sixthiterationlogs | We've gotta let go of all of our ghosts

Entry tags:

We've gotta let go of all of our ghosts

WHO: Hawke
WHERE: At the NYE party and then at their house
WHEN: December 31st/January 1st
OPEN TO: Closed to Reyes
WARNINGS: Adult Themes. Angst probably.

Hawke also likes the feeling of almost being caught, but the reality is that she doesn't want anyone in this group to walk in. She wants to be distracted and not worry about the consequences, and having someone gasp at them would hardly be helpful. Her intention was always to seduce him, as soon as he was alone. It's not as self-destructive as some other choices could be.

She instantly responds, wrapping her arms around his neck, laughing softly into his mouth when he tips the hat, the hair was a guaranteed mess either way. It was always going to end up here. Like she was able to stop from sleeping with someone she wanted just because they lived with her. There were a lot of people downstairs that were less potential trouble for her to choose, but here she was.

Hawke pulls him by the front of his shirt and backs up into the bookshelf. She'd worry later. Once she's satisfactorily pushed against it, Hawke's fingers drop to his pants, deftly undoing them. Her fingers are ridiculous nimble and it's for a good cause. Mindless desire is what she's aiming for. "How enjoyable do you plan on making this?" She murmurs into his lips, her plans very clear, but it's nice to get a unanimous vote on it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

"Excessively," Reyes purrs. "You ask, as if I don't already—" His voice is cut off with a hitch of breath as she presses agonisingly closer. They've been egging each other on, even at home, a useless little competitive drive in the small things -- shoot that bullseye three times; bluff me in Wicked Grace once. A playful back-and-forthing that turns everything into a game, and now exhibits in Reyes gently biting Hawke's bottom lip, his body pinning hers against the bookshelves. A couple books get jostled and tumble to the floor -- he doesn't give a damn, they've both figured out that the books are all empty anyhow.

The man is still mostly-dressed, but Hawke's emerald dress leaves expanses of soft, warm skin for the taking; so his teeth find the column of her throat, nip at her ear, even as she's slithering his belt free of its loops. Thank god she locked the door, thank god.

"This is probably a bad idea," Reyes admits, but there's a glint in his eye.

He is so very good at bad ideas.

There is a competitiveness to the way they tease and taunt, and that's always been her way with people she judges to be her equal. Most of her conversations with her closest friends involved playful banter, and it was like they never got tired of it. She craves that same type of push and pull, that same challenge, and it's why she bonded with him so quickly. She pushes back against his body when he pins her, her breath snagged when he bit her lip. They're matched in more ways than friendship; he already knows how she likes it.

She drops her head back against the shelf when his mouth travels, exposing more of her throat to him, but then she laughs out loud at what he says. "I love bad ideas," Hawke replies. This is true in only a few cases. It was a bad idea to fall in love with Anders, for example, but she is not thinking about him. Not not not not not. She isn't thinking about him being at this party or about the way he looked when he assumed she let him die. She is thinking about Reyes, his body, that glint in his eye, his warm smile and the way he looked at her over his Wicked Grace cards.

They really are the perfect height because it's so easy for her to duck her head down and steal another kiss from him, wild and wanting. Hawke's fingers dive up into his hair and she hooks a leg up around his waist, pulling him in close again. More books fall and she snickers, thinking it likely the whole shelf would be on the floor by the time they're done.

At her snicker, he remarks in bemusement, catching onto her train of thought: "They spun this into existence, they can spin it back out again. Probably won't mind a mess." Or even if the powers-that-be do mind, it's not their problem anymore.

And if there's a distracted edge to Hawke tonight, a certain stubborn determination in the way she seizes him, and Reyes perceptive enough to pick up on it (he'd spent his entire life watching people, after all) -- he's also discreet enough to leave it be, and simply roll with the punches. He's been used as a distraction before, and vice versa. Because it's easier and more enjoyable and more convenient to leave everything behind, shed your troublesome past like an old skin and old baggage, and instead leap into the future.

Isn't that what the new year is all about, anyhow? Getting drunk, taking a leap.

Her dress is thin and hip-hugging, draped in black beading that whispers when she moves; easy enough for his hands to find the edges and slowly ruck them up along her thighs, thumb brushing against her inner thigh.

