bakerstreet | ( heathcliff, it's me, your cathy, i've come home

"That's alright, Hawke. Poppy and poppycock- you're the captain of this particular ship." In the face of her surrender Varric just laughs and inclines his head accommodatingly. As much as he likes the win, her safeword idea actually is much better.

"After sounds more fun." He realizes his time as a free man is running out, and the idea is really very intriguing. Rather than simply stripping, though, he leans in with a hand around the back of her neck and pulls her in for a kiss.

Hawke takes several minutes to enjoy the kiss, making a thorough job of it. She is looking forward to this, but it's nice to take a minute to just appreciate being Marian and Varric, before becoming...whoever they're going to be for this game.

"Love you," she murmurs against his mouth. She doesn't say it often, not so directly. But the amount of trust he's showing her means a good deal.

It is nice, and quiet, and more tense for the anticipation looming large. Those words, though, put a dorky little smile on his face, one that's a hair too sincere for his Clever Rogue image. His other hand comes up to touch her cheek lightly.

"Love you too, you goddamn lunatic," he answers fondly. As far as he's concerned, being two-thirds tease and one-third nutjob is entirely Marian, and "putting up with" absolute horseshit while secretly loving it is entirely Varric. The sheer audacity of it- yes, that's entirely Marian, too, even if it's not all of her. This game, as far as he's expecting, will probably be outrageous, but won't entirely be about pretending, or being someone else. Not completely, at least. And yes, he loves what a lunatic she is.

She laughs, kissing his nose ridiculously before pulling back. "You'd better, you ego-ridden dwarf. Now strip and let's get this thing on you."

"Hold on," he says, and pulls her half onto his lap. Then he runs his hands down her sides, over her waist, to settle on her hips, before leaning up for a long, lingering kiss. There might be some groping, and some neck kissing, and a little grinding.

Hey, he wants to have at least a little fun first.

So when he finally starts taking off his clothes, it doesn't feel quite as awkward or perfunctory as suddenly stripping in the cold would feel. He's not exactly hard, but his cock has shown enough interest to be respectable looking, at least. When he's gotten naked, he looks at the cock ring with sudden... something? Not trepidation, but that feeling of 'oh Maker, what did I get myself into.' He reaches out curiously and touches one of the runes, and it promptly splits itself into an even more complex ring setup- one that he recognizes, actually. From some of the more exotic back rooms of the Rose. One ring to go behind the entire "business", and one to nestle at the base of the cock. They are, reportedly, intense as hell.

"Shit," he says softly. "You don't do anything halfway, do you?"

Edited 2018-01-19 03:52 (UTC)

Hawke mmms, returning the kissing and groping and grinding with enthusiasm. Plan or no plan, Varric's kisses and caresses are not to be denied, whatever the circumstances. He could kiss her in the Knight-Commander's office and she wouldn't refuse.

Probably best not to tell him that, though.

She watches him remove his clothes with interest, as always, and tries not to smirk (with only sone success) as he examines the cock ring. "Of course not," she answers, taking it from him and getting on her knees, giving him a quick grin before she slides it into place, though she lets him make the final adjustments. "What fun would that be?"

"Slide" is an understatement for what she has to do to get it on; there's a lot of touching and gentle squeezing and very carefully pushing things through intimidating metal rings one, ahem, stone at a time, while simultaneously feeding his cock through the other attached ring. Maker's breath, she did something with a rune at some point and there's three of them- one that nestles against his body, behind everything, and two rings attached to it- one for the pillar, as it were, to grip a little too firmly, and one for the stones, squeezing around the base of the sack and almost pulling them down with a strangely heavy feeling.

Once it's on properly, Varric sits back with a heavy breath, blinking a few times and trying to get used to the feeling. The process of putting the blasted thing on was involved, and those final adjustments- well, Varric made them, but the whole process had a lot more touching than Varric thought necessary, and his cock is starting to swell a little more- not hard yet, but he can feel a little something from the rings. "Shit, that's weird," he murmurs, touching the thing lightly, adjusting himself a tad. "I'd compare it to a hug for your cock, but usually those don't involve metal."

After a moment he seems to settle, deciding he's used enough to it, and spreads his arms on the back of the couch like he owns the damn place. He'd cross his legs nonchalantly, but that seems unwise at present. "So, m'lady Lunatic, I believe you said something about rules?"

Her grin turns almost feral. "You already know the rules." Casually she leans back against the wall, crossing her arms over her chest. Which pushes her breasts up. Which, given the dress she's wearing, reveals a fair amount of skin, colored warmer than usual by the firelight. "For the next two nights and two days, you are my servant. You will obey every order I give, however mundane. There will be no complaints and no sarcasm, only the utmost courtesy. Serve me well, and you will be rewarded. Disobey, and there will be a certain amount of...punishment."

The way her eyes glint doesn't so much suggest at what form the punishment would take so much as write a novel about it. In red ink, with pictures every bit as filthy as the ones he left in her room.

