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In Good Hands	By : KyeShgall Category: +A through F > Dragon Age (all) > Dragon Age (all) Views: 4955 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: Bioware owns Dragon Age and all its characters. I own nothing and make no profits.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
Hawke was either dreaming or lost in whatever hard depths of sleep humans reached just before they wandered into the Fade. Whichever it was, the demonically loud knocking at the door was not enough to jolt her awake. The same could not be said for Varric, who had woken, completely disoriented, in his own bed. For a second he was nonplussed to see that he was not alone, but then the memory of Hawke’s naked embrace flooded back to him, and his confusion was replaced with a grin of pure satisfaction.
He had to grope for a minute in the early morning darkness before locating his shirt and trousers. They lay crumpled on the floor after having been so carelessly discarded in last night’s haste to get out of his clothing and into Hawke—an objective he’d accomplished remarkably well. That thought came with another satisfied grin.
He dressed quickly, eyeing the door with disdain. The pounding had not ceased, rather, amplified and gained itself a muffled chorus of accompanying voices. Surely, it was too early for social calls. He wasn’t sure exactly how early it was, but the darkness was a fairly decent indicator that any wise visitors were still tucked in their beds sleeping. Only the very worst of fools came calling at this hour.
Three fools to be precise and each of them bearing an object. The first fool—standing right in front of him—was Isabela, puzzling over a hairpin that she was twisting into shape to serve as a crude lock pick. Upon hearing the door creak open, she glanced up from her work.
“You see, I told you. Works like a charm,” she said and tossed the hairpin aside with a careless flick of her wrist.
“You didn’t actually pick the lock, you know,” Anders said with a long-suffering sigh. He held a bottle filled nearly to its stopper with a glossy black liquid that looked more like ink than any potion Varric had ever seen.
Merrill pushed past both of them and flung herself at Varric, engulfing him in a brief, but surprisingly crushing hug. Her slender arm was stronger than he ever would have imagined—arm, not arms, because she only hugged him with the one. The other was too busy clutching a massive tome that jabbed uncomfortably at Varric’s chest until she released him from the impromptu embrace.
“Oh, thank the Creators you’re still alive,” she said and, slipping past him into the suite, made a beeline for his table where she dropped her book with a heavy thud.
“Daisy,” he said warily, “why wouldn’t I be?”
“Be what?” she asked.
“Alive,” he said, glancing sternly over his shoulder even as he rested his hand firmly against the doorframe in an attempt to prevent any further unauthorized entry.
“Oh, don’t get her started,” said Isabela, nudging his arm aside and following Merrill into the room.
“Yes,” said Anders, breezing past him on Isabela’s heels, “if I hear her say the words ‘venomous ejaculate’ one more time, I swear… I may just turn to blood magic myself in effort to shut her up.”
“Wait—venomous… what?” Varric said, still not sure he was awake enough to be having conversations—at least not the out loud sort.
“Ejaculate,” said Merrill, enunciating clearly and slowly as if for Varric’s benefit. “Varric, you remember the spider that loved you up at the Bone Pit.”
“I…” he said, for once completely at a loss for words.
“Oh, you wicked man,” said Isabela, her smile flickering in firelight that grew as Anders knelt at the brazier, coaxing life into dying flame.
Merrill continued. “I knew the markings were all wrong.” She flipped through the pages of her book until she came to one bearing the picture of a large striped spider. “I’ve been searching my library for hours and finally found it. Here.” She pointed to the page.
“Let’s be clear,” Varric said, finding his voice again. “There was no ejaculate. End of story.” Obviously, someone had forgotten that the spider incident was Never Again to be Mentioned. That someone was not Varric.
“Yes, there was,” said Merrill. “It was stuck in your chest hair.”
Anders giggled. Giggled. Maker’s mercy, this was not good.
“It may have absorbed right through your skin,” Merrill added. “We need to watch you for one full day. No more sleeping and if you start to exhibit any of the symptoms, you have to drink every last drop of that potion Anders made for you.”
“What—”
“Do yourself a favor and don’t ask what’s in the potion,” Anders said.
“—symptoms?” Varric finished, raising an eyebrow and casting a look of warning at Anders, who had now lit all three lamps at Varric’s table and was eyeing the wall sconces with determination.
“Oh, yes, Merrill, do read him the symptoms,” Isabela said. Then, turning back to Varric, she added, “They’re all priceless, but the last few are my absolute favorites.”