Hawke chuckles in response. "I'll be disappointed in us if we don't make a mess." She bites at his bottom lip and tugs it lightly between her teeth, smiling. "There are some other surfaces in here, if you're so inclined, but then we wouldn't have the satisfaction of hearing every book drop." She likes it there. She likes the roughness of the wood in her back, she likes that she'll be able to hear every movement they make against it, she likes being swept away in lust that they can't possibly walk ten feet away. Her preference is clear, by the way she's leaning into the bookcase, tugging him in.

She needs a distraction yes, but she can get it from anyone. She sought him out on purpose. Perhaps he's comforting in his own way, since he reminds her of Kirkwall, even if he's many centuries and worlds removed. She wants Reyes, specifically, and she's not going to overthink that.

Her eyelashes flutter just a little thanks to that thumb and she puts her foot back down from where it was curled around him, so he has more direct access to the lingerie they were kind enough to gift her. Hawke has no idea what it looks like, considering she hasn't taken anything off, but it's not her normal undergarments for certain. She undoes the buttons of his shirt in what must seem like record time, but if there's anything her fingers are good at, it's been quick and efficient. She doesn't push his shirt off, all she wants to do is run her nails up the front of his chest, feel that heat and his beating heart underneath her hand.

"I've been thinking about this since you leaned against the door frame for the first time to your room," she murmurs to him with a smile, but she suspects that's not a surprise. They've been dancing around each other since then.

“Have you, now.” Reyes’ voice is dry but his grin is wide, mischievous. It’s a confirmation of what he’d suspected. And if he’d been at home — well-armed, perpetually nursing drinks in a bedroom over the Tartarus nightclub — he would’ve been so much faster to jump to this, but a new environment and new threats had him more cautious, settling in, getting comfortable.

Still—

“I’d considered just walking into your room one night. Any night. But I am, of course, too much of a gentleman.” Real confession or just dirty talk? Hard to tell the difference, but doesn’t really matter. He’s feeling his way by touch alone, too distracted by Hawke’s lips and teeth to look down at what he’s doing until he comes across the lingerie, all delicate lace and semi-sheer fabric. Meanwhile, his shirt is open and trousers already undone; Hawke is astoundingly deft enough with sleight-of-hand that he wonders, fleetingly, if she’d also been a thief in her past life.

Their competitiveness means it’s a race, and she beats him to it: before he can tug her underwear aside, she’s already slipped a hand into his trousers and Reyes issues a muffled groan against Hawke’s neck as she takes hold of him. It’s been a while. Maybe even this body’s first time ever, if the clone theory is true. And so he feels it down to the soles of his feet, an electric frisson down his spine, his whole body arcing into hers as she starts stroking.

Hawke laughs softly at the confession. She kisses him much slower than the sure and steady movement of her hands to get where she wants. It is only after she had him in hand that she speaks again. "I have no need of a gentleman right now, love. In fact, I'd like you to be anything but." Having sex in a stranger's library, even a fake one, is hardly polite. It is downright dirty. She likes how his body reacts so eagerly, how he puts himself into her hands helplessly. She rewards him with sure and steady strokes to whet his appetite.

She feels his hand get a grasp of her underwear finally and shimmies her hips quickly to help him pull them off, the beads of her dress jingling to the sound. Hawke fully plans on taking her time later, on mapping out his naked from and learning its secrets, because she knows this isn't the only time. No, they're too compatible, too attractive, and she sees no reason why not. Ill-advised it may be.

She's more certain of it when she hops and he catches her, her legs wrapping around his waist and one arm draped over his shoulder. The other stays on him, keeping him on target as Hawke opens her eyes and looks him in the face. She needs to see it's him and not anyone else. "Reyes," she murmurs, her heartbeat rising, and the bookshelf rumbles when he rises up against her.

That soft sound of expensive fabric slithering down her thighs is maddeningly hot, even moreso as Hawke steps elegantly out of her underwear and hefts herself up into his arms. Reyes' hands settle on her ass to hold her steady as her strong legs curl around him; he presses forward, finding the right angle to brace her against the shelf.

He's done this before at parties, and loves it every time: the formal clothing versus the hurried impromptu nature of the liaison, half-dressed and disheveled, finding little scraps of time for a quickie. With his name on her lips, they exchange a wordless look -- an arch of his eyebrow, a mischievous glint in Hawke's eye and a quick nod, whereupon he lines himself up and finally thrusts into her with another muffled grunt. He stands there for a second to adjust, relishing the sensation and catching her mouth in another desperate kiss; but then her nails dig in against his shoulder and he starts moving, a steady rocking as he fucks her against the wall, the occasional book rattling off and tumbling to the floor as they move, as their pulses leap and skitter.