"Any questions? Those are permitted. For now."

Damn, she's really going for it. Varric's mind races with filthy images and ideas, wondering just how weird shit is about to get, until one detail snags at him. There's a disbelieving laugh and a hand raised as if to stop her. "I'm sorry, gorgeous, but- no complaining? No sarcasm? I- I can't do it."

He doesn't actually sound like he's kidding.

"It'd be like asking me not to breathe. I can be a good little dwarf, but I have to complain. It's required."

"I know." Her grin becomes a little more wicked, which shouldn't be possible. "And I'm very much looking forward to taking you to task for it."

"Come on, Hawke," he says, still smirking but sounding a tiny bit more serious. "Be reasonable. You wouldn't love me if I wasn't my usual bitchy self."

A moment's pause to think. "Besides, isn't it more fun getting someone to comply even if they're complaining about it?"

Hawke looks more fond, and bends over to give him a kiss. "Don't sound so worried, love. I love your bitching, I'd be bored stiff if I didn't get to hear it, creative invective and all. All it'd be is an excuse to do things I'd probably do anyway, which you'll really enjoy." Another kiss. "But we can take out that rule entirely if you want, sure. I can find plenty of other ways to wind you up."

He catches her with a hand on the back of her neck and keeps her close for another, lingering kiss, taking a moment to just enjoy it.

"Of that, I have no doubt." A peck on the nose. "I can try to limit the bitching, but I make no promises. I'll even call you m'lady." Okay, now he's definitely being a shit. There's a glint in his eyes. "If m'lady desires."

"M'lady does." Hawke smiles broadly. She was going to tell him to call her mistress, but 'm'lady' feels more appropriate coming from Varric. The perfect gentleman rogue, and also one sarcastic son of a bitch.

Damn, she's a lucky woman.

She fetches a pile of clothes from the same table where she had the boxed cock ring and hands them over. There's a tight (not too tight but definitely on the revealing side) vest, plus a much more loose pair of trousers. She erred on the side of caution there, given the cock ring. There can't be a comfortable way to...actually, to anything, with that on. "Here, put these on. Unless you'd rather stay naked. Which I would absolutely not object to."

"As much as I would enjoy flaunting everything for you, Hawke," he smirks, taking the trousers from her with a small (but wholly unnecessary) flourish, "I think I'll generously let you concentrate on your... work."

With that, he puts the pants on. It's a bit delicate, given the metal rune-engraved contraption encircling his luggage, but he gets it on easily. His bulge is a bit... different than normal. A bit more distinct, perhaps, with his half-hard cock held out and up by the ring. He looks at her casually.

"Should I get the tunic on, too? Or am I just here for my chest hair?"

"Not just the chest hair." Hawke grins, and quick as a flash cups him through the loose trousers. She gives him several slow, deliberate strokes. "Also for this. And there are a few more rules you should know about."

She steps closer, her hand still working on him, feeling him harden against her palm. "I can touch you whenever I want, but you can only touch me if I give you my permission. And you'll only be able to come when I allow it. If I allow it."

He's read the book. He knows how this part of the game goes.

Varric is not a normal man. He's a merchant prince, an incredibly wealthy and powerful merchant with an army of spies who's made a generous living out of keeping a straight face. His ability to suppress his reactions is instrumental to his income, his life, his living- and yet, when Hawke talks about if I allow it, he sucks in a breath quite suddenly.

Despite his strongest attempts at hiding his real reactions.

It's so hard to keep in his reaction, while wearing this thing. Apparently, one of the side effects is being more sensitive- but Maker, it feels good. And Maker, when he talks about not letting him come, it's- it's impossible to keep it together. At least, not entirely.

His gaze is still level, meeting hers. His face is still mostly neutral-slash-sarcastic, even as a bit of strain gets into his voice. "Noted."

Normally, he'd say more. Much more. It wouldn't take him a second to collect himself.

"So, no grabass and no groping the decollatage. Got it."

Hawke knows Varric extremely well, and is an expert in reading his reactions. She doesn't miss a thing--not a twitch, not a breath, and not the absence of a more lengthy response. She chuckles, finally releasing his cock. Once feature of the ring is that once Varric is hard, he'll *stay* hard. One reason she got him started. That, and for the fun of it, of course. "Good. Let's go upstairs. You're going to draw me a bath."

And she sets off, hips swaying, leaving him to follow.

He gasps and grits his teeth through her attentions, noticing acutely that she only stops when he's good and hard. Maker, his cock isn't showing any signs of flagging, either- one feature of the rings, naturally. Once he gets hard enough he starts to feel them- a pressure around him, behind him, almost inside him, digging into his cock and behind his balls and making everything red-hot sensitive with metal rings dug in deep. Oh god, how is he gonna survive two days of this?

Then she lets go of him, letting him gasp in a breath, and says some shit about baths. Okay. Okay! Fine. That's fine. "Alright, M'lady Lunatic," he answers smarmily. "Lead the way."

