Hawke didn't speak on the walk to Lowtown. She was too absorbed in her own thoughts to notice how maddening her silence was to Varric, who was trailing doggedly at her heels.

"Are you ever going to let me apologize?" he panted as he jogged to keep up with her long-legged strides.

"For what? There's nothing to apologize for."

"Dammit, Hawke! You saw the same thing I did back there. I don't know what came over me. That whole time we were in the Fade, nothing felt real. Which...makes sense, considering."

"Considering?"

There was a pause as he decided whether or not to pursue the vision of her, pregnant and shackled, the desire demon had used to sway him. He'd refused to burden her with his own expectations back when they thought she might have been knocked up in the Deep Roads. But after the Fade, there was no question he wanted them to be together in every way possible – if that ring on her finger had been any indication. Hawke felt sick and panicked every time she thought about the desire demon's trick. She knew this heaviness was exactly what Varric had been hoping to spare her from when he'd refused to give her a straight answer the first time she asked.

"...Nothing," he sighed. "Anyway, I want you to know I would never choose a demon over you while conscious and sober."

"Don't make me kick your ass again, Varric. Don't forget you're the one who decided to let me have my daggers back."

"I haven't forgotten. I don't like the idea that some Fade creature can manipulate me. For what it's worth, I am sorry. I had to say it at least once."

"Great. Now we don't have to talk about it again. Hi Corff!" Hawke called, effectively ending the conversation as she pushed open the door to the Hanged Man and waved at the tavern's blond bartender. "Did Varric tell you we're sober now? Two weeks and counting!"

"I've heard," Corff said with his usual expressionless amusement. "I'm already considering retiring to Tantervale when I go out of business. Maybe take up fishing."

"Don't listen to him. Corff's no more likely to leave this place than I am," Varric said.

"Before I forget, you have a package, Hawke. I was instructed to hand-deliver it to you personally." Corff pushed a small box in her direction.

"I do?" Hawke didn't realize her mail was still being forwarded to the Hanged Man, but she wouldn't be surprised if Varric had been hoarding it as a means to blackmail her into returning.

She was wary of unsolicited packages after all of the marriage proposals and death threats she'd received, but she hoped Corff wouldn't let a box that smelled like someone's decaying remains to sit behind his bar for weeks. She opened the package to reveal a smaller wooden box. She opened the box cautiously, and her eyes widened with stunned disbelief. She slammed the lid shut with a loud clap that startled the man sitting next to them into falling off his stool.

"Varric. Your room. Now."

Hawke grabbed his wrist and didn't allow him the chance to ask before she hauled him upstairs. She made certain to shut and lock the door behind them before shoving the box into his hands without a word of explanation. She wrapped her arms around herself and bit her lip as she began to pace.

Varric wasted no time in opening the box.

"Holy shit," he breathed, picking up the newly-restored sapphire and silverite necklace Hawke had lost at the Blooming Rose after she'd been attacked.

Every delicate link had been repaired or replaced, and each priceless, perfect gem was snug in its setting. Bethany's scarf was nowhere to be seen, but Hawke was willing to chalk it up as a casualty considering the association she had with the item. She never expected to see it or the necklace again, except as incriminating evidence behind Willum and those other men's murders. No one she knew would be able to resist looting one-of-a-kind jewelry like that to keep for themselves or to pawn for a hefty profit.

Varric's shock seemed genuine, unlike when they killed a dozen templars in the Chantry and a box with her and Bethany's belongings had mysteriously appeared on Gamlen's doorstep to hide their involvement in that crime as well.

Hawke was really starting to hate surprises.

"Oh, there's a note," Varric said.

"Who's it from?"

"I have my suspicions, but why don't you read for yourself?

Varric gently placed the necklace back in the box and handed Hawke the folded piece of parchment that she must have missed earlier. Her eyes skimmed the letter and skipped down to the salutation.

"Denier? How? Without our business, I doubt he could afford to get this fixed on a noblehunter's salary."

"He could have if he fixed it himself. He mentioned that he took up blacksmithing for a while when he was in Orzammar. It was how he met his kid's mother. Her family's in the miner caste, but a few of her relatives took exception to having some casteless whore infringing on what they considered to be their territory. Broke his fingers and warned him away from the girl, but by then she was already pregnant."

"If he can do something like this then why is he working for Lusine?"

"If the Merchant's Guild caught wind of it, he'd have more than just Orzammar's assassins after him. Despite being Surfacers, dwarven hierarchy is still a huge deal to the backwards old nug-humpers up here. Without the proper channels, contacts, bribes, and paperwork you can't even sneeze without their approval. Forget having a legitimate trade."

"Sheesh. No wonder you skip meetings to avoid them. Remind me to send him a thank you card and all the Chasind mead he could ever want. It's not like either of us will have any use for it."

"How's the detox going, by the way? Any more visions?" he asked.

"Aside from the ones in the Fade? No. Thank Andraste. I think it's safe to say I'm back to normal. Or whatever counts as normal."

"Normal's overrated."

Varric set down the box and his crossbow before shucking off his coat and boots in deference to the stuffy heat of his room. He had the bearing of someone who didn't plan on going anywhere clothed anytime soon.

A girl could get behind that plan.