Hawke rarely attends parties of this caliber; the Champion was a title that may have gotten her in doors if she wanted to, but it also wasn't her way. Still, it was absolutely the contrast that appealed to her here. The fancy and elegant clothes and surroundings, compared to the sensual and basic needs of a heated sexual encounter. If she did go to a ball, this was exactly how she wanted to spend it. She moans at his first thrust and she was already leaning forward for his kiss when he dropped his head down for it. Like they were in perfect sync.

She likes being trapped, honestly. Her fingers dig into his back as she pushes against him, rocking down when he came up, but he does hold a lot of the power at the moment. She's leaning on his strength to keep her up, trusting him in a vulnerable position, and it's nice, handing that over to another person. It's exactly what she needs when she's already feeling out of control. She gasps and whispers his name, dropping her head down to his shoulder when he hits her at just the right angle. She turns her head into his neck since it's right there, kissing and sucking at the skin, urging him on.

Hawke can feel her body warming and the pressure building, and when he touches her exactly where she needs it, that's all it takes to tumble over the edge into oblivion. She cries out as it whites out her sight and she doesn't care if they've been loud, if anyone can hear her or the books crashing down. All she cares about is him and she hold onto him tightly, riding it out with him.

He's going to have a mark on his neck after this, a noticeable sign that he's been up to no good in the back rooms, but honestly that's just another small point of pride. As they move through that steady rocking back and forth, the pressure building, Reyes' hand slips down between them, finds her clit and starts circling. That extra touch in addition to his thrusts finally coaxes Hawke over the edge, her moans and hitched breaths rising in the room.

Unfortunately, as much as he'd like to just lose himself in this enjoyment, in the taste of her sweat and that blinding pleasure gathering low in his abdomen, there are considerations. So after her thighs clench around him and she's ridden through her climax, he lowers her slowly, feet sliding down to the floor again, wobbly-legged. Reyes reluctantly stops and nips at Hawke's ear. He breathes in deep, tries not to lose control.

"We don't have protection," he murmurs against her neck.

Hawke assumes at first of course that he's climaxed with her, because she's too out of her mind to think otherwise, but she comes to pretty quickly and hazily looks at him, confused. "Like a knife?" she murmurs at him, completely baffled. Why is he thinking about a knife or a sword instead of having sex with her? It takes her a few more seconds and then she gets it, and oh wow, she hasn't been taking her herbs. She really has a moment of who cares, because she's dead, seriously, what does she care, but that's not brains talking that's sex talking.

"I will find the herbs, there has to be some." Yep, she's determined, there's natural remedies here, that'll have to do. "But for now ...." Hawke doesn't hesitate to get right down on her knees and finish him off. Excuse you, she is not the type of lover that takes and doesn't give. It's an offensive thought. He was close to finish and it was very thoughtful of him, so he was going to get rewarded for it by an experienced tongue.

Afterward the two right their clothing and laugh and flirt a little more, but they go their separate ways back to the party and leave separately too. Hawke doesn't end up going anywhere but her bed in the end. She really would be pregnant by now if that was a problem, considering the sex she's had, however, things to think about at a later date. She's still groggy from booze, sex, dancing ,and doing anything but thinking about Anders.

She's not awake when he slips into bed beside her, but she does almost naturally snuggle up against him when he does. She's not aware of it, settling in there for the rest of the night, her dark head on his chest listening to his soothing heartbeat.

Edited 2019-01-19 05:57 (UTC)

It's one way of solving the conundrum: Hawke on her knees and quickly working him to completion, Reyes standing with a hand now braced against that half-empty shelf, head against his arm, letting slip some profanity in Spanish as she licks her way up and down. After they're done and part ways, the rest of the night passes more uneventfully -- but with an already-good-mood improved even further, he stays dancing and drinking until dawn, wringing out every last possible minute of the party until the simulation fizzles out around them like blinking away a dream, faded upon waking. When he returns to their shared house and climbs the stairs, Reyes winds up pausing on the landing and glancing between the two bedroom doors, considering -- until he makes a decision and turns right, to Hawke's room, to fall flat beside her and pass out quickly enough from sheer exhaustion and, for the first time in this village, not sleeping alone.

