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It had been one year, 2 weeks, 3 days, and 25 minutes since Sebastian Vael had asked Marian Hawke to marry him. One year, 2 weeks, 3 days and 23 minutes since she had begged him, tears sparkling in those beautiful, sapphire eyes, not to leave her, since she had begged him to be with her outside of the Chantry as a real husband and wife, not some chaste, Chantry sham of a marriage as she had called it. One year, 2 weeks, 3 days and 18 minutes since he had allowed her to walk out the door without even a kiss goodbye, since he had given up the only woman he had ever loved out of some stupid sense of moralistic superiority, some misguided belief that Maker would be pleased with him. And there wasn’t a single day, a single moment since then that he hadn’t regretted it, hadn’t thought about her, wished for her back. Memories of her face, those haunting blue eyes and pale, freckled skin so stunningly framed by long, curly black locks had risen before him every time he said his prayers. Dreams of her above him, beneath him, kissing him, touching him, holding him, had seen him wake every morning hard and aching with a desire he would not allow himself to sate. He did not deserve to sate himself when that longing only existed because he had chosen to make her suffer.
It was his fault. He knew that. She had told him what she wanted, no, what she NEEDED in order to be his wife. And he, fool that he was, had told her that he couldn’t give up his vow to the Maker, even for her. He would never forget the pain in her eyes, the way she had looked at him when he had said it. She had loved him; he knew that too. She had waited for him longer than any woman could have been expected to do, longer than he should have even dared to hope. And yet, when she had finally grown tired of waiting and asked him for something, for the one thing she had always wanted, he had looked her in the eye and told her all her love and patience meant nothing next to his stupid vow to the Maker. Yes, stupid vow. For did the Maker not create these feelings in his soul? These feelings at once so pure and so sinful, so abhorrent and so divine? Had not the Maker made his body? Made hers? Made every decadent, sinful curve that seemed put there to drive him wild?
“Oh Marian,” the words burst from his lips like a prayer. The things he would have done to make her happy. Anything, anything but the one thing she wanted. No, the thing THEY had wanted, for he had wanted it too, perhaps even more than she did. She had no idea the strength it had taken him to watch her walk away, to let the only woman he had ever truly loved go. Holy Andraste but he had burned for her, burned for her still. He would trade his very soul for another chance with her, a chance to choose differently, a chance to pull her into his arms and kiss those delectable lips he had dreamt about from the first moment she had appeared in the Chantry telling him that she had avenged his family. A chance to worship at the shrine of her body: more beautiful, more holy, more untouchable than blessed Andraste herself. He was a sinner. A horrible, depraved, unworthy, retched sinner, but damn it all, he’d risk eternal damnation for just five minutes in her arms. His vows be damned; the Chantry be damned; the Maker himself be damned. If Hawke was still in Kirkwall, if she still wanted him, he was hers.
Sebastian leapt to his feet from his small cot in his cell in the Kirkwall Chantry, grabbing a pair of black trousers and a loose white shirt from the small drawer that held almost all his earthly possessions. It was lucky he was a rogue, because the sight of him running out the front door of the Chantry in the middle of the night, face flushed with a heady blend of anticipation and fear, would certainly have made the sisters stop him in his tracks. Instead, he climbed nimbly out his small window and crawled cat-like across the roof just below it until he could jump lightly to the first ledge that presented itself. From there, it was an easy leap to the ground, and before a single city guard could so much as glance in his direction, he had blended into the shadows.
He still knew the way to Hawke’s house by heart. Maker, he had traced every step a thousand times when her smiles had been there to greet them, and he had traced them a thousand times more when they hadn’t, allowing the memories of the times they’d walked them together sate his soul like a cool summer rain. As he walked them now, he could barely keep himself from trembling, every feeling he had once felt, every feeling he felt still, seeming determined to overwhelm his senses. Hawke, HIS Hawke, for so she was and always would be although he had forfeited his right to call her that a year ago, was so close. In a matter of moments, he would be at her door, and if she was there, he would discover if a year had been sufficient to make her forget him. Perhaps it had. Perhaps Fenris had finally won her heart. He had wanted her too, and he had made his disapprobation of Sebastian clear enough. Perhaps she had found in the elf all the affection, the feeling, the tenderness he had been so neglectful in giving her. The thought made him weak, and for a moment, he considered turning back.
