3. [xestsemon au]

[birdhousesoul]

Anders has some idea Hawke and Malcolm will be in the village today, only he's not sure when. This place doesn't run on clocks. Things happen when they happen. In the meantime, he goes about his business. Unless anyone has a surprise woodchopping accident, he ought to have today to himself for a change, with no one in the village environs known to be sick or at the point of giving birth. It's a day for doing chores that take more time.

The planks of the clinic floor are in need of scrubbing, the hearth needs a good sweeping out, and after accomplishing both these tasks, Anders feels he himself is in need of scrubbing. This is ordinarily accomplished with a bucket of water and a rough cloth. He's had a square wooden tub made for soaking in, one he keeps in the clinic with a privacy screen shielding it from the main room, but he seldom gets to use it himself; it's more for allowing people to soak things that need soaking, swellings or cysts or pulled muscles. Today he has time to fill it.

He doesn't get into the bath until after he's already scrubbed clean, though, with said bucket-and-cloth method. In a place where it takes considerable effort to collect and heat the water for a bath, you make good use of that bath once you've got it. You don't pollute the water unnecessarily. It can be used by more than one person, and after that, the water can be used for laundry. He misses the station showers, sometimes. He misses the hippie laundry. Anders takes his time sitting in the water and absorbing its heat, every once in a while idly using a little fire magic to re-warm it, secure in the knowledge that he's not going to be needing an untouched mana pool for anything soon.

By the time he hears the door creaking to signal Hawke's arrival (and Malcolm making a curious noise in answer to that creak), Anders has only just hauled himself out of the tub and into a fresh pair of pants. He's drying his hair with a somewhat ragged linen towel as he steps out from behind the screen. "All right," he says, "your turn." And smiles, as it ought to be a pleasant surprise. They didn't plan any bath day. "Give him here." Malcolm's small enough yet that a basin suffices to wash him, and he's far too small to put in a bathtub.

Comments

[birdhousesoul]

"That's the beauty of it." Anders considers not pointing this out, but he has to do it, just to make sure she fully appreciates the genius of his improvised plan. "The longer this lasts, the more likely it is we'll be interrupted." He trails ticklish kisses down her belly, and nudges one of her calves to suggest she widen her stance. "So we both win, either way."

[questionablewit]

"By that logic, I should encourage you to be as quick as possible." Her skin is flushed, and surely that's just the heat from the bath. Surely. She's not self-conscious in front of him, can't be, they know each other much too well for that. Her body is much the same as it ever was; a few new scars, and stretchmarks from the birth, hardly something you'd want to make a statue out of--the life she's always lived isn't easy on a body--but she's never cared. Nor has he, does he, given how he touches her. She catches her breath in half a laugh and half a sigh at the kisses, and spreads her legs without fighting him. "I can't say that's my first inclination, even to win a wager."

[birdhousesoul]

Says the woman who proposes to eat herself as a soup. Anders only chuckles, a low hum of soft laughter against the verge of her curls. "Shhh. My logic is impeccable. I'd only hold out longer, just for spite." He reaches for her hand and shapes her forefinger and second into a crook like the fork of a dowsing rod, which he places to advantage, pressing the pads of those fingers to either side of her cleft and guiding them to pull upward. "Aren't you helpful," he murmurs, holding her hand in place for a moment to make sure she understands completely how he wants it to stay, and nuzzles at her knuckle before he tilts his head, kneels lower. She's holding herself exposed for his attention and he savors the sight first, to whet his appetite and hers before the tasting begins. Flushed from the water's warmth, yes, and swollen with want, and the sweet little hood pulling away with the pressure of her hand to bare her for his tongue.

She's as delectable as he remembers. His fingers clench the inside of her thigh above the knee, and the towel has fallen to curl about her ankle, quite forgotten. Anders knows when to tease her with the tip of his tongue, when to lave her with flat broad licks, when to simply breathe.

[questionablewit]

Hawke's idle play with his hair becomes a grip almost at once, because she has to grip something and nothing else within reach is safe. His hands on her legs support her to an extent, but his mouth, Maker, she's open wide for him, he can reach every sensitive place, and does. She struggles to hold back her reaction, but tiny whimpers of pleasure and need escape her. It has nothing to do with their wager, which she could care less about, but an interruption would mean he'd have to stop, and she doesn't want him to stop, ever.

