Lessons in Love

Hawke wasn’t in the mood for drinking, which was actually a good thing, because the Hanged Man’s finest was never quite fine enough—in fact, it was ungodly awful. So she joined Varric for a pint or two of water and sat back to listen as he spun some ridiculous tale about a shape-shifting golem who slew darkspawn all day, then turned into a handsome young beardless dwarf-lord by night and went out courting ladies. Except she was only half-listening to Varric, because the rest of her attention was two tables away, where Merrill sat with a young city guard recruit.

The elf mage was flirting—or trying to. And Hawke was interested, because, well, she’d put Merrill up to it. The adorable—if unseasoned—guardling had been eying Merrill all evening. And since the elf’s most recent complaint had been that no one was interested in getting to know her beyond friendship, Hawke had thought this would be the perfect opportunity to boost a shy friend’s confidence. Her advice on the flirtatious arts had been simple and direct enough that even a Dale of nervous demeanor should have had no problem with it.

Everyone likes compliments. So start with those. Perhaps choose the person’s nicest feature and tell them why you think it’s charming.

But of course Merrill had botched it with, “You do have an awfully nice, long nose… for a shemlen… although your nostrils are very big. When it rains, do you ever have bugs fly up them seeking shelter?”

“Well, that’s not working,” said Hawke as the guard recruit laughed nervously before getting up to leave Merrill alone at her table.

Varric kicked Hawke’s leg in a frustrated attempt to regain her attention. “You asked for a story and you’re not even listening.”

Hawke turned to him. “I hate when you kick,” she said in her sharpest, most exasperated tone. “And the reason I’m not listening is because I asked for a story… not a pitifully-disguised autobiographical narrative about your conquests.”

“Semi-autobiographical,” he said and when she narrowed her eyes and glared at him hard, he added, “I was never a golem.”

Hawke couldn’t help but smile. “You’d make a stunning one, I’m sure. All the she-golems would swoon and flutter.”

“I know it,” he said.

Hawke’s burst of merry laughter did not stop her from hooking a chair with her foot and deftly maneuvering it into position for Merrill, who had arrived at their table seeking solace.

“Thanks, Hawke,” the elf said and slumped into the proffered seat. “I hate to say it, but I’m afraid your advice on flirting wasn’t very good.”

“What’s this?” Varric asked, perking up at the mention of flirting. “If Hawke’s giving advice, of course it’s bad. She’s possibly the crudest flirt I’ve ever met.”

“Oh, be quiet,” Hawke said. “You’ve only seen ‘crude,’ because you’re not interested. I don’t waste ‘suave’ where it’s not appreciated.”

“That’s a terrible attitude,” Varric said. “Just because you think it’s not appreciated, doesn’t mean you shouldn’t at least put in the effort.”

“And you just want to be flirted with,” Hawke said.

“Possibly,” Varric said.

“Well, if you both know so much about flirting, maybe you can stop arguing about it and try to help me… somehow. But I fear I’m a lost cause. Giving compliments doesn’t seem to be my speciality,” Merrill said.

“I told her to pick a feature and compliment it,” Hawke said for Varric’s benefit.

“Well, that’s great advice,” Varric said. “What went wrong?”

“Not sure,” said Merrill. “I complimented his nose. But I think I got stuck in his nostrils.”

Varric glanced with uncertainty at Hawke, but she was nodding, as if she understood the problem perfectly.

“You did,” Hawke said. “Compliments should be simple and direct. Avoid nuances. They’ll just lead you off center. For example, let’s say I was going to flirt with Varric with a feature-related compliment. I’d do it like this...”

Hawke caught Merrill’s eye for a moment before she turned to Varric and leaned in towards him.

“You know,” she said, her voice gone softer, a delicate smile playing at her lips, “I don’t think I’ve ever told you how much I like the chest hair.”

As Varric leaned closer, offering her the very start of a wicked smile, Hawke pulled back and addressed Merrill once again. “You see, that worked, he’s clearly interested. So what I definitely wouldn’t do is ruin the moment by saying something like…”

She turned back to Varric. “You do know you’ve got bits of pastry crumbs stuck all in there like you’re saving it for later. Was that accidental or did you plan it that way?”