Just as his resolve began to slip, however, the sight of her house, its large stone columns with vines trailing elegantly down them rose before him, and he felt his heart skip in his chest. He couldn’t turn back, not now, not when he was so close to doing what he should have done a year ago, so close to making Hawke his. And she would be his, Holy Andraste, she would be his. Fists clenched in determination, he strode up to the front door, knocking firmly and loudly before he could reconsider. In the terrible moments of silence that followed, he began to wonder if she wasn’t home, began to imagine that she had left Kirkwall, that he had missed his chance. He knocked again, one more time, just in case. This time, there was the sound of footsteps approaching the door, and his stomach churned with anticipation. He was shaking, every limb taught with expectation as the door swung open.
It was her, Hawke, his own beautiful, fearless, incandescent Hawke standing with a curious expression, one hand on her hip and the other holding her staff, prepared to face who was bold enough to knock on her door at two in the morning. She was wearing only a short, loose, deep emerald, satin dress that was falling off one shoulder as though she had been sleeping in it, and judging by the way her long, dark hair was falling in messy ringlets from her braid, he was certain she had been. Her eyes, those beautiful eyes that had so haunted his dreams, grew wide when she saw him, and she glanced behind him as if half expecting to see someone else.
“Is everything alright?” She asked, face as pale as a ghost at the sight of him. “Are you in danger?”
Of course, there was no way that she could interpret his sudden appearance on her doorstep at such an hour as being for any other reason than imminent danger. He had told her plainly enough that he would never be with her at such an hour for anything else. But he was too busy looking at her to reply. Too busy drinking in her presence as if it were water given to a man who had been a fortnight without it. Maker, she was beautiful, so much more beautiful than how even his memories had immortalized her. He wanted to look at her forever, wanted to bask in the splendor of her presence until he felt sated. What a fool he had been to ever let her go; what a blasted fool.
“Sebastian?” She asked again, growing more concerned when he didn’t answer her. “Is something wrong?”
He shook his head, willing himself to say something, anything to reassure her. “No,” he said gruffly, his voice nearly choked out by all the emotions racing through him.
She gave him a confused glance. “Then… what are you doing here?” She asked, clearly beginning to be more angry than sympathetic now that she knew he was not in danger.
“This,” he said, stepping forward and clasping her face between his hands.
“Sebastian, what are you…” Before she could say anything else, he had pressed his lips to hers, eliciting a small gasp of surprise. It was the first time he had kissed her, the first time his lips had touched hers, or any other woman’s since he was a youth, and Holy Andraste, but it felt like nothing he could ever have imagined. This was no tender kiss of hesitation, it was hard and desperate and full of all the longing he had felt for her since the moment they had first met. She was still at first, her shock at his boldness robbing her temporarily of her senses, but it was only seconds before she was kissing him back, parting her lips at his coaxing, letting his tongue caress her own. Her lips were soft and warm and tasted of spiced rum. Maker, he wanted to get lost in them. He tugged at her bottom lip with his teeth, and she groaned, returning the favor as their kiss deepened.
The sound of her staff cluttering to the floor startled them both, and she jerked back, eyes dilated and cheeks flushed. “Sebastian…” she began, but he only shook his head, stepping inside and shutting the door firmly behind him before grabbing her by the waist and spinning her around to push her against it. Heedless of if there was anyone else in the house, he kissed her again, hands reaching up to pull her remaining curls from her braid. He felt her hands wrap around him as he did it, felt her pressing him more tightly to her, and he moaned as he felt his hardness pressed against her belly through the two thin layers of clothes that they wore. Maker, he had barely touched her, and he was already hard as a rock. Hands tangled in her hair, he pulled her head back to reveal the delicate skin of her throat, only induced to forsake the pleasure that was her kisses by the desire to make her want him as much as he wanted her. It had been more years since he could count since he head pleasured a woman, but as he nipped and licked his way down her neck, he realized that there were some things a man never forgets.
