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A Perfect Fit	By : KyeShgall Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 4243 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Dragon Age nor any of its characters. And, of course, I make no profits. (That would be Bioware.)

Chapter List
- 1-A Perfect Fit
- 1
Hawke was experienced enough with men to know one thing for certain: if she wanted to get off, she’d have to take matters into her own hands—literally. She liked sex—an awful lot, in fact—but the best she’d ever had of it was with no partner but herself, her own two hands, a vivid imagination, and the occasional discarded potion bottle all cleaned up and ready to be pressed into… service.
Men just weren’t very adept. That was the problem. For the past several years, she’d simply given up on them. Possibly her resignation to a manless existence also had to do with the fact that her last man had expired rather horrifically in a fresh pool of his own blood and viscera. Oh, yes, Ostagar had been a real theater of delights. And though she’d wanted to save her hapless rogue of a lover from Ostagar’s more gruesome of exit strategies, she’d chosen not to. Because doubling back for him would have meant darting away from Carver for a minute, which was long enough to break the solemn vow she’d made to her mother that she would not leave her brother’s side ever, at all, and no matter what, so as to bring him home alive and in one piece.
Or Maker help you, Marian, don’t come back at all.
This was the same brother who had fled Ostagar safely in her shadow only to venture forth and die a week later with his skull bashed in, its contents smeared across rock and dirt like some pitiful ruined calabash bounced from a cart at harvest.
Bitter much?
No, of course not. She just hadn’t wanted anything to do with men lately. Not in that way. And now that lately was stretching on towards four full years, she’d even started to think she was done with them forever. And despite Isabela’s best attempts to convince her otherwise, she still wasn’t much interested in taking up with women.
Since the prospect of being alone struck her as sad and pathetic, not long after the Deep Roads expedition she had happily upgraded her love life by giving up empty potion bottles in favor of the twisty little glass dildo she’d purchased on a whim at the Darktown emporium, the one that catered only to invited customers. That had been an exciting day. She’d never owned a real dildo before and this one was everything that a man was not: perpetually hard, cool, smooth, and never sticky or messy or smelly. Compact glass dildo or “Alden” —which may or may not have been the given name of a certain dead rogue she hadn’t saved because of Carver—was the best lover a lady could want.
But tonight sweet, inanimate Alden was in for some competition. Because tonight Marian Hawke was going to get laid, once again, by a real man. And she was actually nervous about it. She hadn’t done this is in a really long time. And the last time—which may or may not have been with Alden-the-glass-dildo’s namesake—had actually been pretty lackluster. It didn’t help that the man who was coming to see her tonight seemed so self-assured and nonchalant about the whole thing that she couldn’t help but feel like a blushing virgin in comparison. Because she liked him. Really liked him. Well, no, in fact, she loved him, but that was different. She loved him because he was her dearest friend, not because she was in love with him. That would have been ridiculous.
About as ridiculous as him coming over to her place for sex, actually.
Crap. How had she gotten herself into this mess, anyway?
Oh, right. Sebastian and the house of horrors. A real house of horrors, too, not the sort that the townsfolk used to set up in Lothering to scare all the little ones at harvest festival. From the outside, the Harriman estate was no different than every other respectable Hightown mansion, but its inhabitants were all overcome by demons of varying proclivities and locked within waking nightmares of their minds’ own making.
The thing that had really scared her—all demons aside—was Varric’s reaction to the drunken woman they’d encountered. Sebastian had identified her as Flora Harriman and she was intent on sucking the wine barrels dry. Varric had made some all-too-knowing comment about the things that happen to children in households like these. And then he’d laughed it off, but a mood had settled on him unlike any other she’d ever seen. She thought it worse than the murderous rage he’d exhibited in the wake of his brother’s betrayal—if only because she’d shared whole-heartedly in every bit of that rage against Bartrand. Instead, this bleak mood of his was a beast she couldn’t fathom.
It bothered her so much that she considered telling Sebastian to fuck off and solve his own problems so that she could escape to the Hanged Man and just sit beside Varric until whatever this was went away again. That’s what good friends did, after all. But despite her flippant bearing, Hawke was a woman who kept her promises—for the most part. She refused to abandon what she’d started—even if it was only started by the misplaced honor of a testy acquaintance like Sebastian—so she stifled her objections and with one final concerned glance in Varric’s direction, continued further into the twisted heart of the mansion.