Varric looked down, suddenly self-conscious. “Shit,” he said. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“See,” Hawke said to Merrill, “romantic moment ruined.”

Having brushed all visible pastry crumbs from his chest, Varric reached down his tunic to remove a few stubborn bits that had slipped lower.

“You missed one,” said Hawke, pointing to an errant crumb.

Varric batted her hand away with a playful slap. He snagged the last crumb, flicked it aside, and surveyed his chest one more time. Satisfied that all detritus had been dealt with, he looked across the table to Merrill.

“Your turn, Daisy. Why not give Hawke a compliment about one of her many fine features? Like her—ow,” he said as Hawke, rightfully wary, elbowed him in warning, “jabby elbows,” Varric finished, rubbing his ribs.

“All right,” Merrill said. She drew a deep breath and sat straighter in her chair. Focusing all her attention on Hawke, she narrowed her eyes in scrutiny and looked Hawke over from head to mid-thigh (she would have gone head to toe, but for the table’s interference). Then, having settled on just the right feature, she began her compliment.

“I don’t know what Isabela was talking about, because I think your breasts are lovely. They really are quite big even though you don’t flaunt them. And I should certainly like to touch at least one of them… though I do sometimes wonder if you have those big saucer nipples that some other shemlen have.”

Varric, who had been sitting back, leisurely sipping from Hawke’s mug, which he had pilfered—just to make a point, since she wasn’t guarding it anywhere near closely enough—now shot forward in his seat in a desperate attempt to avoid wetting his clothing as he snorted a full mouthful of water out his nose.

“Do get a hold of yourself,” Hawke said, rolling her eyes at Varric. “I don’t have ‘big saucer nipples’ and even if I did, that wouldn’t be funny.”

“I promise,” Varric said, glancing purposefully at Hawke as he slipped a handkerchief from one of his pockets with a flick of the wrist that could only be best described as, at once, both dainty and manly, “I’m not laughing at your expense… this time.” He began to dab at the droplets on his jacket and shirt, succeeding only in spreading the water into larger splotches, leaving dark marks on leather and fabric that would, eventually, dry.

“You know, Daisy,” he added, “Just a thought, but… in the history of compliments, I’ve never heard a good one that began ‘I don’t care what they say, I like your tits anyway.’”

“I told you,” Merrill said, “I am hopeless.”

“That’s not true,” said Hawke. “You just have a lot to learn.”

“And it’s okay, we’ll teach you a few things.” Varric nodded to Hawke. “Work with me here.”

“All right,” she said. “This should be easy enough. Where shall we start?”

“Something basic,” Varric said and, sliding forward on his chair, he caught Hawke’s hand and raised it to his lips. Having planted a soft kiss on the backs of her fingers, he then looked up at her, golden eyes gleaming, and smiled. “It’s always a pleasure, Marian,” he said, his breath warming the back of her hand.

“Oh,” said Merrill appreciatively.

Hawke snorted. “Please,” she said to Merrill. “Don’t fall for that. He’s not half as charming as he’d like to think. Besides, watch this.” She reached for Varric, touching the thick stubble of his cheek and running her hand along his jaw in a gentle caress that drew him towards her. All the while, her other hand was deftly undoing a pair of her front buttons, pulling her shirt open, and allowing a bit of cleavage to show. Leaning forward, she gave Varric a real eyeful. A blush rose to her cheeks and she coyly glanced away. “What are you looking at, serah?” she whispered, her breath hot against his neck.

“And here I thought we’d stick with classy,” Varric breathed, ogling cleavage. “Come on, Hawke, she could get a show like this from Rivaini, no flirting required.”

Hawke sat back, arching an eyebrow and folding her arms across her chest, though not entirely covering her breasts. “And yet you’re still looking,” she said smugly.

“I know,” he said and tilted his head for a better view. “I never said I didn’t like it. But why not try something a little more… applicable to Daisy… and a little less Blooming Rose?”

“Fine,” said Hawke. “How about something quirky and perhaps a bit silly, but seductive nonetheless?”

“Oh, yes, please,” said Merrill.