“Rapidly pounding heartbeat,” Merrill began solemnly, reading from her tome, “profuse sweating, wooziness, odor of onions, tingling in the extremities, braying or other beastly intonations, and engorgement of male genitalia.”
Isabela dissolved into laughter.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Varric said, sliding the book from Merrill to read with his own eyes. He scanned the list. “…’the shit’s a beastly intonation? Braying?”
“Engorgement,” said Isabela.
“Varric?”
It was the dreamy voice of a woman torn from sleep, a voice not yet entirely recognizable as Hawke’s. And all at once the three companions around his table fell silent: Isabela ceased playing with the bottle of potion, which she had been rolling from side to side across the table watching the dark liquid slosh; Anders set aside the poker, abandoning his task of relighting the wall brazier; and Merrill bit her lip and huddled tight into herself in an attempt to stop fidgeting in her chair. Every eye was trained on Varric, who simply smiled.
“What’s this?” Isabela asked, breaking the silence. “Another spider? Brought one home with you? Trained it to cry your name?”
“Stay right here,” Varric said, pointing to the table. “All of you. I’ll be back in a minute.”
He half-expected them to follow anyway, but they didn’t, and he could already hear their speculative whispers blooming as he stepped into the lingering darkness of the bedroom.
“There you are,” Hawke whispered as she writhed sleepily beneath the covers. “Come back to bed.”
“Mmm,” he said. “There’s nothing I’d like more.” He sat at the edge of the bed and bent down, pressing a kiss to her forehead even as he slipped one hand beneath the sheets to better appreciate the full curve of her breast.
“Come back to bed and fuck me,” Hawke said, arching her back. The breast he held rose to press against his hand. Varric squeezed, causing an enticing little sigh to issue from Hawke’s lips.
“Unfortunately, we have visitors,” he said. “So unless you’d like an audience for that, I think we’d better scare them away first.”
Hawke’s eyes shot wide open and her heart may very well have skipped a beat. Had Varric been holding her left breast, he may have been able to say for sure.
“Who?”
“Just friends,” he said. “Daisy. Rivaini. And, uh… Blondie.”
“Crap,” she said.
“Oh, come on. Bet he’s dying to say ‘I told you so.’ You can at least give him the satisfaction.”
“Varric,” she said. “They’ll all tease me for this. Can’t I just hide in here?”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, a hint of anger and sadness dancing at the edge of inflection. “You hide and I’ll lie to them. Maybe then they’ll go way. And we can pretend this whole misunderstanding never happened. How’s that, Hawke?”
“Hey,” she said. “Stop that. This is not a misunderstanding.” She pulled him towards her, engaging his lips in a kiss that was fierce and passionate and which Varric returned for half a minute before gently pulling away.
“Easy there, morning breath,” he whispered, smiling down at her in the brightening shadows of a new day that crept in through high windows.
“All right,” she said, reaching up and running her fingers along the stubble of his jaw and chin. “Let’s scare them away then. Where are my clothes?”
“Exactly where you left them last night in your haste to undress for me,” he said. “Strewn about my floor.” Varric began collecting them for her then waited in the doorway to watch as Hawke dressed. He smiled at the sight of soft fabric sliding across her curves. He was already beginning to imagine all the ways he would remove those clothes again later. Oh yes, this was shaping up to be a very good day—provided, of course, he didn’t die of spider poisoning first.
“You know,” he said once Hawke was fully clothed and ducking her head shyly as if reluctant to leave his bedroom and face her friends, “being teased isn’t always so bad. Let’s just try to enjoy this, shall we?” And with that he turned and headed for the table where three friends waited eagerly for some new evidence to fuel their gossip.
Merrill sat at one of his chairs and flipped through the pages of her book while Anders stood behind her, his lips moving silently as he read over her shoulder. Isabela had plopped her pantsless ass directly onto his table—he made a mental note to have it washed as soon as possible—and she was peering into the bottle of black liquid, which she had uncorked and which was now fizzing ominously as if in malice for having been disturbed. All three looked up when Varric returned. When Hawke appeared a few short steps behind him, jaws dropped and eyes widened—at least, the human ones did. Merrill simply cocked her head and smiled brightly.
“Fancy seeing you here, Hawke,” she said. “You’re certainly up early. Oh, wait, did you… figure it out, too? And did you bring a potion?”
