He didn't like to work in bed— bringing blighted ledgers and trade manifests into the bedroom felt too much like letting the Merchant's Guild literally fuck him over, and it usually made Hawke a tiny bit sulky. Tonight, though… shit, if he just worked at these figures a little longer, he might be able to make a dent in the hideous amount of paperwork that had started to backlog ever since Bartrand had begun featuring fondly in his elaborate revenge fantasies.
Just a few more pages, some contract revisions, and he'd sleep. Truly, this time.
"You missed a bit," Hawke murmured, nuzzling his shoulder and sounding at least half asleep, but somehow she was right. Flipping back a page, Varric bent down to press a kiss against the crown of her mussed chestnut hair.
"Thanks, babe." Keeping the inky end of his stubby quill away from his face, Varric pushed his glasses up with his knuckles, barely resisting the urge to just give up and sod the contract. Why in the Void did he give two shits whether or not the nobles in Orzammar were kept well stocked with pickled beets?
They paid in gold and precious gems. That was why he gave two shits.
"Mm, so dashing," Marian said softly, muffled against his skin, and a quick glance over confirmed she was looking up at him with soft, sultry eyes. "Scholarly, but sexy. Have I mentioned I love a man in spectacles?"
Lowering the contract onto his lap, Varric smiled a bit wryly, readjusting the thin brass frames resting on his nose. He didn't wear them often, unless he was hunkered down in the privacy of his rooms, and even then, only when the strain of tiny, cramped text became too much to bear. "Is that so? No, Beautiful, I don't think you've ever mentioned that particular fetish."
He could feel her mouth curve into a smile, pressed into his shoulder, and he may have squirmed just a little when one slender hand snuck up to card through his chest hair. Suddenly the contract, already overdue and a pain in his ass, seemed like it could definitely wait a bit.
The delight she took in fogging up his glasses was hilarious, and since it came with the added bonus of getting him smothered in long, languorous kisses, it was unquestionably a win. Having her pushing them up his face every time they slipped down his nose with sweat, and staring tenderly into his eyes as she came undone under him… well, that was very good too.
Waking up the next morning, Varric knew he'd have to redo at least half of the revisions— dark red ink was smeared over crumpled paper, even smudged onto the sheets in places— but holy shit, had it ever been worth it. Vanity be damned, he was never, ever squinting at his letters again.