up around his waist as he pressed into her, grinding his hips into her. She gasped, her hips rising to meet his, and he groaned in response.

"But do you know what's best?" he asked after his heart stopped hammering in his chest. She shook her head, and he chuckled.

"You're mine, and I intend to let them know it. All the things they would like to do to you, I will. I will mark you with my mouth and my hands, as you have marked me." He pressed her against the door, his lips claiming hers again as she squirmed beneath him with want, whimpering into his mouth as his hold on her thigh loosened.

"Say it," he murmured into her ear as he traced kisses up her jaw. "Say you're mine. Tell me you belong to me."

"Sebastian…" Her breathing was ragged, her breasts heaving against the simple linen shirt he wore.

"Say it," he growled.

"I'm yours." Her hips rocked forward into his.

With a single jerk, he tore her shirt down the center, freeing her arms. Her hands came up and buried themselves into his hair, tugging him down to her willing mouth. The torn shirt dropped at her feet, forgotten. He lifted her against the door of her room, his mouth crushed to hers. A small tingle started at the base of his skull and arced down his spine, causing his already aching loins to jerk. He bit his tongue in surprise and looked at Hawke who smirked at him. She pulled on his hair, and he growled, turning with her wrapped around his waist to take her to the bed.

He didn't make it that far. There was a soft rug made of sheepskin by the fireplace, and he knelt there instead, laying her down. Flickering shadows played over her body and he tugged on her boots, yanking on them so that he could get at her trousers to peel them off. She did the same for his shirt, tugging it over his head and tossing it aside. His boots and trousers were discarded in short order, and he knelt before her, his palms stroking down her ribcage as tiny arcs of lightning danced across her skin.

His left hand swept down her thigh as his right splayed strong, square-tipped fingers across her pale belly. He marveled at the difference – his hands, large, sun-browned and rough met with smooth skin that rose in goose bumps wherever his touch passed. She shuddered, wiggling under his touch as she fisted her hands in the rug at her sides. Her hips bucked upward as she moaned low in her throat, and he traced a line from her belly to her nethers. His pulse sped up at the heat she radiated, her smalls already soaked with her need, and he undid the ties.

"I never told you about Isabela," he said, his fingers tracing her outer folds. Her breath caught at his touch and she stiffened, her legs trembling. "I considered all the possibilities, you know. She may not be your type, but enough wine…"

His lips met the inside of her knee, a trail of kisses that led up her thigh to her center. He paused, his lips inches from her sex, and met her eyes, Hawke lifting her head at his insistent murmur.

"I saw her on her knees before you," he said, knowing she could feel his breath on her skin, knowing it was hot and maddening. "She worshipped you. You commanded her tongue and she was helpless to do anything but obey."

She squirmed, a low keen in her throat. His eyes remained locked on hers, blue on green.

"However, you are not hers. You are mine." And then his tongue was there and her moan turned into a wail that sounded like his name. Hawke went wild. Her hands were in his hair, her nails were in his shoulders and she tasted so sweet. Sebastian savored her, taking his time before he placed tender kisses there, his hands pinning her hips so she couldn't wiggle away from him.

"Sebastian! Please!" She was sobbing with her need, and writhing beneath him. He nearly took the time to be smug about it, until she sat up and fisted a hand in his hair, her kiss mingling her flavors in his mouth as another small shock rippled through him.

He pushed her onto her back and growled, biting at her neck as he freed himself from his smallclothes. Flesh pressed against flesh and he paused. She whimpered and tried to scoot forward, but his hand stopped her.

"Say it." The phrase was a command, but she obeyed without question this time.

"I'm yours, Sebastian." It was a plea, and he answered, sinking deep into her, the ache in his loins nearly sated by the wholeness of her. She was heat and electricity and the scent of honeysuckle, and the sensation made him feel drunk as he began to move.

Her nails drew a line of fire down his back as her hips rose to take him deeper and he surged forward, setting a fierce pace. In truth, it had been so long he did not think he would last as it was. Hawke met his strokes with a rhythm of her own, her muscles clenching about him as she trembled and gasped. Her voice was in his ear, calling his name, and he felt his own release upon him at the sound. He spilled himself inside her with a groan; she replied with a sob, trembling around him. He balanced himself precariously on his forearms for a moment, trying to recover enough sense to move. He felt her chest heaving beneath him, and he placed small kisses on her collarbone and the corners of her lips.

He rolled to the side, pulling her against him in the same movement. She fit into the crook of his shoulder as if she had been made for it, and he had to wonder at the truth of it. He was still trying to figure out if he would wake in his bed at the Chantry, but he pressed a kiss to the top of her head and settled into the boneless sensation washing over him at the moment. He would worry about it later.

This was more important.

Isabela sat drinking at her favorite table. Wicked Grace had been an amusing distraction last night, and the absence of Hawke had left everyone else distracted enough to where she had made a killing. Varric was seated across from her, his feet propped up on the table as he paged through his accounts.

Late afternoon sunlight slanted across their table as the door opened, admitting none other than the Champion of Kirkwall. She wore a high-necked robe that Isabela had never seen before, but the smuggler was much more interested in how the woman moved. Hawke walked with a gait that Isabela had seen before, and she noted with amusement that Varric had noticed too. The pages of his account book had stopped rustling as the dwarf cocked an eyebrow at the unusually content Hawke.

Hawke reached for the pouch at her belt and pulled out her purse. She carefully counted out ten gold sovereigns and stacked them in front of Isabela without a word. She laughed, her voice cutting across the late risers who had stumbled into the bar for some hair of the dog, and winces were had all around.

Hawke's smirk spoke volumes. "I might have lost ten sovereigns, but it still feels like I came out on top." She turned and ambled out of the bar, the smirk still plastered on her face.

Isabela chortled in delight as she held her hand out, palm up, in front of Varric. He rolled his eyes and dropped a pouch of coin in her hand.

"Told you."

The End

A/N: This was another fill for the kinkmeme. "Lady Hawke is going out for a girl's night with the other lady party members, but she chooses something... Provacative... To wear. Seb's immediately angry at the thought of other men advancing on her(Or women, who knows!) a more possessive side of him shows up." Possessive!Sebastian is so easy to write it's criminal. And now he won't go away! Anyway, you can have this. :D Hope you liked!