Hawke reached for Varric’s hand and, taking hold of it, squeezed it gently. She smiled at him with a look of happy abandon, eliciting an involuntary smile from him in return.

“Spending time with you makes my toes tingle,” she said.

“Oh, perfect!” Merrill said with a joyful bounce and a clap of her hands.

“Huh,” said Varric, still smiling as he turned to Merrill. “I’m not entirely sure what that means, but I really like it. And I’m pretty sure she’s interested.”

“Oh, I promise you,” Hawke said, her voice no more than a breathy whisper, “she is.”

“Nice improvisation,” Varric said, though he couldn’t really hide the flush that had risen to his face and neck. He decided to ignore it and continue.

“But, you know, Daisy, she might be bluffing. We’ll need a way to call her on it. Otherwise all this,” he waved a hand in the general area of her cleavage, “lovely as it is, is just not worth our time.”

“That makes sense,” Merrill said. “And I suspect she is bluffing based on how many of our friends say she’s nothing but a tease.”

They both looked at Hawke, who simply smiled and shrugged.

“Okay,” said Varric, “intense eye contact leading into a kiss. If she balks, she’s bluffing. And in that case, we’re done.”

“Just eye contact, Varric? You should really pair it up with a good line or a subtle directive,” Hawke advised.

Varric smirked at her. “All I need is the eye contact.”

“Perhaps,” Hawke said, “but that’s fairly advanced. Remember your audience.”

“Right,” he said. “Point taken.”

Varric again slid forward in his seat, all the while looking Hawke directly in the eye. Holding her gaze, he smiled and moved closer, wetting his lips as he did so. “Look at that, Hawke,” he said, his voice sensual and low with a hint of laughter in it.

“What is it?” she said, returning the smile without having intended it.

“You’ve got something on your lips,” he said and when she played along, raising a finger to touch her lower lip, Varric shook his head. “Wrong spot,” he said, his smile broadening. “Here, let me.”

Never once breaking eye contact, he continued moving closer. When his fingers grazed her lips, Hawke dipped towards him, and a second later, Varric kissed her. Slipping his hand behind her neck, he deepened the kiss even as Hawke returned it. A few seconds later, at the sound of Hawke’s first appreciative sigh, Varric pulled back just far enough to break contact, leaving his friend breathless in the wake of his kiss.

“Looks like you had a kiss on your lips,” he whispered. “But don’t worry. All taken care of, now.”

“Oh,” Merrill breathed. “How romantic.”

“So there you have it,” Varric said, sitting back and addressing Merrill once again. “Now we know she’s not bluffing, which is a crucial piece of information.”

“And, all teasing aside, that wasrather suave of you, Varric,” Hawke said. “I’ll have to admit, it made my heart flutter.”

“Good,” he said. “That’s helpful to know. But in real life, Daisy, she probably wouldn’t tell me that and I’d have to figure it out the hard way.”

“What’s the hard way?” Merrill asked.

“Follow up kiss,” Varric said.

He moved towards Hawke and again they met in a kiss, which deepened moment by moment until it was an open-mouthed thing of beauty that showed no sign of stopping and began to elicit a series of drunken whistles and catcalls from among the ranks of the regulars.

Varric only broke it off when Corff, who had come from behind the bar, tapped him on the shoulder and said, “Do me a favor and take it upstairs, you two.”

“Oh, relax,” Hawke said. “It’s not a real kiss. We’re just giving Merrill a lesson.”

“Obviously,” Varric added.

“Sure, whatever you want,” Corff said in the weary tone of a man who had learned long ago to pick his battles. “Then take the lesson upstairs, yeah?”

“Subtlety is lost on these fools,” Varric said, shaking his head. “Fine. We’ll go upstairs. I can’t work under these conditions anyway.” He shot an evil glare at Corff.

“Ridiculous,” Hawke said, following Varric up the stairs. “How is a fake kiss inappropriate in a bar where just last week Isabela and the so-called ‘rightful king of Ferelden’ were screwing right over there?” She pointed behind her to the wall near the standing brazier. “And what about that drunken fellow who sits at the corner table wanking? How is that appropriate?”

Varric chuckled. “Tonight’s a special occasion. A fifth of the city guard is here getting drunk off bad ale. Corff always gets his knickers twisted when the guard’s around.”

