Chapter Text
Not for the first time, Sebastian wondered how he, a Chantry brother, found himself skulking through the midnight streets of Hightown. It was a question easily answered, however, as he looked to where Hawke was leading their small band. Hawke was a righteous woman on a just mission he reasoned, thus Sebastian Vael skulked. He took a moment to appreciate her movements as she navigated the city: she was like a fox, cocking her head to catch any little noise, slinking through the darkened alley on silent feet. If the Maker had created someone more full of grace and determination than Hawke, he had yet to meet them. Hawke looked back, then, caught him watching her, and winked. Sebastian felt his heart beat just a little faster under her gaze. He offered a shy smile in return, and then just as quickly as it had happened, Hawke turned those bright green eyes and that roguish grin back toward the alley before them.
“Good thing Hawke brought you along to watch her ass,” Isabela chuckled. Sebastian nearly jumped at the pirate's gibe, spoken mere inches from his ear.
“I believe you mean her back, Isabela,” he corrected evenly, brushing off his surprise.
Isabela tilted her head, feigning a contemplative look before grinning.
“No, I don't think I did,” she replied, then sauntered off easily after Hawke, leaving Sebastian to quietly reassemble his thoughts. He was a Chantry brother, and Hawke was a close friend; nothing more.
-
“All right. Let's split up, we'll cover more ground.”
Hawke kept her voice low, cautious lest the mansion's vaulted ceiling carry the echo of her voice to unseen ears. Sebastian ducked his head toward hers to hear her better, and tried not notice how close her face was to his own.
“Isabela, you and Varric take the ground floor. Sebastian, you're with me.” Sebastian tried not to let his surprise show. She was taking him along with her? He'd expected her to take Varric, but her unexpected choice filled his chest with no small amount of pride.
“If we find out where this deal is happening, we can catch this son of a bitch in the act and free his cargo, yeah? Meet back in the alley in fifteen,” Hawke whispered, and with a nod the two groups parted ways.
Sebastian crept up the stairs, alert for the slightest sound of movement; but the hour was late, and all the house's residents appeared to have retired to their chambers long ago.
“I think this is his office,” Hawke murmured as they came to a closed door. She tried the knob, only to find it locked tight.
“Allow me,” Sebastian said, crouching before the door, lockpicks in hand. He set to work quickly, wincing as the lock made a sharp click that sounded deafening in the otherwise silent hallway.
“How in the world did a prince become so well-acquanted with lock picks?” Hawke wondered aloud.
“You'll recall that I was not the most upstanding member of my family,” he answered with a laugh.
“Makes one wonder what else you're capable of,” Hawke countered with a raised eyebrow, and Sebastian could only stare at Hawke's lips as they curled into a smirk.
“I–” he began, trying to find the right words, but Hawke had already slipped into the room, leaving him to stutter in the dark.
-
“All right, let's see what we can find,” Hawke whispered. A small arcane light flickered to life in her hand, and under its dim light the two began their search.
Sebastian turned his attention to the drawers of a small side table, still trying and failing to calm his nerves from Hawke's flirtation. It was just a part of her charm, he told himself. How many times had she flirted back and forth with Isabela, Varric, even Aveline? And yet he couldn't deny the ache it awakened in him. For a split second he allowed himself to picture those plush lips of hers transformed from a playful smirk to open-mouthed gasp of pleasure–
What was that?
Sebastian stilled. He held his breath, his ears pricked, all of his previous musings gone in an instant. Had that been the creak of a floorboard? Or just the sound of the house settling?
“Hawke,” he breathed.
“Hold on, I think I've got something,” she whispered back. Her fingers danced over a stack of papers with singular purpose, keen eyes flying over their contents, and then–
“Aha!” Hawke gasped. She raised a slip of paper in the air with a triumphant grin. “Now we can all get the hell out–”
The sound of keys outside the office door clanged as loud as chantry bells in the silence. Sebastian's eyes met Hawke's, and he saw his own desperate fear reflected there. They'd be found out for certain, this whole cloak and dagger plan of hers for naught.
“Wardrobe!” Hawke hissed, and before Sebastian could even process her command he found himself being yanked into the confines of her impromptu hideaway.
“We're not going to fit!” he protested, only to be roughly yanked into the wardrobe by his shirt, the door falling quietly shut behind him. A breath later the door to the office swung open with a creak, and multiple sets of boots filed into the space.
What in the world just happened?
Sebastian's thoughts swirled as he struggled to adjust to his new surroundings. One moment Sebastian had been helping Hawke search through paperwork, then the next– He took a quick inventory. He was cramped in the dark, crushed in with various pieces of clothing, his hands…
Oh dear.
One hand had shot up above Hawke's head, his forearm braced against the wood. The other grasped her hip like a vice. He could feel Hawke's breath against his neck; her head tucked under his chin, her body flush against his. Maker, she was so close he could practically feel her lips graze the skin of his throat. He could smell her sweat and breath mingling with his own. Sebastian's grip on her hip inadvertently tightened as a sudden, guilty thrill coursed up his spine. You've taken a vow, he reminded himself.