Varric stripped off his shirtsleeves and trousers, and Hawke hastily followed suit. He drew them a bath and didn't bother to touch the lever for hot water. Normally, Hawke hated cold baths, but in this heat, with the reek of fear-sweat clinging to her pores, she wasn't going to object.

After a quick, perfunctory wash, she settled into his lap and they made out lazily while tracing each other's tattoos. Varric only had the one, but Hawke was thrilled at being able to pop his cherry in more ways than one these past few days. Most dwarves considered tattoos to be a mark of shame - a brand labeling them as lesser beings like the ones sported by Tranquil mages. He seemed enthralled by hers, though, as he traced the one etched into her ribs.

The lines of ancient Dalish verse were as crimson as newly spilled blood and still looked fresh despite having to heal the old-fashioned way. Hawke felt him tracing the line that meant be safe in your dreams over and over again, even though he couldn't possibly know what the words said or how apt their meaning.

Maybe the tattoos contained a protection spell infused with friendship, blood, or magic. It was hard to say which one was the more powerful. Perhaps all three had conspired to keep the literal demons away. She only wished her tattoo worked as well on the metaphorical demons. Hawke's hands roved across Varric's chest and down his arms as she ducked to kiss him softly.

"Look at me," she murmured and pulled back so he wouldn't end up cross-eyed.

His eyes fluttered open like he hadn't realized they'd closed. The color of them was as rich as honeyed mead or whiskey but made her ache with want for him more than the desire for a drink. The pull in her stomach was the same either way, but at least in this she could indulge without fear. He'd been so cautious with her back at the estate, letting her take him to her heart's content while carefully evading returning the favor except with tongue and fingers.

He did as commanded and looked at her. At her scars, faults, and all.

He built her up in his stories, but she had no doubt that he saw her for exactly who she was. That he still held her in the same enthralled regard despite experiencing Hawke at her worst so many times made her feel ten metres tall and also want to run and hide in a mouse hole at the same time. There was history, love, and desire in that gaze that no demon could ever hope to replicate. Hawke would never believe herself deserving of any of it, but for both their sakes she would bluster through and pretend the idea of being loved didn't scare her shitless.

"I don't want you to jerk off anymore," Hawke said, catching and holding his eye. She didn't care if the request was hypocritical, especially after he'd "caught" her masturbating in his bed. "Every time you come I want you to do it inside me. My mouth, my cunt, my ass. I don't care. I want to be there every time you feel good. I want to be the one who makes you feel good."

"Maker's hairy nutsack, Hawke," Varric breathed, staring wide-eyed up at her. He was as hard as a rock between them but didn't move an inch to indulge her request, frozen like a hare in a hunter's sights. "Are you taking...you know?" Varric hesitated with his hands on her hips, but Hawke doubted very much that he'd throw her off regardless of what answer she gave.

"No. I could have gotten more birthbane at Sol's, but I didn't. And I don't plan to either."

She met his gaze steadily as she waited for that answer to process. Hawke hadn't taken birthbane since the ogre had smashed her vial in the Deep Roads. She was tired of worrying about getting knocked up. Either it would happen or it wouldn't, and they'd deal when the time came.

The idea of motherhood was frightening to her in a way very few things were. She'd never seen or heard of a dwarf/human child before. Anders had said their chances of conceiving were practically non-existent considering dwarves had low birthrates in general, never mind with another race. In fact, the only half-breed of any sort that she knew of was Feynriel who'd been shunned by his human father and was an outcast no matter where he went. Hawke was the last person in the world who should reproduce, but she had no doubts whatsoever that Varric would make an amazing father if the unlikely event should happen.

She'd rarely seen a broader range of emotions fly across his face before. She wasn't able to tell which one took root because he buried his face against her chest. He let out a shuddering breath as he wrapped both arms around her waist and held her close.

"Are we ever going to talk about this?" he mumbled.

He already sounded defeated, but an affectionate smile tugged at Hawke's lips as she stroked her fingers through his hair. He could mean the past six months, his betrayal in the Fade, the possibility of them starting a family together, or a dozen other weighty conversation points they'd been avoiding.

Either way, the answer was the same.

"Nope," she said.

Varric huffed out a laugh against her breastbone. "Figures. I guess we're winging it like we always do?"

"Yep," she said because she knew how much one-word answers annoyed Varric. True to expectations, Varric pulled his head back and glared up at her. Hawke's grin only became wider as she rocked her hips impatiently. "What do you say? Ready to make some questionable life choices with me?"

"When am I not? I'm not sure about a great many things, but me and you? That's pretty much a given."

Hawke was tempted to hoist herself down on Varric's cock and get to work right there, but she had something else in mind. He pouted when she wiggled out of his hold until she pulled him to his feet as well. After a quick toweling, Hawke steered him toward his desk and tugged out the chair for him to sit down.

"As much as I love watching you, babe, I was hoping for a more...hands-on approach this time," he said with a token attempt at resistance. He smoothed his hands up the backs of her thighs and squeezed the swell of her ass.

She swatted him away, albeit reluctantly. "You'll get your chance, Varric. Indulge me for a minute."

Hawke walked over to the table where Varric had set down the package containing Denier's unexpected present. She kept her back to him as she lifted the heavy necklace and clasped it around her neck. Garbed in nothing else, she returned to the chair and knelt over his lap so he could finally get a good look at his gift on her. He traced each delicate link and sapphire setting before transferring his reverent touches to her breasts, teasing her nipples until they could rival the stones' for hardness.

