Throne - One muse sits on the other’s face (jasper)
Smut Prompts @heclaymore
“Maybe I should have joined the Wardens.” Jasper remarked.
He was honestly surprised, genuinely. Carver Hawke on initial impression came off as something akin to a hedgehog, all prickles and the trick was to figure out how to approach without getting stabbed. Any attempt at playful banter was met with a glower. Jasper wondered what on earth the man had to brood so hard about that he was sure there would be a permanent crease in his brow from all the frowning.
But he did know how to eat an arse like he was starving so Jasper supposed it all balanced out in the end.
He straddled the other man’s face, head tilted back as he enjoyed the sensation of Carver’s tongue. He was very methodical about it. He clearly cared about doing a good job. Jasper shivered as he felt his tongue circle the puckered skin of his hole before pressing hard against it with the flat of his tongue. That was enough to get a low groan out of him because he was still waiting for the sweet burn of being speared on Carver Hawke’s tongue and yet it had yet to come.
So, he did what he thought was appropriate, trying to get a rise out of him. Well, a metaphorical one. Carver did not need any help rising in other areas.
“I didn’t realise in Weisshaupt they taught how to eat arse. I’d maybe give them a few pointers tho—“ the rest of Jasper’s sentence was cut off by a sharp inhale. The sharp pain of teeth sinking into his arse was a clear warning: shut up. He almost laughed aloud, a combination of shock and realisation that he’d managed to get under the other man’s skin.
He was good looking, Carver Hawke, but Maker alive was he testy. Apparently the brooding wasn’t just for show.
But he hadn’t shoved him off.
So the message was clear, the only thing that was supposed to come out of his mouth were moan. Maybe begging if he got really desperate.
Plunge - One of our muses fingering the other (merrill)
Smut Prompts @heclaymore
It was probably the most impulsive thing Merrill had ever done. Impulsive in a way that blood magic and the decision to leave her clan had definitely not been, no matter what anyone thought. Those decisions had been carefully weighed in her mind for weeks even months before she had finally plucked up the courage to actually do it. Her whole life had been carefully planned, up to a point. She planned to become Keeper until the Blight and then she planned a new course for herself.
Kissing Carver Hawke the night before he and Hawke Hawke were supposed to go on the expedition with Varric? That was entirely impulse and also the Starkhaven whiskey Isabela had poured into her mug “to make the ale taste drinkable”.
Maybe also because she had developed a bit of a crush on the younger Hawke.
Carver kissed like he was a drowning man. She wasn’t sure if it was because he actually liked her too or he was just starved for attention in his elder sibling’s shadow. Merrill didn’t particularly care. She just clung to him - and Creators there was a lot of Carver Hawke to cling to - and tried to match him. It was awkward and more intense than anything she’d ever experienced before and she wasn’t sure if it was the kissing or the alcohol that was making her head swim.
They hadn’t made it further than the door of her hovel in the Alienage. She was firmly trapped between the wood on one side and Carver with all his muscle on the other.At some stage, possibly to save his poor neck and back bending over, he had picked her up and pinned her hips with his. She squirmed only a little to get herself in a better position to continued kissing him but the press of something hard against her stomach gave her pause.
Oh Creators, she thought, is that…? Her cheeks flushed red and she throbbed at the thought of that. He’d probably half kill her but oddly that seemed to make her throb harder and she whined into his mouth.
The next most impulsive thing she did after kissing Carver Hawke was pull her tunic up - exposing the pale skin of her belly - so she could push her leggings down over her hips. They got caught just below her knees and she thought she might look a bit silly with her leggings half on and half off. She was too fuzzy to get a read on the reaction that had on Carver’s face but she had never been particularly adept at reading expressions beyond the obvious anyways. He didn’t pull away from her. That had to mean—
Her train of thought was cut off at the feeling of his fingers at her inner thighs. Merrill stiffened but didn’t move to stop him. His fingers were rough from callouses and the way they rasped over the sensitive skin made her head thump back against the door. If she wasn’t seeing stars from that then she definitely was sure she did when she felt one finger slide through her folds and inside her.
The noise she made she thought sounded like it was somewhere half way between a gasp and the sound an injured halla made. Her own fingers dug into the muscle of his bicep as if she needed something to physically anchor herself. He held still and she wondered if it was because he thought she was actually in pain. She forced herself to breathe out even if it came out in a shudder. Even if she was in pain, Merrill and pain were old acquaintances. Pain was not something she feared.
“S-Sathan.” It was probably the first word she’d actually said aloud to him. Please. She squirmed again against him, her breath hitching when it pushed her up an inch or two only to come down on his hand again.
From what she’d felt of him, she would definitely need more than one of his fingers inside her for that.
Ashe shuddered as he wiped off some of the slime that was coating his leather armor. He made a disgusted face as he tried to shed a layer of slime from his body, unsuccessfully. "That was a disgusting monster," Ashe commented with a disgusted frown.
"I'm pretty sure it was 90% hands," Ashe shuddered again as he remembered getting caught by the slimy, handsy monster. Thankfully Carver was here to save him from a potentially uncomfortable situation.
Death. Ashe was thinking about death.
"Thanks for the hand," Ashe gave Carver a tired smile. "But if you don't mind. I think I'm gunna go find the closest stream to... urgh... clean off."
It was a quiet night. The kind where the grief seeped in through the cracks in the roof like a draft and settled in your chest. Grief for Lothering, for Father, for Bethany.
Maker. Bethany. Marian had a hole in their chest shaped just like their baby sister, a hole that ached, and they knew that it’d never be filled. That was bad enough.
Carver, however, had lost his other half.
Working themselves to the bone helped to keep everyone’s mind off the sudden loss of one of their number. But they weren’t working now, and there was a particular lack of snoring in the bunk below Marian that told them Carver was awake.
Marian was silent for a long moment. Breathing around the hole in their chest. Wondering if it’d help or hurt to bring it up and try to… drain the wound of poison, so to speak.
maybe don't mention my past indiscretions? @heclaymore
"i must say, carver... have you not learned from our dear uncle?" walking in step, the crackled and uneven stones beneath her feet reminding her with every placement of her foot that she desperately needed new boots... these ones are beyond salvaging at this point. maker preserve her, hawke hoped she wouldn't be thrust into a puddle.
"gamlen is proof that nothing you do can remain a secret. i shall not share YOURS, but -- well, perhaps a bit of discretion might be best, hm?" it's a tease. an attempt. at this point, hawke was just slightly afraid that one of these days she would poke fun at just the wrong angle and he might snap at her. perhaps she deserved it. ah, let consequences be for FUTURE hawke.
"although, just to make sure we are clear in our conspiring... which indiscretions are the ones you currently don't wish for me to mention? there are quite a few..."