“What—” Hawke began.
But Isabela interrupted. “Oh, Hawke, it is a delight to see you here.” She flashed her most wicked and sensual of smiles. “All rumpled and mussed first thing in the morning. You must have had a hard night. And you have no idea how much coin I’ve just won.”
“You were betting that I’d…” Hawke began, a blush rising to her cheeks.
“But how ever did you find all the ingredients?” Merrill asked, completely oblivious to Isabela’s line of conversation. “Anders checked the clinic’s whole inventory and he still couldn’t find any powdered nug dung. We had to stop and buy some from Tomwise on the way here.”
“Ingredients?” Hawke asked, shifting her attention to Merrill. She was growing more and more completely puzzled with every word that bounced off Merrill’s tongue.
Isabela nudged Anders. “I think Fenris owes you a couple of sovereigns, too, doesn’t he?”
“It made me so sad to mash up the butterfly wings,” Merrill added. “I’ve always wondered whose horrific job that is, pulling the wings off unsuspecting butterflies. Have you ever killed a butterfly, Hawke?”
“Butterfly?” Hawke echoed. She glanced pathetically at Varric as if in search of assistance.
But Varric was smiling as he listened to the mingling threads of conversation. Right at the center of everything was the fact that Hawke was here, roused from his bed. And three of his friends were here, too, as bumbling witnesses to the fact that his impressive sexuality had finally gotten the better of Hawke. If not cause for celebration, it was at least reason enough to be feeling immensely pleased with himself—which of course, he was.
“No,” said Anders to Isabela. “I never placed a bet with Fenris. In fact, I think the only thing I’m owed at the moment is one massive apology and a bit of ass kissing.” He glared at Hawke from across the table.
“Well, you are an ass,” Isabela said, “but definitely not the one that Hawke’s sweet lips have been kissing.”
“What’s really intriguing,” Merrill said, “is that eggs and semen of the common brown spider are both part of the antidote. Wait… kissing? Am I… missing something important?”
Anders sighed and looked down at Merrill. “Hawke’s not here because she read up on poison spiders or disgusting antidotes. She’s here because she spent the night with Varric.”
“Hold on a minute… antidote? For what?” Hawke asked.
“Engorgement of the male genitalia, apparently,” said Isabela.
“Here,” said Merrill, sliding the book towards Hawke, “read the rest of the symptoms. Anders, when you say ‘spent the night with’ do you mean…”
“Yes,” said Hawke, flustered, blushing, and nearly shouting in answer to Merrill’s question. “All right? Yes. I fucked Varric. And it was fantastic and I’m planning to do it again. Anders, I’m sorry, you were right and I’m an idiot. Please accept my apology.”
“Accepted,” said Anders without a moment’s hesitation.
“Hawke, when you say ‘I’m planning to do it again,’ any idea how many more times, exactly?” Isabela asked. When Hawke gave her a sharp look, Isabela shrugged defensively. “What? More than a dozen times and it affects my winnings from Donnic.”
“Oh,” said Merrill, pulling the book back towards her and considering the listed symptoms once again. “In that case I guess getting woozy, smelling like onions, and braying are the only symptoms we should really be worrying about—unless dwarves typically do that during sex. I don’t know, Hawke, do they?”
Hawke turned to Varric, who was now leaning against the wall, smiling broadly as he listened to the entire ridiculous conversation.
“Please make it stop,” she said.
“Anything for my lady,” Varric said in the most suave and princely of drawls. He smiled up at her and, turning his attention to the rest of the group, began to issue instructions. “Blondie, go bring a couple of chairs up from the bar. If you see Edwina, charge five plates of breakfast to my tab. Daisy, put the book away and, Rivaini, don’t break the bottle of potion. I doubt I’m poisoned, but hey, just in case.”
When Anders returned with chairs and a report that food had indeed been ordered, Varric added, “Settle in, folks, we’ve got six hours of card games ahead of us. After that, one full day is up since the spider incident and then I’m kicking three of you out and locking the door behind you.” For Hawke’s ears alone, he added, “I’ve still got a massage to finish, after all.”
“I doubt you’ll ever work out all my kinks,” Hawke whispered to him when the cards had been dealt and the first round of Wicked Grace begun.
“Let’s hope not, babe,” he said. “Let’s hope not.”
- 5
- 6
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In Good Hands