 “Afraid of citations?” Hawke asked.

“And rightly so,” Varric said. “Aveline refuses all my bribes.”

They crossed the threshold into Varric’s suite, but Merrill lingered in the doorway behind them.

“Are you sure you want me here?” she asked.

“What are you talking about?” said Hawke. “Have you learned enough already? Think you can sweet talk some poor Kirkwaller into your bed?”

“Well… no… it’s just that—”

“Then don’t be ungrateful,” Hawke said indignantly.

“Shut the door behind you, Daisy,” Varric added. “Foreplay’s up next and that really is better without an audience of drunks, no matter what Rivaini tells you.” Turning to Hawke, his voice grew huskier as he added, “Come over here.”

“Foreplay, huh?” she said, kneeling beside him and slipping her arm around his shoulders.

Slightly taller than her now, Varric lifted her chin while his other hand slid to her waist, pulling her body closer. Hawke’s breath caught in her throat and a twinge of something thrilling and wild shot through her gut. And though she chided herself for her foolishness, Hawke couldn’t shake the thought that she was actually envious that there were women on whom Varric had lavished this sort of affection and attention in real life—and not just for a desperate friend’s benefit.

The desperate friend, however, was unable or unwilling to tell the difference between a real romance and one staged for teaching purposes.

“Oh,” said Merrill, who had hopped up to sit cross-legged on Varric’s table, “isn’t that lovely?” A dreamy expression crossed her face as she admired the gentleness and ease with which her two friends held each other.

“Try not to knock over the lamps while you’re up there, Daisy,” Varric cautioned. “And pay attention. This next move’s all about flattery,” he said. “Like this.” His gaze traveled from Hawke’s face to her breasts and down to her hips—one of which he squeezed with lingering pressure—before returning to her face. “Beautiful,” he whispered.

“I was wrong,” Hawke said and when Varric raised an eyebrow in question, she added, “You’re exactly as charming as you think you are.”

Something languid and seductive had risen to her voice and her eyes. And if Varric had been holding back for the sake of a better lesson, that was all forgotten now. He kissed her. It was rough and passionate and delicate and wet all at once.

It was the best fake kiss Hawke had ever been given.

And then Varric remembered his audience. He disengaged from Hawke, but not all at once the way he had when Corff had interrupted. This time, pulling away from her was a process that involved mouths reuniting innumerable times to renew the kiss that neither participant was yet ready to forsake, because it felt so much better to continue than to stop. But this was not about pleasure. It was about being there for a friend in need of assistance.

Hawke was the one who finally succeeded in returning their focus to the lesson at hand. “A kiss can serve several purposes,” she said to Merrill. “Just because you’re enjoying it doesn’t mean you wouldn’t also enjoy moving things further toward the eventual, er—”

“Climax,” Varric added, helpfully.

“Right,” Hawke said. “You may not have noticed from way over there, but there was actually a lotof mutual heavy petting going on for the entire duration of that pseudo-kiss. And that’s really a great way for both partners to communicate that more physical contact is welcome.”

“Although,” Varric said, narrowing his eyes at Hawke, “feeling me up like that was none too subtle.”

“I—”

“Not that it wasn’t welcome, but shit, Hawke, if you’re gonna grab a guy’s cock to see how well-hung he is, don’t try to pretend that’s not what you’re doing.”

“Oh,” Merrill said. “Hawke! That is awfully dirty. Unless… is this the part where you laugh at me for being gullible? And then Varric says, ‘Nah, I’m just shittin’ you, Daisy.’” She gave them her best Varric impression and then looked hopefully from one friend to the next.

“Er,” said Hawke, scratching the back of her head sheepishly. “Not exactly.”

Varric only chuckled.

“Ohhh,” said Merrill. "In that case I’ll just stop talking. And then perhaps look down at my shoes for whatever comes next.” She laughed nervously and fidgeted with the rings on her fingers. “Though I do expect I’ll steal a few glances from time to time.”