Speaking of hardness...

"I'm afraid I'm not going to last long, Hawke," Varric said, voice shaky and raw when she squeezed his cock and knelt up over him to position him at her entrance.

"Practice makes perfect," she said sagely as she slid down and took him to the hilt.

Hawke hadn't gotten around to mentioning it to him yet, but fucking him in his desk chair was one of her favorite reoccurring fantasies. He could lose himself for hours writing away, and she liked to think of all the ways she could distract him from his work. She hadn't thought much about the practical aspects, however. She had limited maneuverability due to the low, wide arms of the chair, but all she needed were a few inches to manage an up and down motion, and she was golden.

Hawke shook damp hair off the back of her neck, shivering at the spray of water that chilled in the warm air and pebbled her skin. She dug her fingers into the thick pelt of Varric's chest hair as she rode him with the ease of long practice. Maybe in a few years sex would become routine or vanilla for them, but there was anticipation and excitement in knowing exactly what she'd get by straddling Varric when there were no barriers between them.

He was one of the only constants in her life, and Hawke craved predictability when so much else was going to shit. As predicted, Varric was determined not to be an inactive participant. He handled her body as expertly as he did his crossbow. He knew exactly where to tweak, where to stroke, where to draw tension so that when he was ready, he could trigger her release with unerring accuracy.

She bit her bottom lip hard enough to taste copper as she thrust herself upon him, luxuriating in the gentle ache of him filling her that was as much an addiction as any of her other vices. There was no question he loved seeing her like this, so in control of both their pleasure. She arched her back so he could look his fill, showing off her body and the necklace both.

She closed her eyes to better hear the muffled racket of their lovemaking; the creak and sway of the stone chair beneath them, the synchronized cadence of their breathing that went occasionally out of sync. One of them would hitch out a laugh as if in response to an unspoken punchline that'd been building up for as long as they've known each other. They followed one another's thought processes so perfectly they didn't need to bother with the setup anymore.

Hawke would be an idiot to give this up. She loved this man as fiercely and recklessly as she did anything else she considered hers. She took for granted that he would always be there with a conveniently-timed bolt or a wildly exaggerated story to ease the bitterness of heartache.

Her body was even starting to transform in subtle ways to become tailor-made for him; the burn of her thighs faded as muscle memory set in; her spine bent fluidly as she contorted herself to kiss him; her abdomen clenched and rippled with definition that had as much to do with sex as it did fighting. She raked her nails down his chest and stomach, feeling the quiver of hard muscle beneath the soft scratch of hair as he worked to offset her own limited range of motion.

Varric had never been fat, precisely, but he'd had indulgences that manifested in softer deposits around his body. She privately mourned the loss of familiar handholds and the beginnings of a beer belly that would now be a thing of the past, while at the same time thrilled in the sleek power coiled between her legs.

She couldn't wait for the day when she knew his every freckle, his every scar. She wanted to trace her name into every inch of his body until she became as permanent as the brands on their arms. Regardless of their meaning, the tattoos were a perfect representation of the impulsive and flagrant regard in which they held each other.

They were Hawke's unspoken hope for permanence. And, if the tattoos activated and blew them up one day, it would only figure.

Hawke found herself at a loss for words as she worked herself up and down on Varric's shaft, too far gone to care that she was moaning like a wanton whore. She half-feared that she would snap his dick bouncing as hard as she was, but he only grabbed her ass and urged her on. The chair dug painfully into her legs, but she didn't care. Discomfort came secondary, as it always did, when there was a goal to be had. Her thighs were taut and straining like a jockey on a horse, racing closer and closer to the finish.

"Varric! I want to come on your dick. Let me come on your dick," Hawke begged when she found her voice again and gripped the back of the chair for leverage. She didn't think she was asking for the impossible. Admittedly, repression didn't grant much in the realm of stamina. Varric was probably as repressed as one dwarf could get after going without fucking her, really fucking her, for so long.

"Yes. Fuck, Hawke. Anything. Anything you want, sweetheart," he babbled, pressing his face into her chest and imprinting the design of the necklace onto his cheek.

She was so close. She just needed a little more...

Varric groaned and tightened his hold, shoving her harder onto his cock while snapping his hips up to meet her. She shrieked as she came without a hand on her, grinding her clit against his pelvis as his balls slapped against her ass. They swelled and seized with the force of his orgasm as he pumped her full just like she'd wanted. They moved together for a few minutes longer, drawing out every shudder until they wrung the last pulses of pleasure out of one another.

Hawke folded her arms across the back of the chair and let her head hang down. Varric tipped his face up and rested their sweaty foreheads together while they caught their breath. She felt him twitching to life inside her after an unusually short rest period and was impressed by his recovery time. They didn't bother to separate when he gripped her by the backs of her thighs and stood. She wrapped her arms and legs around him as he walked a few steps to lay her out gently on the bed instead of tossing or dropping her like she'd half been expecting.

He moved inside her slowly, holding eye contact with an intense, thin-lipped look of concentration that made her heart flutter. Hawke chickened out after a few seconds and dropped her gaze somewhere between his nose and his chin. She dug her nails into his shoulders and started to move in earnest before he could say anything. They maintained a slow, lazy gait for ages, but she pushed her whole body into every thrust, clamping down to feel the drag of his thick cock plunging in and out of her. Each exhale became a grunt or a soft cry until Varric cupped her cheek and slipped his thumb between her parted lips to touch the tip of her tongue, quieting her but never silencing.