When they came to a bedroom with a half-naked human man being fellated by his elven lover, Sebastian’s jaw dropped in absolute horror. And then, of all things, he’d apologized to Hawke personally—as if he had been responsible for staging the entire scenario. As if her eyes were somehow too innocent to handle the sight of swollen lips and swollen member joining.
“Oh, get over yourself,” she’d said to Sebastian. “It’s not like I’ve never sucked a cock before.”
As soon as she’d said it, she felt a twinge of regret. Because, judging by the truly mortified look on Sebastian’s face, the poor man might actually have soiled himself.
Varric found it hilarious. He’d laughed long and deeply and, by the end of it, his somber mood was broken like some curse that Hawke alone had mastered.
As if to confirm that exact theory, Varric had nudged her and whispered. “Have I ever told you how much I love you?”
And then she had laughed, not because his words struck her as funny, but because that’s just what she did whenever he said something even remotely flirtatious.
“Is that all I had to do to win your love?” she’d asked. “Scandalize a Chantry boy? Wish I’d known sooner. I’d have lured you away from Bianca and into my bed years ago.”
And it had been a joke, hadn’t it? She had expected him to counter with renewed vows of loyalty to the lady-crossbow he loved so well. But no. He simply raised an index finger to his lips and, eyes sparkling with mirth, whispered, “Shhh. Or she’ll hear you.”
And she hadn’t thought much of it until later that night when she was safely back at home and Varric turned up at her door. She asked him to what grand purpose she owed the pleasure of his visit this time and, unlike always, he didn’t have a smartass answer at the ready. He didn’t have any answer at all. Just a broad smile. So she’d ushered him in, poured him a drink, another for herself, and then led him to the upper level of the library intent on showing him some new books she’d added to the collection. Some of them were books he’d recommended, massive tomes they both knew she’d never actually read, but that didn’t stop either one of them from pretending.
And then he did the unthinkable and asked where she’d hidden all the books he’d authored. Her finely honed sense of panic kicked in. She had absolutely no idea where they were—she’d never read any of them. So she made an awful joke that she kept them all on the lower shelves since that’s where dwarven books rightly belonged anyway. To prove her sincerity she dropped to her knees in front of one of the bookshelves as if she were actually in search of a title.
He’d just gone right ahead and caught her slender wrist, encircling it in that gentle-but-strong grasp she knew so well from their many travels through dark caverns where he could see well enough to easily point out the traps they would then work together to disarm. The next thing she knew his other hand was at her cheek, he’d taken one step closer, and she was kissing him.
It was his fault. He had definitely started it. Of course, she had no intention of letting him stop. For one thing, he tasted delicious, earthy with just a hint of sweetness. For another thing, he was a spectacular kisser. She opened her mouth to him almost immediately and that was practically a miracle, because in general, open-mouthed kissing was a little too messy for Hawke’s liking. His kiss was delightfully wet without being slobbery in the least. And that fantastic thing he was doing with his tongue in her mouth was making more than just her lips wet—or, to be precise, more than just her upper set of lips.
Even the scratch of his stubble against her face was welcome. That, combined with the scent of leather and the musky spice that was particularly his, was enough potent masculinity to set her heart pounding and send a flutter through her belly while another part of her was practically throbbing for attention. Whoever would have imagined that sharing a kiss with Varric would be so divine? All she wanted next was to feel his body closer, pressing against hers. And her arms were surely in agreement, because somehow they had wrapped themselves around him.
And one of her hands was definitely putting the moves on his hair tie.
But then, as suddenly and unexpectedly as they had started, all hopes of being fucked by her best friend on the upper carpet of her library had come to an abrupt and unwelcome halt.
“Another guest is here to see you, milady.” Bodahn called up to her from where he stood unseen on the lower level.
Reluctantly, she’d pulled her mouth free from Varric before making her reply. “Thank you,” she’d said, still a bit breathless. “I’ll be right there.” But before she stood up again and descended to the foyer, she leaned in and stole a final, desperate kiss from the man she wanted so badly she was considering just darting downstairs for a moment to lock the library door and keep the rest of the world at bay for a while.