The scent of her, Jasmine and Wisteria, was intoxicating, and as he moved his lips back to hers, he breathed her name against her lips. “Marian… Marian…” he murmured, running his hands over every curve of her body before reaching up to cup one of her breasts in his hand, feeling his cock twitch reflexively when he realized the thin satin of her dress was all that lay between his hand and her milky soft skin. “Maker, how I missed you,” he whispered, massaging it gently before flicking the nipple between his thumb and forefinger.
“Sebastian!” She gasped as his other hand came up to touch her other breast, his ministrations hardening both her nipples into firm peaks beneath her dress. She felt an answering tug of desire between her legs as he moved down to take one of her nipples into his mouth through her dress, manipulating the soft satin with his tongue to provide sensations that made her want to buck her hips against him. “Sweet Maker Sebastian, what are you doing to me?”
Pulling away from her breasts just long enough to answer, he replied, “Something I should have done a long time ago. Making you mine.”
Hawke felt her heart flutter at his words. Sebastian, her own Sebastian. She had never forgotten him, not for a single moment since the day he had chosen the Chantry over her. She had never forgotten the bewitchingly bright blue of his eyes, the dusty red-brown of his hair, the broad shoulders and glistening white armor that had always made her feel safe, even in a world that had seemed determined to hurt her. She had never forgotten his boyish charm, the smile that seemed to make all her worries melt away in a mere moment, the honor that had always been so enchanting, until it wasn’t. That damn honor, the honor that had made him feel bound to the Chantry, bound to stay somewhere where his talents had been so wasted, bound to give her up for some stupid vow he had made to the Maker.
She should be angry at him; she knew she should. She should push him off her and out her door, tell him to never speak to her again. But even after all this time, after months of crying her eyes out over him, months of hoping and wishing and waiting for him to appear at her door only to be disappointed, now that she had finally begun to consider moving on, the mere sight of him was enough to unravel her. Maker, how she wanted him, how she had always wanted him. He was the only man who had ever been able to quicken her heart AND her desires. She would have waited for him forever if he hadn’t made her choose, hadn’t offered her only half of his love, half of his devotion, and no share in his bed. She would not, could not marry him knowing his heart would truly belong to another, to the religion that seemed determined to destroy her and every other mage like her. But now he was here, here in her house, offering himself to her in the way she had always dreamt of. Did he mean it? Was it real? Could it be real?
“What are you saying?” she asked, she had to know, had to know before she allowed him to undo anymore of the precious self-control that she still had. Maker knew a single word would be all it would take for her to let him take her right there on her receiving room floor, consequences be damned.
“I’m saying,” he said, lifting his head so his captivating eyes were staring into hers, his Scottish accent giving the pleasant lilt to his words that had always made her want to listen to him forever. “That I’ve spent every moment of every day for the last year thinking about you. I thought I could do it, thought I could give you up and devote myself to the Maker, but as it turns out,” a small smile touched his lips, “Andraste makes a poor bedfellow. I can’t live without you Hawke. I…” his long lashes fluttered for a moment before he continued, “I love you like I have never loved anything or anyone I have ever known, and letting you go was the biggest mistake of my life. Let me make it up to you, let me spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”
“Oh Sebastian,” she breathed, feelings swirling through her which she had hardly ever allowed herself to feel before, “I love you too. I’ve always loved you, and I’ve never stopped. You have no idea how many times I’ve walked past the Chantry just to stare up at your window, hoping for some small glimpse of you, some small reminder that you used to care for me.” Her voice caught in her throat at this, and he immediately wrapped her in his arms, pressing her head against the warmth of his chest.
