"How long have you been standing there?" "Longer than you'd like." Hawke x Isabela
In the swampy, late-night, lowtown humidity, Isabela ran a single hand through her uncomfortably tangled hair, feeling it practically crunch beneath her fingers as she stared at the sea. She gave her head a sharp toss and scraped her hands across her face, hoping the harsh motion would wake her up a bit. When that failed to work, she brought the bottle in her hand to her lips, finishing the last dregs of rum and then throwing it against the pale walls of a warehouse, watching it shatter.
When she entered the Hanged Man, Bela was both unsurprised and un-thrilled to see a head of short, curling, ginger hair at the bar, amber eyes turned half-lidded at Corff as they begged another drink. Isabela slammed the door to the tavern harder than she intended, and then felt several pairs of eyes turn to her. None burned quite as much as Rowen Hawke’s. Bela scraped her nails against her own neck, meeting Hawke’s flaming gaze as the tracks still stung against her skin. Rowen cocked her head, glass of whiskey dangling dangerously in her hand as her curious gaze bored into Isabela.
In avoidance, the pirate stalked up the stairs, grabbing a bottle from her own room before settling on the bed in Varric’s, letting loose a groan as she did so.
“Whoa, Rivaini, rough night?” the dwarf asked, an infuriating smirk alight on his face. She only shot him a glare, fingers coming together on the bridge of her nose, pinching tightly as she pretended not to remember the inquiring eyes of the woman downstairs. Varric cleared his throat. Isabela sighed.
“Oh, Varric…I fucked her. Maker, but maybe I shouldn’t have, because now I can’t stop thinking about her…and how am I supposed to stop thinking about her when every time I come back here to get drunk, she’s standing there, flirting with Corff and Nora, and all I can think about are her lips, her skin, Maker, her tongue….”
Suddenly, the shifting of fabric and delicate cough at the entrance of the apartment was no longer dwarfish and male, but something distinctly familiar and frustratingly cocky. Isabela lifted her head, brows already drawn together in concern, knowing all too well what awaited her as she looked towards the doorway.
“How long have you been standing there?” Isabela whined, thumping her head back onto Varric’s pillow.
“Longer than you’d like…” replied Hawke, leaning arrogantly against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, smile obvious in her voice.
Trying to sit up, Isabela was knocked back onto the bed by the weight of a giddy Hawke, who framed her hands around Bela’s head, red curls falling and tickling Bela’s cheeks gingerly. She laughed before the pirate could say a thing, effectively muting Bela by turning her golden gaze on her, before pressing a blissful kiss to her lips; bruising, insistent, and Isabela could feel the desperation that Hawke tried to bleed into her through her teeth on Bela’s bottom lip, her tongue against her jaw, her fingers against her hip.
“You’re an idiot,” Rowen whispered, her forehead pressed against Bela’s,
“Maker, I know,” Bela responded, before re-capturing Hawke’s lips once more with her own.