Hawke groaned as her pelvic muscles fluttered a warning, and she opened her mouth around Varric's thumb. Her teeth dug into the base of the joint, sucking the digit like it was his cock in her mouth instead. She'd use far fewer teeth on his actual cock, but a little pain mixed in with pleasure never went remiss.

He drew his thumb out of her mouth and left a slick trail over the necklace to her chest. He cupped her breast and circled a nipple with the wet pad of his thumb. He leaned down to take her other nipple into his mouth. The suction sent blood rushing to the surface of her skin, breaking the tiny, delicate capillaries in a more pleasurable process of bruising than she usually experienced.

She stretched her arms overhead and let him mark her up. He alternated sucking kisses between her breasts while she rolled her hips against his in an increasingly desperate pace that he encouraged when his hands dropped back down to her ass. His appreciation for the female form went without saying, but she was pleased he was learning to expand his boundaries as well – if the gorgeous sounds he'd made when she worked her cock into him were any indication.

Hawke wished they had the ability to maintain such willful abandon until the walls crumbled into dust around them. But until that happened, she didn't mind making the attempt again and again.

Varric reversed their positions right when Hawke thought her nipples were going to fall off from his relentless attention. He balanced her with hands braced against her hips, but his touch wasn't at all restrictive. She tipped her head back and grabbed fistfuls of her own her hair as she bounced vigorously on Varric's cock, making the necklace rattle.

As fun as chair sex had been, being able to move and grind without restriction was even better. Varric grunted at the wet impact of their bodies slamming together and gripped her hips tighter, pulling her down at the same time he drove his hips up.

Hawke was slowly losing her mind and covered her ears to keep her brains from dribbling out from between her fingers. She was so wet from their first round that only the desperate need to come reminded her to clench down, straining for the necessary friction to bring them to the breaking point.

"Hawke..." Varric growled, voice broken and aggressive with lust that never failed to send a thrill up her spine.

There was an entire conversation within that one word. By the time Hawke managed to tear her hands free without losing her hair in the process, her only response was, "Yes."

She had only enough time to draw in one sharp breath before he applied his thumb to her clit in a blur of motion that punched a screaming orgasm out of her. At the same time, his hips jerked up and up and up, filling her with his release. She'd been hit with a bolt of lightning from an enemy mage that felt less electrifying than this. Instead of pain, her body seized up as waves of pleasure coursed through her until she shuddered and collapsed with a weak cry.

Varric, as always, was there to catch her.

Hawke was almost numb between her legs by the time she recovered enough strength to flop onto her side and take inventory of her aching body. Cataloging injuries after a fight was so familiar a process that she didn't think twice about continuing the habit after sex.

They didn't go out of their way to hurt each other, of course, but they were both reckless when they were worked up and bound to push limits. Sometimes shit just happened. Still, she wasn't looking forward to Corff's knowing smirk when they came downstairs or Norah's half-jest complaints that they weren't running a brothel and laundry service was extra.

Hawke whined and buried her face against Varric's shoulder when his hand gently parted her thighs and burrowed between her legs. He was careful not to touch her clit, which still sizzled after that last explosive orgasm. He gave a pleased rumble when he found his spend leaking out of her and buried three fingers in her quim up to the knuckles. He took his time inspecting his handiwork, pumping his fingers in and out of her and turning them this way and that until obscene squelches filled the air.

"Pervert," Hawke complained, hiding her smirk as she felt their combined mess slick her thighs and run down his hand.

Varric hummed a deep, throaty vibration of agreement. He scissored his fingers apart and stretched the edges of her opening, fascinated by the sight of his come dripping out of her. There was so much that Hawke gave up on the thought of cleaning up and let him indulge his fill.

She wasn't expecting it but submitted eagerly when he pounced and pinned her onto her back. He shouldered between her legs and took his mouth to her, scouring her out thoroughly with his tongue. They were ready to go again by the time he finished, but Hawke let him do all the work. He hooked her knee over his shoulder and rocked them both to completion for the third and final round.

They remained connected long after he'd released and grown soft inside her, neither moving until the fancy chain around Hawke's throat threatened to strangle her. He finally pulled away to help untangle the necklace, setting it aside on the nightstand so it didn't get lost in the bedding. His ancestors were probably rolling over in their tombs after having their priceless heirloom defiled by a human, but Varric couldn't have looked more pleased if he tried.

He might have gone for a fourth round, but the look Hawke shot him when he stroked her bare throat and started a southward journey down her belly promised a swift punch in the head if he tried. He cupped a possessive hand over her mound without any funny business and brushed a kiss against her brow as he settled in next to her.

The stubble on his chin scratched her cheek when she forgot to rein in her smile. They lay there in companionable silence until the candles burned low and the damp hair between Hawke's legs became tacky and itchy. She recalled Solivitus' warning about genital warts and squirmed.

"Bath?" Varric asked.

"Ugh, yes. A warm one this time. Maker, we're gross."

Varric gave her a consolatory pat with equally sticky fingers before he thumped out of bed and scratched his balls with that same hand. Hawke muffled a snort of laughter into the crook of her elbow. She shook her head when he glanced over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow and a questioning grin of his own.

