A/N: Okay, I'm giving in to peer pressure. This one is smutty. For real. If you object, please move along before even getting started. If you like, well, I do have more of this sort of story posted elsewhere so you may want to find your way to my profile and check out my link to affn. This was written for a kink meme prompt asking for authors to expound on this little tidbit: David Gaider, "Actually… we almost did slip something in there. We mentioned having the interrogation end with Varric meeting back up with Hawke and explaining that he'd told them everything. 'Everything?' 'Don't worry. I skipped the part about us…'" So here's my interpretation. Remember, smutty.
Disclaimer: I don't own Dragon Age or any of its characters. I make no profits.
It was a cave. In the wilderness. And Varric hated the wilderness. Come to think of it, caves weren't so great either. But at least this one was shallow and dry, little more than a weathered niche carved into the foot of a cliff, certainly not one of the more treacherous examples of the genre. The caves he really hated were the nasty ones that delved ever down (into spider territory) following the old mine shafts where slaves had labored until health and life were spent. Or until they'd been pushed one by one into a pit of hungry dragons. That was always a cheerful story.
Huh. As if he hadn't done more than enough storytelling lately.
Truth be told, he might not even have minded so much if this were one of the nasty caves that ended in spiders. Or a freaky shrine. Or a full brigade of tal-vashoth, armed to the horns, washboard abs gleaming in torchlight as their spears drew ever closer.
Okay, maybe not that last one.
But for the first time in months, Varric really did feel again as if he could take on any danger. And he felt that way because Marian Hawke was here with him. After far too much time apart. After his having been locked away—well, no, he wasn't even going to think about that story. Not yet anyway. He'd said as much to Hawke as soon as he'd found this place of appointed rendezvous and she'd emerged from the shadows to pounce on him in what might best have been described as two parts frenetic embrace, one part determined attempt to inspect every inch of his exposed skin for injuries.
She was such a sweetheart.
"I can't talk about it yet," he'd said, referring to his weeks in captivity to the Chantry seeker and her blighted little cohort of lackeys. Lackeys with uncomfortably hard fists, some of them. "Just know that I told them everything."
"Everything?" she'd asked, one incredulous eyebrow lifting. "You mean, everything everything?"
"Well, no. Don't worry. I skipped the part about us. That seemed wise, since I didn't particularly relish the prospect of being used as bait."
"Did they hurt you?" she'd asked.
"Roughed me up. Sure," he'd said. "Nothing too bad. But those filthy nug-humpers scratched Bianca." And then he'd sat down and shown Hawke all the places where his beautiful girl was now damaged. So, yeah. No way was he about to let them touch his other beautiful girl.
But wouldn't you know it, she tried to weasel the story out of him anyway. And, come to think of it, his tongue did feel a little looser now that they sat side by side with a warm fire in front of them, a meal in their bellies, and a few hot sips of whiskey shared between them from her flask.
"So what did you tell this charming Seeker if not about us? Surely she wondered about—private aspects of my life."
"Oh, she was very curious about your—ahem—private aspects." That earned him a swift chuckle and a playful punch on the shoulder. Varric's straight-faced delivery twitched into a smile. "I may have exaggerated or, well, fabricated a few things here and there… as a storyteller is wont to do."
Hawke's eyes narrowed, but she was smiling as she ran a teasing finger along the strong, stubbled line of Varric's jaw. "When you say fabricated and private aspects, do you mean oh, yeah, that Hawke chick has three tits, I solemnly swear or… am I going to start hearing filthy rumors about how I've been sucking Fenris' glowing blue cock for the past several years?"
"Uh, no," Varric said, licking his lips and watching Hawke's fingers trail downward, angling towards chest hair. "Not the elf. He—let's see, how did it go—he stormed off and left you after some post-coital quarrel about his memories. That was also after you stole a night of pleasure from Daisy before you broke her tender heart like vicious little harpy you are. So… Anders? Oh, that's right. Blondie's got the glowing blue cock you might hear a rumor or two about. You sucked that one for longer."
"Oh, Maker." Her fingers paused in their slow whorls through chest hair.