“Merrill, don’t be silly. It’s just that… we’re going for realism here, right?” said Hawke and when Varric nodded his assent, she continued, “Realistically, men like to be appreciated for their… endowment. And if not that, then at least not met with an unimpressed sigh of resignation—or worse, pointing and laughter. Therefore, in the interest of good relations, I find it’s best to have a sense of what-all’s down there before the clothes come off.”

Varric chuckled again. “And are you favorably impressed with what-all’s down there?” he said in his smoothest drawl.

Hawke actually blushed, though that didn’t stop her from answering. “Well, yes, obviously. And you weren’t even fully hard so I can only imagine…” Her voice trailed off, as did her attention. For some inexplicable reason, Hawke became completely fixated by one of the larger knots in the floorboards.

Varric cleared his throat, startling her from reverie. When she looked up again, he gave her a smile that she found incredibly hard to read. There was something else behind it and she wasn’t even remotely sure what that something could be—nor whether it was a good or bad something. It was the sort of smile that, if granted to an enemy, would surely have been followed by immediate violence—or at least the threat thereof. If given to a friend, it might convey…what?... general displeasure? anger held in check? or perhaps something as simple and relatively benign as ‘no shit, I’m beating you at cards.’

“Can I have word with you privately?” Varric asked her.

When Hawke nodded and rose to her feet, brushing her knees and smoothing the wrinkles from the calves of her trousers, Varric added. “Just sit tight, Daisy, okay? And put the hammer down, please. That’s an heirloom, not a thing for games.”

Hawke followed Varric to a corner of his bedroom that was beyond Merrill’s line of sight. Though they weren’t completely out of earshot, whispered voices would still find a measure of privacy. Hawke looked down at Varric and waited for him to reveal whatever thought had prompted this unexpected interruption.

“Look,” he said, “Hawke. Maybe a little more than idle curiosity here, but… exactly how far were you planning to take this lesson?”

“Beg your pardon?” she asked.

“In other words, what’s the end point,” he said, “as you envision it?”

“Oh,” Hawke said, taken aback, “I guess I hadn’t thought that far ahead. Not really.”

“Right,” said Varric, sighing and rubbing his brow as if to relieve the start of a headache. “Of course not. Because I’m the one who thinks ahead. You’re the one who stabs the bandit leader in the back and then acts surprised when twenty of his dearest friends come after us brandishing weapons.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, shaking her head, puzzled, “but did I… say something wrong?”

“No,” he said. “I just wanted things to be clear.”

“Varric, you’re acting strangely. Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?”

“Hawke,” he said, “all I’m sure of is that… say… ten, twenty minutes from now… if I’m fucking you on my bed and Daisy’s watching, I want to make damn sure that that’s okay with you before it, you know, starts happening.”

“Er,” she said, glancing away quickly. “I mean, it wouldn’t be real sex, would it?”

“Hawke,” he said with a chuckle.

“What?”

“If at any point we end up naked with my cock inside you, then, yeah, sweetheart, that’s real sex,” he said.

“Oh,” she said as the full weight of the realization hit her. “Then I suppose that wasn’t really fake kissing either, was it?”

…

In the other room, Merrill had grown restless and also slightly paranoid. She was supremely tempted to hop off the table and go check on her friends. Their previously muffled voices had grown even quieter and now she couldn’t hear them at all. As far as she could figure, that meant only one of two things. Either they were silently groping each other again as they worked out their next lesson plan or they were speaking very quietly indeed, probably about what an awful pupil she was. She hoped it was the former and not the latter, since she was already feeling badly enough about her disappointing performance with compliments. She didn’t need Hawke and Varric’s displeasure heaped on, as well.

But for the time being, Merrill was winning the war against curiosity. She remained steadfastly seated on the tabletop, her fortitude helped tremendously by the fact that Varric had a lot of interesting things arranged nearby. And she did like the hammer very much. It was heavy and looked like an important tool, something that could be used to fix equally important—and perhaps even heavier—things. Merrill stroked it a few times gently in hopes that, if there were some dwarven god or spirit of very nice implements, perhaps it might put in a few good words for her with the Dalish god of craft. Maybe that would help her somehow with the mirror.

And that, really, was the essence of what made this whole flirtation business so difficult to grasp. Compared to fixing the mirror and restoring some measure of memory and history to her people, carrying on flirtatious conversations with city elves and shemlen really didn’t seem to matter.