Sebastian felt his heart throb at the realization of all the pain she had endured on his account, all the tears she must have shed. “I’m so sorry, my love,” he murmured against her hair. “I am so sorry. You deserved so much better. I… I can never begin to excuse my actions. I can only say that I once thought them to be the right ones, but this last year without you has taught me how wrong, how very wrong I was.”
She sighed, burying her head in his shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent of whiskey and heather that had seemed to haunt her steps even in his absence. “I missed you,” she murmured. “I missed you so much.”
“And I missed you,” he replied, stroking his hands soothingly over her back, “More than words can express.”
“So,” she said, pulling back with that mischievous twinkle in her eyes that he had missed so much, “You came here to what? Let me deflower you?”
He blushed furiously at her words, suddenly very aware of how inexperienced he must seem to a woman like Hawke who he knew had not denied herself earthly pleasures for the last… how many years had it been? “There will be no deflowering,” he said, crossing his arms defensively. “It may have been… some time since I have…” he blushed again. “Perhaps, a very long time… but I am not… Maker’s breath.” He couldn’t stop blushing.
Taking pity on him, Hawke leaned forward and planted a small kiss on his lips, a kiss which quickly grew deeper and more passionate. It wasn’t long before he was pushing her up against the door again, grinding his hips into hers while he caressed every inch of her body, squeezing and stroking until she was bucking her own hips up to meet his. Slipping his hands between her legs, he began to softly rub her clit through her dress until she began to moan in response. As he felt her hands slacken slightly from where they had been greedily running over his chest, he dropped to his knees, lifting her right leg up and over his shoulder while he hiked up her skirt. Before she could say anything, he leant forward and licked across her slit, eliciting a gasp of surprise and pleasure from her that made his cock throb with anticipation. This would be his new shrine, the one at which he would worship every day and night. She would be his only deity, the only one who he sought to please. As he swirled his tongue around her sensitive nub, she clutched at his hair, pulling him in closer. He did as she requested, alternating between licking and sucking until he felt her began to tremble. Slowly, he moved lower, licking at her entrance, relishing the exquisite taste of her. Maker, she was dripping wet for him, for HIM. He eased his tongue inside her, thrusting slowly while his finger moved up to replace his tongue, rubbing small circles around the spot he knew would give her the most pleasure.
She moaned loudly above him, careless of who was home, careless of who might hear, caught up in the pure ecstasy of the moment, the feelings of being pleasured by the man who she had spent the last six years wanting and the last four in love with. As he moved his tongue back up, he slowly inserted one finger, and then two, fucking her with them while he sucked and licked at her clit. She was close, so close, and as he inserted a third finger, she came apart above him, crying his name in a reckless passion that only hours before she would have been terrified to admit to herself. He licked up her juices greedily, almost as if he was afraid to waste a single drop, and as she slowly came down from her high, he removed his fingers, licking them as well. The sight of Sebastian, upright, holy, pure Sebastian, kneeling before her in something other than prayer, his lips wet with her juices, eyes dilated, erection jutting out visibility from his tight trousers was so tantalizingly erotic that she felt herself growing wet again. Maker, he was going to be her undoing.
He stood slowly, languidly reaching an arm around her waist, and pulling her tightly against him in another long, passionate kiss. Gradually, she felt him began to lift her dress, and she raised her arms to make it easier for him to remove it. As he pulled it over her head and she stood, naked before him for the first time, she blushed at the way his eyes raked over her as if she were some untasted delicacy to be devoured. Maker knew how many times she had dreamt of him looking at her like that, how many times she had despaired of his ever seeing her as more than some untouchable relic like Andraste’s Ashes, something to be looked at and admired but never touched. And yet, here he was, looking at her like the mere sight of her would make him come apart, and she loved it.
Sebastian’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of her naked form unveiled for the first time before him. It was more, so much more beautiful than even his most erotic dreams had dared to imagine. His eyes traveled down from the elegant line of her neck to the tantalizing swell of her breasts, so full and pert, nipples standing to attention as he gazed at them with unchecked lust. Tearing his eyes from them with some difficulty, he allowed his gaze to sweep lower, down past her narrow waist and the generous curve of her hips, admiring every muscle and scar as he went. Everything the Maker made was beautiful, but Hawke, Hawke was perfection.
