f!Rook De Riva/Bellara Lutare(/Neve), 1185 words, under the cut or on ao3
for @dragonagesapphicweek Day 3 (prompts: "yearning/unrequited"), i present: yearning for the same person as a bonding activity.
It's late. (Maybe. Bea thinks it's late, but Maker only knows what time it actually is in this pocket away from reality. She's started to go by the headache that builds after she's been on her feet too long, these days.)
Bellara's got an open journal on her lap next to Bea, and the silence between them is companionable. It's not uncommon for them to curl up together like this; Bellara's a bit like a lantern in the dark for Bea, makes it easier to see clearly knowing that if she needs to talk, Bel's always willing. It's not the sort of friendship she thought she'd find at the edge of the world, but she's glad to have it as everything falls apart.
Bea watches as the other woman's eyebrows bunch up, warping the lines of her vallaslin slightly. She's been tenser than usual, in something of a mood today. Quiet over dinner, which usually means she's got something brewing in that head of hers.
"What are you up to, Bel?" She asks, finally slicing through the quiet.
"Just had an idea, but I'm not sure how to get it on paper." Bellara replies carefully. When her eyes dart up from the pages towards Bea, her lashes flutter rapidly, like she's trying to blink something away.
"Tell me about it, maybe that'll help." Bea says as she angles herself towards the other woman, their knees brushing gently. It's nice, pretending Bel's novel is all they have to worry about. Lets her imagine a world where Solas isn't stuck in her head like a bad comedy and they're not planning how to stop Bellara's brother from fracturing the world even worse than it already is. They're just two people enjoying each other's company after a long day of work.
"Thanks, Rook." And Bel's smile goes bright, warm in a way that's contagious. "I've been working on that story again, and I think I like the idea of the hero being the one who gets saved for once?"
"That's always fun, turning the tables on your protagonist." Bea replies. "Anything specific in mind?"
Bellara chews on the end of her pen absently, the furrow in her brow not yet entirely smoothed out. She taps her nails on the blank page of the journal rhythmically, and it looks like she's nervous, all of a sudden.
She gets it out all in a rush, nearly tripping over her tongue. "Remember that time Neve cast a shield on you?"
It's such a vague description that Bea shouldn't know exactly what she means, but she does. They're both thinking of the twinned archdemons, Elgar'nan's appearance, the wall of ice that Neve had thrown up easy as you please in front of Bea. Just the thought of it makes her stomach flip; Bea's not used to people shielding her. She's been Viago's wall of muscle for so many years that throwing herself in front of people is second nature, and she'd even tried it then. Remembers the way Neve's arm had shot out past her own and thrown up the spell before they'd both been frozen in place. Remembers fighting off Elgar'nan's influence to angle her body further in front of Neve's, just in case something got past the ice.
It's number two on the little list Bea keeps in her head of things Neve has done that are likely to drive me mad; sits right below the time she knows they would've kissed without the wisps interrupting them. Things that make her feel raw and vulnerable, that scare her half to death more than the damn Evanuris. Flirting she can handle, knows how to walk the tightrope of it. But the way Neve makes her blood sizzle and pop with barely suppressed lightning means more than that, means there's a hook in her heart tugging her towards the other woman. It's scary, she can admit to herself in the privacy of her own mind.
Everyone knows, now, what happened the last time Bea let herself love someone.
"That was pretty slick, huh?" She's pretty sure they both hear that she really means hot. Bel smiles at her, nerves replaced by a little conspiratorial twinkle in her eyes. Bea has a good idea of what's happening here, and frankly, she's enjoying it. Going back and forth with Bellara always makes her pulse pick up the pace a little.
Bea's always thought it odd, the way people treat Bellara. Like she's naive, like she's too soft to really understand. Maybe it's the Crow in her, but she sees past that, sees the way Bellara reads them all like one of her serials. There's a kinship there somewhere, something that resonates with Bea, letting people see what they want so they don't expect the rest of you.
"Yeah." Bellara replies with a sigh, just this side of dreamy. "Can't get it out of my head, you know? And I think it really adds something to the story, the hero having people they can rely on."
That one's so pointed Bea can't help but laugh, a sharp bark that feels like it would've come out of the old Bea's mouth. The Bea that existed before Caterina Dellamorte had sent her off to chase the Dreadwolf and hoped she wouldn't come back.
"Sure there's nothing else behind this?" She leans in, letting her voice go husky and low. Bellara blushes, but bravely keeps her face straight. Looks Bea straight in the eye, like she's not staring down a contract killer.
"Nope," she says, popping the p, "Just an idea for the story."
Bea laughs again, knowing her breath will fan hot across Bellara's cheek. There it is, that other thing they have in common; Neve Gallus shoving her way into their brains and refusing to leave.
It's not about Neve, not entirely, when Bea bridges the gap between them and presses her lips against Bellara's. That wouldn't be fair to either of them, and Bellara's the sort of beautiful that ensures none of the heat pooling in Bea's gut is for anyone else. It's a good kiss, plush lips slotting together easily, and when Bea winds her fingers into Bellara's bun to send her hair cascading down her shoulders, she wonders why they haven't done this before.
But it is at least a little about their shared admiration for Neve, when Bellara sighs into the kiss and Bea takes advantage of it to slide her tongue into the other woman's mouth. There's something special about it, swooning over her together, that tips the night over the edge into something more charged than their usual lounging sessions. Bellara's hands land lightly on Bea's waist, fingers curling in the leather there, and Bea's about to redirect her to her exposed navel when they're interrupted.
They share a cackle when Lucanis passes them, tossing out a snide you're worse than my cousin at Bea out of habit, before he remembers who he's talking to and freezes.
It's nice, is the thing. This little pocket away from the world. Where losing herself in beautiful women is the only thing that matters.