"Convoluted, I know," he said. "In the end you ran off with Isabela. She seemed like the most realistic option given your filthy proclivities."
"A fair trade, I suppose," Hawke said as she considered this last point, her fingers resuming their gentle circles. "Isabela is, at least, as frisky as my dwarf. But I would certainly miss your private aspects." As if to prove her point, Hawke's other hand slid along the cloth of his tunic, downward until, reaching its hem, she lifted it and slipped her hand down the front of his trousers. "I'd miss them terribly," she said, a plaintive note rising to her voice as Varric's cock hardened in her grasp.
"Mmm," he said, which was about as articulate as he could manage at the moment. Not entirely bad for a man who hadn't felt his lover's touch for far too many months. He undid his belt for her, then lowered the waist of his trousers and smalls, freeing those private aspects Hawke had so much longed for. He felt his balls draw upwards as cool air hit them. The warmth and comfort of the Hanged Man would have made a nicer venue, but all things considered, it was hard to complain.
Hawke's hand encircled him and she tugged gently upward, massaging his length, rubbing his pliant foreskin up and back to hide his broad head, then reveal it again. She smiled as she watched her work, biting her lip as if lost in the delight of her own private musings. Varric groaned with the pleasure of it, his shoulders relaxing more deeply against the wall of the cave. He caught Hawke's eye and nodded once suggestively.
The Champion accurately interpreted his wordless suggestion and, best of all, she followed it. She usually did, in sex no less than whilst adventuring. That was, after all, one of the reasons they'd always gotten along so well. She liked his ideas. And, oh, by the blighted Ancestors, he absolutely adored hers, despite how crazy they often were. Completely batshit, some of them. But that wasn't always a bad thing, at least in the bedroom.
Or the cave, as it were.
Hawke's leggings and smalls were off and away before Varric could blink three times. And then she was straddling him, lowering her hot, welcoming pussy onto the length of his cock. It took a bit of effort, but the coupling was at last achieved thanks to a clever finger or two of Varric's, reaching out both to hold his woman open and to borrow a bit of her slick, which he used to coat himself before pressing his beautiful, thick cock upwards. Hawke's body opened and gradually she took him all in.
At long last, Varric was joined with her, thrust deep and full inside her. And the smile he raised to Hawke was grateful, loving, lusty. He'd waited long for this and he'd guarded his memories carefully. All the nights and days spent losing himself with Hawke (and in Hawke) had been so perfectly excised from the tale he had woven. In the most desperate moments of his imprisonment, he'd almost begun to doubt she'd ever been his at all. Maybe the stories he'd told to Cassandra were the only truth. And Hawke was pining for Fenris, stringing Merrill along with sweet words, going at it filthy and hard as Isabela rode her, or smoothing the hair along Anders' brow as he stood up for what he thought was justice, his woman at his side.
But no. Those were the stories, weren't they? And the truth was here, where Hawke was, happily bound to the dwarf she loved. Varric's woman all over again.
Hawke began to move her hips, rolling them, rising along his length, then settling down to fill herself with him time and again. "I missed us," she said. "I was afraid I'd never see you again."
"I'm here," he said. "I'm right here."
Hawke dove down to kiss him, her open mouth demanding that he drink her in, taste her, claim her with the firm insistence of his own mouth and his far too clever tongue. Oh, how much he had missed her. It was hardly fair that he should need this woman so much. But he did. And he wasn't complaining.
Hawke's body was infinitely familiar. Its muscles and rhythms and strokes were old friends of his and he was so very glad to renew their acquaintance. Varric guided her hips as she rode him. He drew her pleasure out, built her up slowly until the pressure of his cock against smooth and shuddering muscle was simply too much and the desperate pulse of her orgasm burned through her nerves from cunt and clit all the way up to the back of her neck, which arched away from him as she cried out for her Maker and her man.
He flipped her onto her back, her legs spread for him, her thighs resting against his arms and torso, her feet in the air. He fucked into her as hard and deep as he had imagined all those lonely nights of his inquest. And in the end it was her chorus of yes and more and Varric, oh VARRIC, I love you that saw him safely home.