But noble ladies were supposed to be gracious to all their houseguests, not just the ones they wanted to haul off to their bedchambers and ravish. So she did the appropriate thing and went to greet her guest. It turned out to be Aveline, who had need of some perspective on a thorny bit of business involving Athenril. And because she owed the guard captain a couple of favors this week, Hawke knew she couldn’t put it off till later.
“Don’t go,” she’d whispered to Varric. And when he’d offered her that clever smirk, she’d added, “Please.”
“Tomorrow night,” was all he’d said before he’d bid her and Aveline a lovely evening and taken his leave.
And now here it was, tomorrow night already, and Hawke was as nervous as a virgin templar on his first patrol at the Rose.
Where was Varric anyway? And what was she supposed to do with herself in the meantime? Read a book for once? She didn’t think she’d be able to sit still successfully enough for reading. Maybe she could find a really boring book and tear out all its pages, balling them up and tossing them one by one to feed the fire. That would be entertaining, at least. But what if she accidentally chose a book that Varric had recommended? He vouched for so many and with such frequency she could hardly keep up with remembering titles.
Oh, of course he wouldn’t care if she burnt a book or two. Would he?
Crap, crap, crap.
She took to pacing about her room, glancing occasionally at her bed, and wondering what the sex might be like. Dwarves were supposed to have incredible stamina, weren’t they? But no, probably not a good idea to lean on vague generalities about an entire race of people. It’s not like all the men of Orzammar were queuing up outside her boudoir.
Now there was an odd thought.
And her thoughts were about to get stranger. Before she could stop it, her mind flashed instantly to visions of being fucked vigorously by Bodahn, and then—even worse—by Bartrand. She tried to make the vision stop, but succeeded only in imagining herself with both of them at the same time, one for each lower orifice. Possibly worst of all was that her mind had decided of its own accord to decorate Bartrand with fabulously batty eyelashes, intricately braided pubic hair, and a fine garland of red feather boas.
It was horrible enough that she retreated to the chair at the side table she used for a desk, sat down, propped her elbows, clenched her fists together in vague approximation of the proper prayerful form, and—indecorous heathen though she was—attempted to call upon sweet Andraste’s mercy.
“Just make it stop. Please, please, make it stop. Right now, I swear. Or at least give them clothes again and take away the feathers and the eyeliner.”
The low rumble of laughter from her doorway jolted her out of prayer and into a cold sweat.
“Oh, hello,” she said, still shaking off the vestiges of the most unpleasant copulatory image her traitorous mind had ever conjured. Trying to sound considerably less addled than she felt at the moment, she added, “Did Bodahn get the door?” But it was too soon and she cringed a little as she said his name. That last awful image really was burned into her mind’s eye for all eternity. She would probably never be able to look at her servant again.
“Not Bodahn,” Varric said. “Your mother.”
“Oh,” she said, silently cursing the awkwardness of small talk. “Do you want to come in?”
“Hey, thanks,” he said and stepped into her bedroom, shutting the door the behind him and turning the bolt. “Here,” he added, “I brought you something.”
He approached the table and chair where she sat and his presence was immediately welcome, like a fresh breeze that cleared a stale air—or, in this case—a horrible vision of disgusting sex.
“A present?” she asked, smiling as she reached for the folded piece of paper he offered. “For me?”
“Alas, it’s no present,” he said as she unfolded the letter and saw it to be a signed assassination contract, yet another to have originated with the Coterie.
“Oh, Maker, not again,” she said.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “It’s already dealt with. Just wanted you to know.”
“Then you’ve had a busy day,” she said.
“And soon a busy night,” he said with a roguish grin. “Hey, what’s this?” He picked up an object from her table and turned it over in his hand.
“Crap.” Hawke blushed. “That shouldn’t be there.”
“Quite the paperweight you’ve got.” He chuckled and set it down again.
“That’s, um, Alden,” she said.
“Let me guess,” he said. “Untellable tale?”
“Oh, nothing so special as that,” she said. “Just a good name for a dildo.”
“Shit, he’s just a little guy,” Varric said.
“You’re one to talk,” she said without thinking first and when he gave her a curious look, she blushed horribly. “I meant… that… because… height…” All she could do was stammer. “I’m a fool,” she said when at last she managed to string a sentence together.