But it's too much, it's too good, it's been so long, and her hand is shaking when she tugs his hair. "I can't keep standing if you're going to keep doing that," she says between shuddering breaths. "I'll fall over. Knock over the screen. Land in the tub and drown and never notice. Hopefully you don't want to win that badly." She babbles because she doesn't want to beg, not yet.

[birdhousesoul]

Anders stops just long enough to answer. "Can't have that, can we? So we'll move." Simple answer. He knows she can't suggest it herself, because it's his bed, and even though he's suggested she nap in it with the baby on some prior occasions, she's never shared it with Anders himself.

This place is so small, it would be difficult to find room for much furniture; but there's a box bed built into one wall, closed off with a coarse curtain rather than panelling, more for warmth than for privacy. The straw palliasse inside has been recently re-stuffed, the sheets relatively fresh, the blankets aired. Still, the predominant scent inside is of wool, with the fainter whiff of an herbal mixture to repel moths, rosemary and mint and sage. Anders pulls back the somewhat scratchy blankets so she'll be able to lie on the smooth sheet beneath, and holds the curtain open for Hawke to climb into the bed. They both clamber in with precipitous speed, Anders stopping only long enough to shed what little he's been wearing before following her into bed and letting the curtain fall closed.

"I forgot what we were doing. You'll have to remind me." Not all light is shut out; it's dim, but she'll be able to see his smirk. "Or you could show me."

[questionablewit]

This is better. This is much better. Instead of standing above Anders and trying to concentrate so she doesn't lose her balance, Hawke's now stretched out beside him, all the length of his body against hers. All the length of him pressing against her hip, giving the lie to his words. As if Anders has ever forgotten or not known what he was doing in this context. The laugh burbles out of her. "Oh, so now you're going to steal my lines and use them against me?" Don't tell me, show me. And she does, her hands wandering every inch of his skin she can reach, and delighting in the search.

But show and tell is more fun than show or tell, so she leans up on her elbow, bending over him to kiss and nibble her way along his neck. "Since you're forgetful, you should know that you were teasing me mercilessly. Kissing your way from my neck downwards, rather like this." His skin smells like the soap she's been using, but with something else, the musky-male scent of Anders. Just the smell of him alone arouses her, even without other senses inflamed, and there's more hunger than finesse as she tastes her way down his chest, shifting until she's kneeling beside him. "With the occasional distraction along the way." She darts her tongue into his navel, and one hand slides down to hold his hip. "But also with definite purpose in mind."

She takes a moment to just breathe on his shaft, anticipating and making him anticipate, before she circles the head with her tongue--once, twice, then taking the tip of him into her mouth. And then she stops, looks up at him with twinkling eyes. "Is all this sounding familiar yet, or should I continue?"

[birdhousesoul]

Anders has never been too proud to steal someone else's lines, if they're good lines. He'll also spoil the punchlines of other people's jokes. At present, he's hard-pressed to say much of anything, humorous or otherwise.

When she stops, though, he regains some small measure of composure, enough to laugh a little breathlessly, and answer. "It rings a bell. Vaguely." And it's at this moment his doubts resurface, edging past desire. He has less of a problem taking care of her than letting her take care of him, in any context. This context is especially fraught. "You don't have to." It's not a trade. She doesn't have to do what he was doing.

[questionablewit]

Hawke looks up and smiles at him, a sweet expression on her face. She's very happy to be here, where she is, where they are, and it shows. "I know I don't. But I'd like to." She bends her head just a bit, eyes still holding his, and runs her tongue across the tip of him, savoring the salt she finds there. One of her hands wraps around the base of his shaft. "You can stop me anytime you want. You know that. But I love the way you feel in my mouth, in my hand. The hardness of you." Her hand tugs on him gently, more a suggestion of what she could do than anything else. "I love knowing you react this way to me."

[birdhousesoul]

In truth, Anders would react this way to almost anyone doing what Hawke is doing to him right now. Unless it was Oghren and he knew it was Oghren. If it were Oghren and he didn't know that it was, that might still work. Anders doesn't know. No, wait, if it were Oghren, the fumes would peel a layer of skin off Anders' — Why is he thinking about Oghren again? Probably in an effort to prevent himself from behaving in a horribly inconsiderate manner. Anders forces himself to breathe evenly.