Thanks to his late bedtime, he's not the first one awake: his defenses are down for once, not his usual light sleep and paranoid jolting awake. He's typically a night owl, anyway, and doesn't relish early mornings. But as soon as Hawke stirs awake, that gentle shift of movement immediately stirs Reyes blinking, unaccustomed to feeling a weight on the mattress beside him, the sound of someone else's breath.

"Your bed's better," he says, as if that's the only reason he came slinking in, like a wandering cat seeking out the warmth of her body.

Hawke has woken up beside many a person in her day, and she usually ignores completely any instinct to be awkward about it. They're adults, they had sex, and now they were snuggling apparently. Fine. She is certainly not going to dwell on the last person she actively slept in a bed with up until the day it all went wrong. Nope. Because she knows he feel of Anders, the smell of him, and so Reyes is solely himself for her. Learning the feel and smell of someone new was sometimes nice. And she knows instantly when she does wake up that it's him.

She can hear him wake up because his heartbeat changes, steady and calm before but now thumping a little more. Hawke lifts her head to hazily look at him through dark eyes slits, and she smiles. "I'd have to go to your bed to be certain, but that would require moving, and I thoroughly exhausted myself last night." She means the entire party, but her playful eyes might be implying all things done at said party.

"If you preferred sleeping alone to sleeping with me I might take offense." Hawke sighs and puts her head back on his chest. "We're not going to be weird about this."

"We're not," Reyes agrees, and that simple, straightforward confirmation is a relief, laying it all out in the open. He's allergic to commitment, shies and skitters away from it as if it's somehow poison, but unofficial arrangements? Friends who simply fuck around for the fun and pleasure of it? That, he'll happily do. It's what he expected from someone like Hawke, too, and there's an odd sort of satisfaction in knowing that his measure of her was right, and that they're still on the same page. He hasn't dive-bombed the really rather enjoyable living situation he has here, this equilibrium that works so well.

"To be more exact, your room is better. It feels like someone actually lives here," he muses, taking in the details of her bedroom now that there's gentle sunlight filtering in. Hawke's had longer in the village to gather supplies, and it shows: her bow and arrow propped against the wall, a Wicked Grace deck spilling onto the nightstand, extra clothing stacked nearby (hardy and practical, such a far cry from that emerald dress last night).

"Also, well, can't complain about the company."

Hawke's satisfied by his confirmation. She is more comfortable with shag buddies; she and Isabela were an off and off thing for years with that precisely in mind. No commitment outside of genuine friendship and the occasional fight to the death with a qunari on her behalf. Reyes did strike her as a man who would suit her lifestyle and her group of friends well, and she likes that. If she can gather up all the lovable rogues in the village and make a new crew, she will.

It's true, her room is lived in. Hawke has her daggers too, the ones she got from home, but they're stashed under her bed. She's still trying to figure out how to fix her bow. Overall she's made this her sanctuary not dissimilar from what she did back home. At his observation, she picks up her head slightly to look around, and then nuzzles it back down into his neck. "Before I came here I was living on the road. I had a home in my city, but I couldn't go back to it. I like having my own space."

It's perhaps a little more than she usually talks about, at least in such sincere tones. Hawke is very good at saying things in a joking manner and brushing it off that way. It's morning so she's not in the mood for her jester's grin. "You just have to liven yours up a little. We can make a stop at the community stash and pick you up some things."

That little glimmer of honesty accidentally draws out Reyes’ own admission, as he picks through a realisation about himself: “I think I’ve been half-avoiding settling in. In case I might be picked up and whisked back any moment. It seems like someone else disappears every week, after all.”

It’s not just his usual avoidance of putting down too-deep roots, being ready to pack up and run at any moment — but something more. A reluctance to get too attached to this place, a world he hadn’t chosen for himself. At least when Reyes leapt into the ongoing shitshow of Andromeda, taking that massive long shot, it had been something he’d seized with both hands. He’d chosen to go on that idealistic-but-doomed ship, and then chosen to join the exiles when they abandoned it.

“But, well. Statistically, I suppose I’m not going to be the one plucked away. I’m a fair hand at gambling, and even I don’t like those odds.” A touch of dry humour.