Varric reached for her, his fingers glancing across her cheek as he brushed a stray lock of hair from her eyes. “My favorite fool,” he said, pressing his other hand to his heart. “But I’m afraid you’re wrong. There’s nothing much little about me.”
...
Hawke had heard more than her share of Varric’s tall tales. She knew him well enough by now to understand that a night he spent in any other fashion than engaged in idle boasting was most likely a night he considered wasted. So she hadn’t really prepared herself for the possibility that he wasn’t exaggerating this time. But when all clothes were doffed, and she was kneeling beside him, her knees cushioned by the exquisite softness of the bedroom carpet, it turned out that he really was the most well endowed man she’d ever beheld.
She couldn’t help but stare. And not just at the fine symbol of masculinity that rose to greet her as he guided her hand gently along its length (and, oh Maker, it’s girth). She was, in fact, staring at all of him. Because she hadn’t really been able to picture him successfully without his characteristic tunic, gloves, and leather duster. Maybe she hadn’t dared to. Sure, just maybe she’d been a little worried that when it came right down to it, she’d discover she was only attracted to his cleverness, his charm, and the unfairly seductive timbre of his voice. She’d find—to her embarrassment and his chagrin—that the only part of him she really wanted to see unclothed was the handsome patch of chest hair that had always intrigued her so greatly. She had been afraid that seeing Varric naked would turn her off completely.
But now she knew for sure. And it was quite the opposite, really. He was beautiful. Though a lean physique had its own particular charms, so did the ripple of thick muscle on a man whose entire body was built just perfectly to withstand the kickback of a truly massive weapon—the crossbow, of course she meant the crossbow—that few human bolters could ever have handled. Varric was strong, capable—imposing even. And she would have been completely intimidated by his presence alone if it weren’t for the fact that he was being so damned sweet to her.
“That’s a good stroke, Hawke,” he said, complimenting her on the rhythm of touch that he had initiated. She was just continuing it. She hardly deserved praises for that. But he seemed so pleased with her. She couldn’t help but smile, though there was one thing she wondered…
“How did you know?”
“What’s that, sweetness?” he asked.
“That I… you know… that I wanted to…”
“Get your dwarf cherry popped by sly old me?” he said, running his hand along the curve of her breast and then cupping it. Lifting a little to test its weight, he muttered to himself appreciatively, “Mmhh, that’s nice.”
“My dwarf cherry?” she echoed incredulously, eyebrow raised.
Varric’s attention had been divided, his focus shifting away from Hawke’s full breasts so that he could once again watch her hand working his impressive cock. But now he looked at her, a mischievous glimmer in his eyes. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle,” he said. “At first.”
“You’d better be,” she said, her voice a husky whisper. “I’ve never been with… so much of a man before. But you’re changing the subject.”
“Oh, right. How did I know?” he said, moving close to nuzzle at her neck, kissing her gently, and whispering in her ear. “Hawke, I’m good at reading people. If I weren’t, well, I wouldn’t have made it alive past childhood. I see things most people miss. And you may not have realized it, but you’ve always wanted me. You just weren’t ready until now. So just be thankful I’m a patient man.”
“I’m thankful for a lot of things right now,” she said, squeezing his cock and looking him straight in the eye.
It was time. And they both knew it.
It was Varric’s idea to begin with her on top. Because he was so much bigger than her dildo, her slender old potion bottles, or any dead lover from Lothering had ever been, he said he wanted her to start slowly, setting her own pace at least until she was confident that she could take him inside her comfortably. Then he would gladly switch positions.
Hawke had trouble at first, because she couldn’t remember ever before having done it this way, perched above a man, trying to hold him securely upright with one hand even as she held herself open with the other, all the while lowering herself and hoping for perfect aim. Varric just seemed to enjoy watching her struggle—or perhaps he was delighted by the jiggle of her breasts as she made her attempt. Hawke didn’t mind either way. She wanted him to enjoy her. After all, she always felt better about the way sex inevitably ended up—with the exhausted man finished and with her rolling away to bring herself to orgasm—if she knew he had really enjoyed taking his own pleasure first. And if a bit of bemusement was part of Varric’s enjoyment, then so be it.