"Just wondering where that smooth, charming dwarf who swept me off my feet went," Hawke sighed.

She starfished out on the plush mattress while she had it all to herself. She didn't officially have her own side of the bed when she slept with Varric - she had whatever side she passed out on and would usually wake on top of or wrapped around him. Complaints about her eel arms or hogging the bed fell on deaf ears, though. She'd woken up as the little spoon to his big one more times than she could count.

"He's still here. Only he learned that playing nice with you tends to turn around and bite him in the ass more often than not," Varric said dryly.

Hawke stole a peek at said ass as he went to fill up the tub. She noticed that he did indeed have a livid bite mark on one gloriously-shaped cheek when he bent over - courtesy of one Marian Hawke. She rolled onto her stomach to watch him and tamped down the warm bubble of laughter that threatened to fill her heart until it burst out of her chest.

"I think you're nice," Hawke said with far more sincerity than she'd meant to voice, especially while sober. She kicked up her heels and swung them innocently when he shot her another suspicious look. She must have gotten better on her tells since didn't call her out on the uncharacteristic statement.

"I think sex has gone to your head," he said, testing the hot water that pumped in through the brand-new plumbing system he'd had installed after returning from the Deep Roads a much richer man.

There had been other, more subtle upgrades done on the building that threatened to turn the Hanged Man into a reputable establishment. The holes out in the hallway floor, for example, had been repaired to keep drunken patrons from falling through and literally crashing someone else's party.

Despite Corff's refusal to let him buy the tavern outright, Varric claimed he was content to patron his favorite haunt without expending the effort it took to actually run a business or keep track of employees. Hawke knew that excuse was complete bullshit. She wished she'd known what a pain in the ass ownership was before she'd bought out the Bone Pit. The mine was an endless drain on her money and patience, but Varric would thrive on the challenge.

Not that she'd ever tell him as much. There would be no end to his gloating.

"No, only really good sex has." Hawke let a blissful sigh pass her lips before she could catch it.

Varric straightened like she'd goosed him. If he'd been standing close enough, she would have. His ass truly was something else. It was a shame he wouldn't let her stick things in it more often. He turned to face her and still managed to look imposing with his dick hanging out. He crossed his arms over his chest and pinned her with a look.

"Okay. What's up, Hawke?"

Dammit.

"Up? Nothing's up, Varric. You're imagining things." Hawke shifted onto her back to put some distance between her and that look. She grimaced when she landed in the wet spot on the bed but refused to move out of sheer principle.

"Nuh-uh. 'You're so nice, Varric'. 'You're so good at sex'," he mocked in the same high-pitched tone he used when imitating her. It made Hawke want to drive nails into her skull.

"Oh, go fuck yourself." Hawke felt her cheeks go damningly red as she covered her face with her hands and groaned.

"Seems like I did a good enough job of that already."

His voice was suddenly close. Right in her ear, in fact. She yelped and nearly smacked him in the nose when she flailed. He ducked to avoid her fist but swooped in again to scoop her off the bed and into his arms.

"Varric! Put me down, you ass!"

"Nope. Someone complained that I didn't sweep her off her feet anymore. We're both too young for the romance to be dead already, Hawke."

Hawke felt plenty romanced, which was part of the problem. She turned her face away to hide the redness that persisted when he walked her over to the bath. After being glued to each other's sides for the better part of two years, give or take, he shouldn't have the ability to catch her so off-guard anymore. Still, she protested the manhandling only because she couldn't let him know just how affected by him she was.

"Don't blame me when you put your back out, old man" Hawke griped but wrapped her arms loosely around his neck instead of trying to get away.

"Who are you calling old?"

She yelled when he bounced her and threatened to dump her into the bath. She squeezed his neck, holding on for dear life until he gave a strangled wheeze and tapped out frantically. She managed to unwind her arms just enough that he lost that rather lovely shade of indigo on his face, but she didn't trust him not to drop her for real after that.

Varric coughed with a rueful grin that faded into the same intense look as before. It was more terrifying and wonderful up close when she couldn't look away. He must have seen the fear on her face because he toned the intensity down a few degrees. He sat on the edge of the tub and held her in his lap like she wasn't practically twice his size.

Her heart beat out a nervous rhythm when he turned off the faucet, and the sudden cessation of rushing water gave way to silence. Varric saying nothing when he obviously had something on his mind was the number one way to break Hawke's resolve. He usually only employed that particular dirty tactic in the direst of circumstances.

Hawke was so determined not to crack that she didn't register biting her lip bloody until Varric made an unhappy sound and pressed his thumb to her mouth until she let up. He soothed the hurt with small, gentle strokes until the sting abated. Hawke licked away the smear of blood left on his thumb and tasted copper.

"Talk to me, Hawke. It's all right if you're having second thoughts. We don't have to rush into anything we're both not ready for."

He was far more patient and understanding than Hawke had any right to expect. He would probably sit with her like this until his ass went numb and the water was ice cold. Any doubts about him wanting to be with her until death did them part were erased in the Fade. Despite all the promises of fame, accolades, and wealth the demon had attempted to sway him with, his ultimate weakness, his ultimate desire had been her.