But her friends were very nice to try and help her. And they did seem to have a fun time kissing and petting each other, which was very nice for them, really. And, honestly, it was about time they figured it out. Merrill had noticed for ages now that when Hawke and Varric weren’t too busy teasing or playing pranks on each other, they were often giving each other sly looks of the sort that reminded her quite a lot of Donnic and Aveline. So it wasn’t any surprise that Hawke and Varric would also enjoy doing many of the other things that Donnic and Aveline liked to do together. The only unexpected part was that—entirely unlike the two guardsmen—Hawke and Varric didn’t seem to mind having an audience present.

Merrill was just about to try lifting the very nice hammer again when an alarmingly loud noise from the bedroom interrupted her stream of curious musing.

The loud noise was a shriek—Hawke’s—followed immediately by Hawke speaking in her very serious voice, the one she used for issuing commands in the heat of battle and also sometimes for scolding foolish mages who accidentally scorched their companions with lightning. Though, in truth, the mages should not have been blamed. It was usually the non-mage companions who were at fault for stepping in the way with so little warning. But no, Hawke—in her Very Great Wisdom—hadn’t bothered to make that distinction. She’d just gone ahead and barked her displeasure at Merrill in the exact same tone of voice she was using now against Varric.

“Stop it! Get off of me. I swear…”

Hawke’s words were followed a series of lesser shrieks, several grunts, and possibly at least one slap. All in all, the noises issuing from the bedroom sounded a great deal like an ongoing physical struggle. Suddenly worried, Merrill hopped from the table and peeked into the bedroom, where both of her friends lay half-naked—Hawke wore only trousers, Varric, only his tunic—across the bed as if they had just tumbled there moments ago. Hawke was trapped beneath Varric who held her down, not entirely gently, as she fought against him to free herself.

As it turned out, Hawke was also caught in a fit of giggling. Her laughter was infectious and soon Varric was right there with her, succumbing to giggles, though that didn’t stop him from trying to defend his honor.

“You said you wanted—” he began.

“Not… tickling…” Hawke sputtered between fits and snorts. “Actually… form of… torture...”

Varric stopped, his laughter fading, but the smile lingering on his face. “It is, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” she said, emphatically. “Now get off of me and help me get these damned trousers off, you complete idiot.”

“Why, yes, m’lady. Why didn’t you say so sooner?” Varric smirked at her, but obliged, offering a chivalrous nod as he moved off of her.

But he didn’t count on Hawke’s swift retribution. She pounced on him, knocking him onto his back and straddling his hips—opportunistically grinding herself against his ready cock—even as she caught his wrists and pressed them to the bed.

“Just because I’ve never tickled a dwarf before,” she said, “doesn’t mean I won’t resort to it now. What do you say, good ser? Shall we see if you’re the sort of rogue who begs for mercy?”

“My dear Marian,” he said, his voice rich and sensual, but completely unflustered. “I might just slap you if you try.”

“Well,” she said, loosening her grip on his wrists, “in that case…” She gave him a wicked smile and rolled her hips so that she moved along the length of his cock with tantalizing pressure. “I might try after all,” Hawke said. “Just for the slap.”

Invigorated by the edge of unabashed lust that had risen to her voice, Varric moved upwards against her, slipping his wrists free and wrapping strong arms around her waist and back as he pulled her into yet another kiss—this one thrilling enough for Hawke that it had her fumbling urgently at her own belt as she struggled to free herself for lovemaking.

At this point, Merrill—who had remained unnoticed by both Hawke and Varric—wanted very much to ask them a series of questions about proper technique, but since neither of her friends appeared to be in any immediate danger and since they had most certainly not called upon her directly, she supposed the only proper course of action would be to return to her perch on the table and wait for them to come back and continue the lesson whenever they were ready to do so.

So that was exactly what she did. Though it occurred to her that she ought to borrow a bit of paper and a pen from Varric in order to take a few notes on everything she’d learned so far. That would ensure that she wouldn’t forget anything important.

Acquiring pen, ink, and several blank pages of Varric’s nicest paper, Merrill began to fill the first page.