“You are…” his voice seemed to fail him as he tried to find words to describe the things she was making him feel. “Of all the things the Maker has created, you are the most perfect, most beautiful, most divine.”
He took a step towards her and then stopped as if uncertain if such perfect beauty could be touched. Hawke, of a mind to even the playing field, closed the gap herself, tugging at the loose white shirt that fell so gracefully around his broad shoulders until he allowed her to remove it. Then, she moved her hands lower to the fastenings of his trousers, and she heard the sharp intake of his breath as her hand brushed across his length through the thin cloth. As she successfully dropped them to his ankles, however, it was her turn to gasp as he sprang free in all his glory. Hawke was no blushing maiden, no inexperienced virgin. She had been with her fair share of men and women, separately and together, but even she had to admit, Sebastian Vael had been more than blessed by the Maker. Perhaps, there were benefits to serving him after all.
Reaching out, she grasped the base of his shaft in her hand, feeling a pull of anticipation between her legs as it became evident that he was too large for her fingers to close around him. His entire body seemed to shudder at her touch as she began to stroke him slowly, relishing the feeling of the heat emanating from his silky smooth length. Languidly, she allowed her eyes to travel upwards across the flawless, hard planes of his chest, sculpted as if from marble, and more beautiful than any statue she had ever seen.
As she met his startlingly blue eyes, darkened in a haze of desire as he panted and gasped from her touch, she murmured, “Fuck me, Sebastian.”
He didn’t need to be told twice. Grasping her waist, he lifted her so she could wrap her arms around his neck and her legs around his hips. Before she could ask what he was doing, he began to stride through her front hall, past the room where her letter writing desk sat in the glow of a roaring fire, up the stairs and into her bedchamber. Without the time or inclination to so much as close the door, he tossed her on the bed and crawled over her, the flickering candlelight casting shadows across his magnificent chest and beautiful reddish-brown hair.
“Now,” he said in a half growl, all the passion and desire of the last 6 years in his words, “I’m going to make you mine Hawke,” and before she could quite register his words, he plunged into her.
She gasped at the feeling of being filled so completely, so suddenly. It had been years, since she had met him, in fact, since she had been with someone in this way. And wet as she was, his size was nothing to be trifled with. He paused once he had reached his hilt, giving her time to adjust to him, and she panted with the mingled pleasure and pain his sudden intrusion had caused.
“Are you alright?” he asked, his words soft and tender even while he trembled with the self-control it took to stay still. “You’re so tight… I had thought…”
“I haven’t been with anyone since I met you,” she murmured, blushing at the admission. Six years was a long time for a woman with her… appetites.
His eyes widened at the realization, and something like regret passed over his face. She had waited for him. Blessed Andraste, she had waited for him. “I was too rough. If I had known I would have been gentler… I…”
“Shhh!” she lifted a finger and placed it over his lips with a small smile. “You didn’t hurt me. It hurts, but it hurts in a good way. It feels… you feel perfect.”
“Are you sure?” His voice was warm with concern, and he peppered kisses across her forehead and cheeks as he spoke.
“I’m sure,” she said, touching his cheek to direct his gaze to hers. “Just go slowly.”
He pressed his lips to hers with a tenderness that gave more meaning to what they were doing than a thousand nights of passion ever could and slowly moved his hips back until he was almost completely withdrawn before slowly, much more slowly this time, pushing in again. She moaned into the kiss at the feeling, and her hands wrapped around his back more tightly as he continued moving in and out of her at the same leisurely pace. She couldn’t understand the self-control it took for a man who had so long denied himself physical pleasures to restrain himself in this way, but if he had been willing to deny himself so much for Andraste, how much would he be willing to deny himself for her?