As further proof of his commitment, the second she'd given permission he'd been all over her like he'd made it his personal mission to get her with child as quickly as possible. Choosing not to use contraceptives wasn't the smartest decision Hawke had ever made by a long shot, but she didn't think it was the wrong one where Varric was concerned either.

"Nothing to talk about," she said tightly. "Are we taking a bath or not?"

"The bath isn't going anywhere. C'mon, sweetheart. Tell me what's wrong."

She refused to look at him even when he tried to catch her chin and force the issue. She growled and snapped at his fingers with her teeth. "Andraste's ass, just leave it alone!"

"I can't leave it alone if I don't know what 'it' is. You want me to start guessing?"

Hawke could only imagine the kind of worst-case scenarios a mind like Varric's could come up with, and none of them were good. He looked thoughtful for a long moment before he asked quietly, "Is it Blondie? It's okay if you still want to try and work things out with him. You know I don't—"

"No, it's not about Anders. Well, mostly."

"'Mostly'?"

Hawke knew herself well enough to know what drew her to Anders the most was the illicit thrill surrounding him. He was undoubtedly dangerous and had already lost control of his spirit twice - to her knowledge. He felt like something she shouldn't want, shouldn't have, and that only made her want him more. Of course, Varric did his best to fuck up the appeal by being encouraging and supportive of their relationship. Hawke had fallen for his reverse psychology methods far too often but knew this time he was being genuine.

Even with Varric's explicit permission, she still felt guilty and confused by her attraction to Anders.

She found it odd that Anders hadn't featured in any of her hallucinations or as temptation in the Fade. Perhaps it was because she had yet to associate fear and regret as the leading factors in her memories of him, unlike with Millie and Carver. She might still have a chance to avoid that particular nightmare, but Anders would have no relief from his own.

As wonderful as her night with him and Varric had been, it was unsettling to know she was the source of his single most cherished experience. He deserved more than a few hours of happiness. She might even be able to provide him with more, but at what cost? She couldn't promise to love Varric and Anders equally and knew without question who she would pick if she were forced to chose one over the other.

Anders deserved better than scraps or to feel like he was always on the outside looking in. He deserved the chance to find someone who would love him with every part of their being, not someone who could only give him pieces of themselves.

Hawke licked her lips nervously. "So, here's the thing. While I'm off the birthbane, I don't want to run around playing 'who's the baby daddy?' Anders has about as much chance of knocking me up as you do, which is to say not much at all, but I'd still rather not take that risk. It's not fair to him or you. Especially you, because I..."

Hawke trailed off and hid her face, mumbling the rest into his chest.

"What was that?" Varric jostled her when she only grumbled again. "Hawke, speak up. I can't understand y-"

"I said I love you, you stupid idiot!"

Hawke pulled her face away and yelled as rage rose up swift and hot in her. It was a far easier emotion to express than the fear or embarrassment that shot through her at the admission. She didn't know why it was so hard for her to confess her feelings. He'd already told her he loved her several times, but the longer she'd gone without saying it, the more she lost her nerve.

"Okay? I love you, too, babe," he said, sounding bewildered. "Do you want to tell me what's wrong now?"

"That was it!"

Hawke felt as wound up and defensive as she did before a fight. Varric let her go when she pushed - potentially saving him from a broken nose if he'd tried to hold on. She scrambled out of his lap to stand, arms tucked tightly around her ribs and lips pulled back to bare her teeth like a caged animal.

He stared at her in open-mouthed incomprehension that turned into understanding faster than she was comfortable with. He took a minute to consider his response to such a deranged confession, but Hawke kicked him in the shin before he could get around to composing the perfect words in his head and saying them out loud.

"Ow, Hawke!" Varric yelped, clutching at his leg. "Are you serious right now? No. Dumb question. Of course you are. Only you would consider telling someone you love them more painful than performing surgery on yourself on the side of a mountain." He sighed and released his leg to rub at his forehead. "Maferath's sweaty taint... I don't even know what to say right now."

"You've said plenty, Varric. Considering almost everyone I've ever loved is either dead or locked up in a tower somewhere, you can see why I try not to get too attached."

Hawke could make the biggest disaster into nothing, and vice versa. She was surprised at Varric's surprise, honestly. He should have known this about her by now. His face softened, but Hawke wished he'd clung to his irritation a little longer.

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm sorry, Marian. I didn't mean to push."

"Yes you did. And don't call me that."

"Which? Sweetheart or Marian?"

Hawke was determined not to make this conversation any easier for Varric than it was for her. Even she could admit being afraid of her feelings was ridiculous especially after they'd slain dragons and survived the Fade. They were even considering making babies together. Dirty diapers were way scarier than telling her lover and best friend that she loved him. She'd been old enough to remember her parents barely managing to keep up with all the nappies Carver and Bethany had gone through. There had been no end to the crying, pissing, and shitting.

Maker preserve her. She still wanted all of that anyway.

"You know which one I mean, dwarf."

"Fine, Hawke. So maybe I did mean to push. Can you blame me, though? I was worried you'd been possessed after all."

He sounded relieved there wasn't a bigger issue at stake, but what kind of person/friend/lover was she when saying something nice to Varric had him instantly on guard? Hawke didn't know what to say to excuse her clear lack of social development. Instead, she dropped to her knees in front of him and wrapped her arms around his waist without saying a word. There was nothing she could say when someone she thought the world of received more insults than praise from her.