He follows her up the stairs, eyes on her swaying hips and full ass. Cock tenting his loose trousers like a goddamn flagpole.

It takes a while to make a bath happen, of course. Lots of time spent collecting water. And heating it, because she's not about to take a cold bath. She sits and watches, one leg folded over the other, pale thighs just peeking out from under the edge of her clothes. They gives her orders and they exchange snarky comments, because of course they do, but the whole while she watches him keenly. No question that the ring is having some effect, given how distracted Varric is. He tries not to make it obvious, but she knows him too well.

It's a good start, to her mind. When the bath is ready she makes a show of testing the temperature and making sure it's to her liking, then strips herself. She doesn't make an obvious show about it, but she does take her time and make sure he's watching. It's the little things, after all.

Then she steps into the bath and sighs luxuriously, stretching out and letting hot water seep into her muscles. Hot baths are one of Hawke's few real indulgences, and she makes a point of enjoying them to the fullest in any circumstances. Especially these.

After a few moments of that she dunks her head back in the water to wet her hair, then sits up more straight. "Hand me the soap? And then you can do my hair for me."

Funny thing about the ring- every bit of arousal and hardness that happens with it on doesn’t go away. At all. So yeah, he’s distracted, no matter how hard he tries to hide it. The ring doesn’t let him forget, either- the way his cock is out and proud, it’s hard to avoid bumping into goddamn everything, and harder still to avoid a visible reaction when he does.

There’s something very odd about drawing someone else a bath and doing this mundane shit for them- Varric isn’t ostentatious, and he spends at least three nights a week at his rooms in the Hanged Man, but he does have servants. Not many, but a person in charge of each of his properties, who does this kind of piddly shit for him whenever he sleeps there. It’s worth it, though, to watch her strip and sink into the tub. Makers breath, she is beautiful.

“Sure thing, messere.” Varric hands her the soap and then starts combing his fingers through her hair. He’s not honestly sure what to do next, but he does wanna take a moment to do this. It always feels nice.

Hawke chuckles as she reaches to hand the soap back to him. "Do you actually know how to wash hair? Or do you have people to do that for you? Because if I find out buxom dwarven barmaids are responsible for your clean, luxurious locks, you and I will be having words."

She'll never let the buxom dwarven barmaids thing die. Not out of actual fear, she's got far too much self-confidence for that, to say nothing of her respect for his love and fidelity (and desire not to get on her bad side). It's just a joke now.

To be fair, he doesn't let the buxom dwarven barmaids thing die, either. If anyone asks, it's the Hanged Man's biggest flaw- saying nothing of its atrocious wine cellar, Nora-driven inability to get drink orders right, or general filth. It's also historically been his stated reason for not patronizing the Blooming Rose more often: a lack of cute dwarven girls.

"I apologize, M'lady Lunatic. I'm just a poor rich boy, lost in these simple peasant tasks," Varric chuckles. Okay, he does know how to wash hair, but playing with her hair is more fun. Running his fingers through it, letting his nails rake her scalp lightly, pulling gently on a tangled lock: nobody ever gets to play with her hair (not since Bethany left), and it's a crying shame. As he starts to gently scoop and pour water over her head, and lather up her hair, he ponders what a goddamn crime it is that nobody takes the time to take care of her like this without a cock ring being involved.

Orana would do these things for Hawke is Hawke asked, which she never does. She can wash her own hair, and Orana finds enough to do, even beyond the duties Hawke has set her (mostly cooking, and thank the Maker they don't have to eat Sandal's Enchantment Stew anymore). It hasn't occurred to her to feel berefit. It usually doesn't. Hawke isn't in the habit of thinking of her own needs; she keeps too busy.

Varric is the notable exception to that rule. She enjoys his company greedily, and tonight is no exception. She actually purrs as his hands massage her head, pressing into the scalp. "Oh, Maker," she says, almost moaning. "I may have to cancel all other plans and have you just do this all weekend. That feels wonderful."

It's not quite a moan, but it's enough to make Varric bite his lip and clench his jaw, valiantly determined not to react to the purring naked woman moaning in his hands. It's not easy- from this angle he can see every inch of her naked body in the tub, from her nipples just peeking above the water to the dark thatch of hair between her legs. With her pressing her head against his hands, the natural next step for Varric would be to purr something smug and press a slow kiss to her neck, her throat, before kissing his way down her chest.

He remembers with an enormous effort that that's against the rules. No sodding touching without permission. Fuck.

"You're bluffing," he snorts, confident in her desire to make him thoroughly insane. As if his unnaturally hard cock bumping against the bathtub wasn't already proof of that. "You'd never."

As if to emphasize his point, he promptly stops lathering and begins rinsing. Less delicious, but more likely to get her to start soaping up other things. At least that'll be fun for him, until she finds some way to ruin it. Or him.

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