And yet he'd broken that vow before, hadn't he? The thought slithered across his mind, spreading both shame and yearning in equal measure.
Sebastian willed his grip to loosen, but couldn't bring himself to pull his hand away entirely. He lowered his chin to the crown of Hawke's head and breathed in the herbal tang of her shampoo. Andraste, grant me the strength to endure, he prayed weakly into the silence. He was no longer the wanton prince of his youth, but he was still a man.
His thoughts retreated to the Chant, for surely in that blessed song he could find solace. But Sebastian's mind wandered, finding himself recalling the last time he and Hawke had spoken in the chantry.
‘I could think of a few services for you to perform.’
She'd spoken those words so easily. A jest, surely, and yet her eyes had glittered with mischief, her mouth had curled into a wry smile. What might have happened if he'd called her bluff? If, rather than insist that he leave to pray, he'd asked her what exactly she had in mind?
O Maker, hear my cry:
Guide me through the blackest nights.
Steel my heart against the temptations of the wicked.
Sebastian prayed, even as he ached to feel the warmth of her bare skin beneath her clothes.
“Got your bow at the ready, there, Sebastian?” Though barely a whisper, Sebastian could hear the amusement in her voice, could nearly feel the sparkle of humor in her gaze. Sebastian felt his shame rise to color his cheeks, but couldn't quell the rush of blood elsewhere. His cock pressed against her stomach, and only grew firmer with the knowledge that she felt it.
How could he have allowed this to happen? What must Hawke think of him now?
He readied himself for a rebuke, but instead one of her hands found its way to his cheek, and she gave it a conciliatory pat.
“No harm done, I have that effect on people,” she said with a chuckle. He nearly blurted out an apology, but was silenced by Hawke's rough fingers pressing against his lips.
“Shhhhh,” she quieted, so low that he could barely hear her voice over the sound of his pulse thudding wildly in his ears. He was vaguely aware of voices outside of the wardrobe, but couldn't focus on their conversation.
Instead, Sebastian marveled at how easy it would be to kiss those fingers, or even to pull one into his mouth, to run his tongue over her skin. Focus, he told himself. The men outside were discussing shipments and deliveries. This is the information we've come for! But Hawke's touch, the ache between his legs– they were maddening.
“The docks, midnight, tomorrow. Perfect!” Hawke breathed into his skin. Sebastian's body broke out into gooseflesh and his cock twitched at the sensation of her lips shaping those words against his throat. He leaned forward, trying to control himself, but only managing to breathe a hoarse sigh against her ear. He barely noticed when the voices outside the wardrobe quieted, and the sound of boots receded back out into the hallway.
“Sebastian,” Hawke murmured softly. Her hands rested against his cheeks, easing him back slightly. He found himself nose to nose with her, their breath mingling.
Maker, it was too much.
Sebastian dove forward and captured her lips; hungry, desperate. Hawke gasped out a surprised squeak that shot guilt through his heart, but only stoked the heat in his stomach. He needed to stop, needed to pull himself together–
Hawke slid her tongue across his bottom lip, and any guilt he'd felt evaporated instantly as he let her in. His grasped the back of her head, fisted his fingers in her hair. He felt elated, drunk on the feel of her. He wanted more, wanted to touch, wanted to taste, all thoughts of of his vows, of right and wrong forgotten. The hand on Hawke's hip slid under her shirt to touch the skin of her stomach. He slid his fingers down just beneath the edge of her breeches, so close–
Hawke's hand caught his own. She broke their kiss, pulled herself away, and Sebastian feared he had pushed too far until she laughed.
“I am not fucking you in a wardrobe,” she laughed, “Or at least not one that belongs to some random asshole. If this really gets you going I have my own at home.”
Sebastian didn't know how to respond. No, he didn't particularly want to have her in a wardrobe. He knew that he shouldn't have her at all, shouldn't want to have her, and yet as she pressed one more kiss to his lips he knew that he had no choice. She was like the moon, reeling him in on her tide.
“Come on, we've got what we came for,” she announced, “Let's catch back up with Varric and Isabela and get the hell out of here.”
The two gingerly disentangled themselves first from one another, then from the wardrobe. Slowly Sebastian felt his blood begin to cool and his erection fade, and by the time they met the others in the alley he had managed to feel almost like himself again.
“So we head to the docks tomorrow, kill everyone who isn't in chains, and call it a day. Easy!” Isabela summarized cheerfully. Sebastian watched Hawke grin easily, appearing completely unphazed by their encounter, while he was still silently yearning for her touch.
“Why don't you be a gentleman and walk Hawke home?”
Sebastian was pulled from his thoughts by Isabela's suggestion.
“I'm sure she'd appreciate the company,” she crooned. The pirate's eyes flashed conspiratorially, and Sebastian's chest tightened with sudden anxiety. She knows. Maker, how could she know?
“I–yes, of course,” he murmured absently, offering his elbow to Hawke, who slipped her arm in his and bumped his shoulder playfully. The group said their farewells and, as if he were walking in a dream, Sebastian walked with Hawke toward her own High Town mansion.