"How is it you even like me?" she whispered. She didn't expect an answer, but she should have known that she'd get one anyway.

"Are you kidding? I've started drafting a book about all the reasons why you're the most amazing person to have ever existed. I might even need to make it into a series to contain it all. I'll give you an autographed copy at a special discount when it's done."

Hawke squeezed him and had to wait a full minute before she could find her voice again, but it still came out as a thick rasp. "You mean I don't get a copy for free being the author's girlfriend and all?"

"Hey, I gotta make a living somehow. Despite what you think, being your kept man doesn't pay the bills."

"I should have been charging you for blowjobs this whole time. Yet another opportunity missed. Story of my life," she sighed.

Varric stroked her hair and said softly, "Let's try not to miss anymore. Deal?"

Hawke sealed the deal with a kiss.

She lunged up and collided their mouths together so unexpectedly that Varric overbalanced and grabbed her as he fell back into the tub. A wave of water crashed over the edge and onto the floor. They nearly drowned in less than two feet of water trying to untangle their limbs and break for air. By the time they managed to get sorted, Hawke had accidentally given Varric a black eye and half the water was gone.

"C'mon, let me see it," Hawke said, trying and failing not to laugh when she attempted to coax Varric into letting her inspect the damage.

He kept his hand clapped firmly over his eye and scowled at her with the other. "No."

"Don't be such a baby. I'm qualified to handle medical emergencies now, remember?" She pointed to the garish scar on her thigh.

"Not on your life, Hawke. I'm fond of this eye and plan to keep it right where it is. Attached to my head."

"No knives, I promise." She grinned and held up her hands to show off her empty palms. Varric was having none of it, however, so she went for the low blow. "If you love me you would."

"...Fuck."

Varric's shoulders slumped so comically that it took everything in her not to laugh or pump her fist in triumph when he lowered his hand. Of course, she had no idea what she was doing but kept up the poking and prodding until Varric hissed and finally batted her hands away. "You're making it worse!"

"Oh, stop whining. You love it."

"I love you." Varric sat back and gave her an expectant look when she flushed and didn't respond.

"What?" she said, scowling at the grin that spread slowly across his face.

"Usually, this is around the time the other party reciprocates, Hawke. I know it's difficult for you, beautiful, but believe me when I say it gets easier with practice."

"No way. I already used up my quota for this year. You'll just have to wait until next year. Or until one of us almost dies again."

"Wha-Seriously?" Varric's outrage was belied by the gentle way he stroked her hips when she settled into his lap and looped her arms around his neck. "What's a dwarf gotta do to get a little appreciation around here? Sheesh."

Hawke could feel him getting hard even though she'd thought them both pretty well depleted. She'd be sore in the morning, but she might have one more round left in her. She reached behind them and pulled the lever for more hot water. When she turned back, she caught Varric in the act of checking out her tits which decided things for her right there.

"I'm sorry you don't feel appreciated, Varric," Hawke purred as she moved her hips against his, making the water slosh gently. "Let me make it up to you?"

"Well...I suppose I could..." Varric's attempt at a casual tone cracked when she took him in hand, gave him a firm stroke from root to tip, and kissed him.

They were done talking for quite a while after that.

"Feeling a little more appreciated now?" Hawke asked smugly, nudging Varric in the side as she basked in a job well done.

After finishing up what had passed for a bath, they'd thrown the dirty sheets onto the floor to sop up some of the mess, wrapped themselves in overlarge towels, and snuggled up together in the middle of the bed. They'd succeeded in getting more water on the floor than on themselves, possibly ruining the expensive renovations Varric had funded, but Hawke was too tired to care. Corff was going to kill them, of course, which was a shame after she and Varric had finally reached an accord of sorts regarding their relationship.

"I'd appreciate being able to feel my legs again, but I'll take what I can get," Varric groaned.

"Try and sound a little more grateful, Varric. You'll hurt my feelings."

"I suppose you've earned a free copy of my book whenever I get around to actually finishing it. I'm thinking of calling it The Hawke's Revenge. Or something like that. It's a work in progress."

"You know. I'm starting to think you don't appreciate-"

"Oh, shut up, Hawke."

"You sweet talker, you."

He growled and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her so sweetly that Hawke didn't need to hear him say a word to feel the love he had for her. After they came up for air, Hawke stroked Varric's arm and pressed her lips against the center of his tattoo. The crimson lines were warmer than the surrounding skin, but they were healing up nicely.

Despite the heat, he rarely went anywhere without his long-sleeved tunic and duster. But even if the marks were covered up, she and Varric would always know they were there. A thrill went through her at the thought and curled up warm and low in her belly.

Best friend tattoos weren't uncommon, and the Dalish attached powerful meaning and magic to their vallaslin, but seeing the physical proof of their connection was as arousing to her as giving Varric explicit permission to use her at will was to him. There was no pretty way of saying it without labeling herself as a come slut, but there was no denying she wanted a piece of Varric with her always. And since cannibalism was off the table, the tattoos and being an eager receptacle for his seed was the next best thing.

When she thought about the future, all she saw was a big, blank slate marked with the occasional scuffle or odd jobs. She didn't dare risk filling it with her desires and expectations. That way lay only misery and disappointment. Hawke thrived on having control over her own fate, or at least having the illusion of control. But she'd had the rug ripped out from beneath her too many times and learned how to roll with the punches. Less galling than to think some higher power was getting its fix from fucking with her.