Compliments = good, she wrote, but do avoid mention of nostrils and Hawke’s breasts.

Kissing, she added, = fine time to commence groping.

She had just finished adorning the last letter with a particularly noteworthy flourish when her concentration was interrupted by more noises from the bedroom.

“Oh, yesssssss… Varric…” said Hawke.

“That’s right. You like that, don’t you?” he said.

And now there was the slapping sound of skin hitting skin that began slowly, but picked up speed. It was soon joined by the gentle thumping of a mattress as it moved back and forth against a bed frame too solidly built to move beneath the happy vigor of dwarven-human relations.

“Deeper,” said Hawke. “Oh… yesssss… thank the bloody Maker…”

Varric’s reply was much quieter. (Fortunately, Merrill’s hearing was excellent.) “That’s a tight pussy, Hawke.”

Merrill dipped her pen and quickly jotted down another note. Dirty compliments = appropriate during sexual intercourse.

Having now written all the notes she could think to write, Merrill was at a loss for what to do with herself. Her friends were still keeping each other occupied. They continued to invoke the Maker as they offered each other a variety of vulgar compliments, all of which reflected favorably on the length, width, tightness, roundness, or bigness of at least one part of the other person’s body.

It occurred to Merrill that she might actually want to transcribe a bit of the dialogue—or at least the most interesting words and phrases—in case she herself ever had the opportunity to practice with someone. It was fortunate that Varric had a particularly colorful vocabulary, though Hawke was definitely holding her own, at least for a little while. Merrill had only managed to write “Andraste’s supple tits, you do feel good” and “oh, Maker, yes, pound me so deep I’ll always be yours” before Hawke stopped speaking in real words entirely, choosing nonsensical syllables instead and then devolving entirely into breathy little moans. The slap of skin on skin came much faster now as Varric also gave up compliments in favor of gentle grunts and moans. 

Moments later, when Hawke spoke again, her voice was throaty and thick with passion as she cried out to her lover to fuck her harder, please, Varric. She was… So. Damn. Close.

Merrill wrote that down along with instructions for proper delivery. “So. Damn. Close.” [To be used immediately preceding orgasm. Voice should hitch in throat and each word ends with whimpers. Probably never too much moaning.] She added that last part because Hawke’s climax did seem to last an inordinately long time.

Varric could not hold out for long in the wake of Hawke’s pleasure. Solely for the sake of equity, Merrill also transcribed the words that marked his climax: “Oh, sweetheart. Yes. Yes. Oh. Ohhhhhh. Yesssssss. Oh, that’s my girl.” [Sounds remarkably sexier when spoken.] She added that last part simply because it was true.

For a while afterwards, the only sound from the bedroom was an occasional sigh or hum of laughter. But then the whispering began. Even with her keen elvish ears, Merrill couldn’t hear what exactly they were saying. Driven by curiosity, she slipped from the table and sneaked closer until she could just barely make out their words.

“Can I tell you a secret?” Hawke asked.

“Oh, yes, please do,” said Varric.

“Well,” she said, “Don’t tell anyone, but I’m afraid I might be a little bit in love with you.”

“I see,” said Varric. “That’s quite the confession.”

“You… you won’t tease me for having said that, will you?”

“Of course I will,” he said.

“Shit,” she said.

“But only when it’s just the two of us,” Varric was quick to add. “Because I might be a little bit in love with you, too.”

“Oh,” she said. “Well, I guess that’s all right, then.”

“I should hope so,” he said.

And Hawke's only response was a contented sigh.

Merrill shut her mouth tightly, biting down on her lip a bit in the process, in order to prevent herself from squealing aloud with glee. She absolutely adored love stories and she was awfully pleased that this evening’s lesson had turned out to be one. She could only hope that someday soon she’d end up right smack in the middle of her own love story. Until then, she’d have to settle for friend fiction—which reminded her, Isabela would probably want to hear all about this very informative lesson. She might even want to borrow a few of Merrill’s notes.

There was no need to bother Hawke and Varric. Not really. She’d simply gather up her things, neat and tidy, and slip away as quietly as she could before heading off in search of her very favorite pirate in the whole wide world. What an exciting night this was turning out to be!