“I’ve poked through the communal supplies, but should pick up more. Did you know there’s a dildo there?” He arches his eyebrow, and she can feel his chest rumble with a laugh under her cheek. “I’m not touching it when I’ve no idea whose it was.”

"Mmm, if you are, you won't know you're leaving anything behind, so you might as well be comfortable now. We'll handle each other's belongings if one of us goes missing, and if we both do, they'll figure it out." Hawke is pragmatic to a fault. She has more to lose than most if she goes missing, or truthfully if he does too, but she accepts that without a glimmer of denial or bargaining.

"We're powerless about being here, but we aren't powerless about what we do while we are." She sees that clearly, and she's adaptable by nature. Hawke's already been given more time, and she's spent it meeting great people. It could be a lot worse. She's just trying not to think about where he is right now. She didn't see him last night.

Hawke smiles and kisses his rumbling chest since it's right there. "Darling, I don't know what a dildo is, but if you are laughing like that, it must be something naughty." She sits up and leans in to kiss him, their first one since their little escapade, now in the light of day. It involves morning breath so it's not perfect, but she lets it linger anyway. "There has to be someone around here who has herbs for keeping babies away, because I refuse to accept you'll have to pull out each time forever." She does not mention that she hasn't bothered to care with other men.

"Good point." Hawke's advice is practical, and soothing in its way. Reyes is obsessive when it comes to controlling his circumstances, but at a certain point -- particularly here, in this village -- you just have to cede the fact that you have so very little of it. Work with what you can.

And of the things they can work with...

He's more cautious about the risks in sex (not knowing, of course, that it doesn't actually matter), but her comment makes him grin in agreement. "Someone must have figured it out with local supplies. People have been here for years. I similarly refuse to believe they haven't sorted out this particular problem yet."

Lying here, he's realising that it's... nice, actually, to be able to just be still and be with someone. That frenetic rush from the night before is over, and instead this moment is languid, and more intimate than the other sleepy mornings they've had -- Reyes steeping the coffee he'd bartered from Steph and wandering rumpled through the house, while Hawke was up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

At least whatever bugbear was haunting her last night, she seems a tiny bit less bothered by it now.

He rests his chin against her shoulder, breathing in the scent of her hair. "In the meantime, I'm sure we could get creative. Don't you think?" His hand's slipped up her shirt, fingers fanning against the bare warmth of her skin.

"We don't know, maybe they've all been chaste. No, that's ridiculous, everyone's too pretty." It would be impossible to imagine little sex going on, so it must be another answer. Hawke might consider doing it in a subtle way, but she also may just publicly announce she needs the herbs and see who offers it up. No other man here has actually brought this problem to her yet, but if Reyes is going to be that way, she'll indulge him. He's worth a little indulgence.

Especially when he looks positively delicious in the morning light, dark hair tousled, his bristling chin rough, and she grins down at him. When she first met him, she thought he reminded her of Isabela, a tad, but that was homesickness speaking. He is entirely himself. And she quite fancies him, as murky and problematic as that could be. They aren't making it weird though. This is too nice.

Her breath catches just a little when his hand cups her breast. "I will miss the scandal of the books falling everywhere, but this is far more comfortable." Not that she minds at all the small bruises in her back. She simply strips her shirt off, the sunlight coming in through the window and hitting the chestnut brown hair just right, warming up her skin, and she smiles down at him. "I have a no pants rule in my bed, just so you know."

"I didn't see a sign. You need to advertise these things better." His words hitch in his throat at the glorious sight of her -- finally, finally having time to map all Hawke's angles and curves that he couldn't see last night. Half-dressed liaisons are one of his favourite things, but there's something to be said for taking your time and savouring it. And that's exactly what he intends to do, this morning.

But as Hawke settles too close against him, Reyes suddenly winces. "Oh, god, I had so much to drink--" VR or not, real or not, the alcohol had apparently had a real enough effect. He presses a quick kiss to the corner of her mouth before squirming away. "Please hold that thought, cariña, I need to go to the restroom before I die. I will be right back."

He shimmies out of the bed, holds up a finger again as a signal to wait, before hurrying away into the hallway as she falls back laughing. In a few minutes, he's back and dutifully kicking off his pants, crawling back into bed and making his way up her body with lips and tongue and hands.

As far as distractions go, they're pretty great at it.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

We've gotta let go of all of our ghosts

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

& closed!