"What are you thinking about?" Varric rubbed a hand up and down Hawke's arm over her own tattoo, possibly harboring similar thoughts.

"You want the abridged version or the editor's cut?"

"That's basically the same thing, Hawke."

"Short version it is," she grinned, but the cheerful façade dimmed as she considered and discarded all of the rampant thoughts crashing through her head. People often accused her of acting rashly or being more brawn than brains, but the truth was she would overthink things to death if she let herself. Better to trust instinct, charge ahead, and deal with the consequences later than to hesitate and miss her opportunity.

"No matter what happens, you'll always have my back, right?" Hawke said, sounding more tremulous than she would have liked.

"Hawke..." Varric said, low and tender. "Sweetheart. You should know I have contingency plans for everything. And you can be damn sure all of them include making sure you always have your trusty dwarf at your side. I'm with you, babe. Desire demons notwithstanding, but I don't plan on making that mistake twice."

"Oh. Well, that's comforting. Maybe I should get that all down in writing, just in case."

"What, don't you trust me?"

"I trust you to try and sneak yourself into the Amell will, dwarf. Don't think I haven't noticed the way you keep eyeballing my book on phallic potatoes."

"I could be an aspiring chef, Hawke. Can you blame me?"

"Yes."

"Maybe we do need a contract after all. Article 2, section B, paragraph 7: 'I hereby proclaim Marian Hawke, scourge of templars and ravisher of dwarves, to be the sole proprietress of One Hundred and One Uses for a Phallic Tuber, gifted by one Isabela Rivaini..."

"Let's skip to article 3, section H, paragraph 14: 'Smart-mouth dwarves by the name of Varric Tethras will hereby be limited to no more than three smartass comments per day'. Pretty sure you already used up your quota," Hawke quipped back.

"Three? Hawke, I may as well become a hermit and never speak again. At least give me ten. Twelve, if half of them aren't at your expense."

"I'll give you five. And only two at my expense."

"Eight."

"Five."

"Seven, and I'll give you unlimited foot rubs," Varric offered.

"Five smartass comments and unlimited foot rubs for me," Hawke said.

"I don't think you get the concept behind negotiating, Hawke."

"Sure I do. Negotiation's just another word for 'Hawke always gets what she wants, and wise dwarves know when to shut up and take it'. You'll find that one in article 5."

Varric groaned. "I took it all right. I should know better. You'll give me just enough rope to hang myself with."

"Tie you up with, maybe. Contracts can wait. First, I have a few more," Hawke wiggled her way top of him and pressed her thigh between his legs, making Varric gasp, "stipulations."

"Anything, Hawke." He shuddered, squeezing her tight. "Signed, sealed, delivered. I'm yours."

"And you say I'm bad at negotiations." She smirked and sat up to straddle his waist. "Looks like I came out on top."

"Yeah, yeah. So what are these stipulations of yours?"

Hawke tapped her chin as she thought, and then ticked off each point on her fingers.

"Hm. Breakfast in bed whenever I want. You're in charge of making sure Snowflake gets a bath at least once a month. And...let's see. I get to have two drawers here, but I'll give you a wardrobe all to yourself at the estate," she said.

"Agreed." Varric accepted her terms so readily Hawke regretted not tacking on a few more demands. "So, are we doing a timeshare then?"

"Mother says we can't raise the children in a tavern, but I don't mind going back and forth between our places if one's closer."

Varric gave a small jerk that Hawke wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't been sitting on top of him. His cheeks flushed a pretty pink, and his eyes took on a glazed cast that made her think of his reaction to the demon's illusion in the Fade. He looked bewitched and entirely at her mercy at the casual mention of their theoretical children that they may or may not end up having.

"You know what? Screw the contract. You can have anything you want. Feel free to quote me on that." Varric hooked an arm around her waist and planted a hard kiss on her chest since he couldn't reach her mouth at this angle.

"I have everything I want right here, but I'll keep that in mind."

Hawke stretched forward to grab the sapphire necklace they'd discarded on the nightstand. Varric reached up to fondle her breasts while she secured the necklace around her throat. If she let him, he would drown her in precious metals and jewels. Thankfully, he was able to manage some restraint, but she was curious as to what those contingency plans of his were. Maker knew 'Hawke' and 'planning' didn't belong in the same sentence, but Varric had apparently plotted out their lives together before Hawke even knew theirs was a forever kind of relationship. A forever kind of love...

No, the romance certainly wasn't dead.

Hawke leaned down to nuzzle his cheek and moved until she felt Varric slide between her damp, swollen folds. She ached from earlier, but the best cure for sore muscles was to use them, and use them she did.

"Oh, Varric! You're so nice! You're so good at sex! I love you sooo much!" Hawke called out loudly once they really started going at it, giggling through her overdone moans.

It was so much easier to say as a joke, but Varric hooked a finger through the top of her necklace and yanked her down for a hard, passionate kiss all the same. They broke apart and stifled laughter when they heard Isabela's irritated voice call out as she pounded on the door.

"Not this shit again! You two caused a leak downstairs! Don't you have your own estate to ruin, Hawke? Go home!"

Unfortunately for Isabela, Hawke already was.

Notes: Check out artwork for this fic on Tumblr under user handle Brie2230!