"If it's what you want." He's helpless not to acquiesce. He remembers just how good she had gotten at this, with long and enthusiastic practice, over their years together. "If you really — ohh." Whatever she just did, he loses the will to object, or to speak at all. His head falls back against the meager pillows, eyes sliding closed in ecstasy.

[questionablewit]

Hawke's not a master of the art of giving head, and wouldn't claim she was, but she has at least two things in her favor. First, she enjoys it, which makes all the difference. Second, while she might not be a master of cocksucking in general, she is a past master of knowing what Anders likes. She still knows where to find every sensitive part of him, when to lick and when to suck, when to tap him with her tongue, when to hum, when to take him in deep. When to circle the base of him with thumb and index finger and squeeze, to hold back his pleasure enough that she can prolong all of it. Where to do all these things for maximum effect.

She doesn't go for maximum effect so much as show off, demonstrate her skills; proving to herself that she still knows him as well as she thinks she does, or perhaps just wanting to please him as much as possible for as long as possible. That's most likely of all, that the small bit of restraint is a attempt to prolong things, because tempting as it is to see if she can make him lose control entirely and come in her mouth, there are more satisfying ways this can end. For both of them.

Still, she enjoys herself for a good while, reveling in his reactions, the minute clenchings of his abdominal muscles, the way his breathing changes, his fingers twitching and digging into the bed. Even the smallest movements are writ large for her, fraught with significance, and she cherishes every one.

There's a long history between them of her teasing him to the brink and then waiting to see how he reacts, and that's what she does now, carefully releasing him from her mouth and hands and then crawling back up the bed to stretch herself alongside him again. The expression on her face as she leans on her elbow, looking down at him, is decidedly smug.

[birdhousesoul]

With a growl, he rolls onto her, bowling her over onto her back. "You minx." She's brought him too far for patience now. Blindly he gropes above her head for one of the thin pillows, and when he finds it, he shoves it roughly under her hips, or rather under one hip, relying on her to lift herself and reach to smooth the other side. "Open," he demands, and when she does, he pauses only long enough to take himself in hand and guide himself into the warmth between her thighs. There's no hesitation, no teasing, just a forceful thrust, followed by almost complete withdrawal, and another plunge, and another.

[questionablewit]

This is why she so loves to tease him the way she does, because of this, the part where he takes what he wants from her, where they're both lost to need. Her hips rise up to meet his thrusts, taking him in hard and deep, and her hands grip his shoulders for leverage. She has to bite her lip to keep from crying out at how good it feels, the wildness of it, the complete lack of restraint. Can't make sound. Or at least, not much, a few whimpers escape despite her efforts, she can't help that, and her eyes are squeezed shut in concentration.

[birdhousesoul]

Anders is determined not to make any noise that might wake the baby, and to muffle both Hawke and himself, he covers her mouth with his own, an expedient that almost immediately becomes a major undertaking in its own right, a deep plundering kiss. He drives into her ruthlessly, as reckless on his own account as hers. Breathless grunts of exertion can't be drowned by any kiss.

Even so, even in this abandon, Anders doesn't forget what's crucial. The pillow was for that, and also the way he rolls his hips against her at the conclusion of every push inward. It's as selfish as anything: he wants to make her come, he wants to be the one who does that for her.

[questionablewit]

It's their first kiss in almost a year and a half, and there's nothing gentle about it. His mouth tastes of her, her mouth tastes of him, sex and ferocious hunger as their tongues mimic what's happening below.

It's the final piece she needed, and it's not long before the devastating combination of kisses and Anders' skilled thrusting pushes her over the edge. Her cry of ecstacy is caught by his mouth, her shudders of release are caught by his body, stretched over hers, all of her is held and watched over. She surrenders with nothing held back, clinging to him as she comes.

[birdhousesoul]

Anders follows suit quickly enough, driven past endurance by the flutter of her muscles around him and the tense muffled noise she makes into his mouth and the sweet hot slickness of her as he pounds her into the rustling mattress. He's been abstinent for far too long; it's practically a miracle he lasted even this long in bed, his first time back in the proverbial saddle. That he didn't simply spend himself in her mouth is itself tribute to Hawke's knowledge of his body, able to tell when he's getting too close.

He knows how to be quiet, and he is, mostly. When the last shudder has wracked him and left him panting in its wake, he rolls off her heavily. "Maker," is all he can say, astonished.