She managed to line up the tip of his cock with the now-throbbing entrance to her body. She could still feel the remembered pressure of his two fingers that he’d slid inside her to test the slickness of her body’s own lubrication. That had been more than delightful. And she would have obeyed his every command just to keep even one of those fingers within her. But favorably impressed—perhaps even a little surprised—by the extent of her wetness, Varric had ruled that immediate sex was in order.
Unfortunately, immediate sex was taking a lot longer to get started than Hawke would have preferred. And the delay was all due to her own ineptitude. She was starting to get frustrated.
“Relax,” he said, squeezing her forearm with light pressure. “Take it slow, babe. We’ll get there.”
“Damn it, Varric, can’t you be on top?”
“Not just yet, Hawke,” he said, smiling up at her. “I think you’ll like it this way first.”
And, oh Maker, he was right. It took a couple of minutes before she had finally started to take him in, opening for him a little more with each downward bounce of her hips, but gradually she realized that this was going to work. She gave him what was surely the giddiest and most idiotic of all her smiles, but she didn’t much care at the moment. She was stretched wide and tight around the hard cock of the man she loved more than anyone. If this wasn’t an appropriate time for foolish grinning, then, really, what was?
“Good girl,” he purred. “Now move your hips a little.”
Varric reached for one of them and, with a firm pull, he got the motion started. Hawke followed his lead, rocking forward then back, riding him ever so carefully.
The slightest move was all it took. She knew she was more aroused than usual, but she hadn’t actually realized how close to orgasm she was. Maker, she hadn’t even had to touch herself. Every part, inside and out, that she normally had to rub and tap and strain against her own practiced fingers was already contracting against his solid heat. She arched her back. Varric gripped her hips to hold her down and that only made it better, because there was no way for her to escape the hardness of him, filling her up completely.
And then she wasn’t sure what happened next, because her mind wasn’t dealing in actual thoughts anymore, just unleashing a cascade of numbing pleasure. Most of what she felt was euphoria. The rest was something akin to swooning. When at last she came back to herself, Varric was indeed on top of her and she could feel the very tip of his enormous member as deep inside her as it could possibly go—maybe even a little deeper. And he began to fuck her ever so slowly, ever so gently, sliding almost all the way out—leaving her bereft of him—before returning and forcing her once again to stretch to the very limits of tautness in order to accommodate his girth. The man felt exquisite. So exquisite, in fact, that she was already tightening again as the pressure insider her built towards inevitable contraction and release.
“How are you doing this to me?” she asked, her voice breathless with appreciation. “No one’s ever been able to… I’ve always had to touch myself… afterwards…”
“Oh, sweetheart," he said. "I do know a thing or two about how to please the ladies." He punctuated his words with the first slightly harder thrust of his hips.
“More,” she whispered and she thought she heard him laughing, but she couldn’t really tell for certain because he had so obligingly obeyed her request, increasing the force and the pace of his thrusts. And here she was again, spiraling for the second time into mindless bliss. She was lost again from sight and sound, but this time, when awareness returned, Varric had paused in his lovemaking.
“You’ve really done it now,” he said with a sly smile.
She furrowed her brow, perplexed as to what he meant.
“Probably woke the whole house with ‘Oh, Varric, I love how you fuck me!’” He imitated her voice as best he could. “Nice work, kid.”
“I didn’t,” she said, “did I?” She wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to die of embarrassment.
Varric nodded. “Afraid so, but don’t worry. I’ll sweet talk your mother at breakfast.”
“Crap.”
“It’ll be fine. By midmorning she’ll be just tickled that her little girl’s taking it hard from the best dwarf in Kirkwall.”
Hawke was left speechless, her mouth open, impotent tongue unable to make its next move.
Varric laughed and resumed fucking her, much harder this time, until the bed shook beneath them, its dry joints creaking. As she wrapped her legs around Varric and bounced her hips against him, forcing him deeper inside her than she’d even thought possible, Hawke decided that she didn’t much care if the whole house was awake and listening. She needed this. She needed him. And as Varric stilled suddenly, the liquid of his climax bursting forcefully inside her, Hawke was pretty damn sure he needed her, too.
The giveaway just might have been those three little words—whispered with such loving devotion—that escaped from his lips as he fell to the pillow beside her.
“Perfect fit, Hawke.”
And, indeed, the man was right.
- 1
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A Perfect Fit