It wasn’t long before she was thrusting her own hips up to meet his, encouraging him to pick up his pace. He was lost now, lost to everything but the sounds and sensations of her, the feeling of her silky skin as it pressed against his own with each move of his hips, the way her body clenched around him as he moved inside her, the sounds she made as she writhed beneath him, so sensually erotic that they alone could have been enough to make him finish.
“You have no idea how long I have been dreaming of being inside of you, the things I have been wanting to do to you,” he moaned into her ear as he thrust in and out with a kind of passionate urgency that left no doubt of the truth of his words. “Maker! You feel so good… Oh Marian!” he gasped as he pushed even deeper into her, mouth nipping and sucking on her breasts while his hands cupped her ass, pulling her closer to him. The bed frame creaked loudly beneath them, threatening to break beneath the force of their passionate exertions. Grabbing her legs, he pulled them up and over his shoulders, moaning as he felt what deep access this position gave him.
“Sebastian… oh Sebastian,” she groaned as she raked her nails down his back and bit into his shoulder. He let out a cry as she did so, flipping them around so she was on top without withdrawing. She began to ride him, hard, breasts bouncing above him in an erotic vision that brought him perilously close to the edge.
“Marian,” he gasped as she ground against him, hands clawing madly at the chiseled plains of his chest. “Marian I’m going to…” And then she came apart above him, gasping and screaming his name as she rode out wave after wave of pleasure. The feeling of her clenching around him as she came was too much for Sebastian to resist, and he found his own release, shuddering with ecstasy as he emptied himself into her, whispering her name like the only prayer that had ever mattered, until she collapsed on top of him, panting and spent. They lay there together, her on top of his chest with her hands wrapped tightly around him as if she was afraid to ever let him go, and him stroking the silken black locks that had so long enchanted him soothingly until they had both recovered enough to speak.
“Marian, my Marian,” he said softly, planting a tender kiss on her forehead. It was all he could say in that moment, a moment he had never imagined would come and yet which had been so much more than any flight of the imagination could have promised him. Now that he had done it, broken his vow, he wanted to do it again, and again, and again for as long as she would let him. He wanted to forsake his old vow and make a new one, one to cherish and love her forever, the way she deserved.
At the sound of his voice, she pulled back so she could look at him. Her face was still flushed from the exertion, her breasts colored the same pale pink as her face, and he felt his cock twitch at the sight. It wouldn’t be long before he was ready to go again.
“So,” she said, “What happens now? Was this your once a decade sin? Do you go back to the Chantry, confess your sins, and become more chaste than ever?” The joking lilt in her voice did little to hide the anxiety and hurt behind her eyes, and it made Sebastian want to wrap her tightly in his arms and refuse to let her go until she believed that he would never leave her again. He had already hurt her so much. What he wouldn’t do to make it up to her.
“No lass,” he said softly, begging her with his eyes to believe him. “What happens now is up to you.”
“Me?” She seemed surprised.
“I came here to offer myself to you, body, mind, heart, and soul. There will be no more vow of chastity, only a vow to love you forever, to be with you forever, to pleasure you forever, if you’ll still have me.”
Tears rose to her eyes, but she quickly bit them back with a playful smirk. “Pleasure me forever, huh?” she said with a laugh. “I don’t think you realize quite how voracious my appetite is.”
“Believe me,” he said, his eyes darkening with renewed desire, “I understand perfectly.”
The tone of his voice made her bite her lower lip and squirm against him. Andraste’s tits he was sexy when he looked at her like that. “So,” she said, leaning down to brush her lips against his once more, “You’re going to stay?”
“Yes,” he said, kissing her back with all the passion that their joining seemed to have stoked rather than abated, “I’m going to stay, for as long as you want me.”
“Oh,” she said, a small smile playing at her lips, “I think I can promise I’m never going to stop wanting you.”
“Good,” he grinned up at her, boyish charm glistening in every feature, “Because I’m never going to stop wanting you either.” And then he rolled them both until she was pinned beneath him. “Now,” he said, beginning to kiss and suck his way down her neck towards her breasts. “I hope you’re ready for a long night, because we have a LOT of time to make up for.”