five times kissed ( i cou ld n'T STOP MYSELF )
send me five times kissed for a drabble.
i. Tempers rage, a fire storm so intense it puts everything else to shame. They argue on this, of course they do, Alistair loyalty to the Wardens is unequaled, and Hawke─ Sweet Andraste, a mistake one single mistake made by men not of their own mind and the entire order is condemned? When exactly fists fly he doesn’t really know, or remember, but the connect is white hot and painful, tinged with the bitter taste of regret. It isn’t until some time later, under a sickly green glow that he takes Hawke’s hand in his own and presses an apologetic kiss against his knuckles. ii. It is more often than not that they come together in a mess of hands and teeth and smug grins paired with terrible puns. Hawke’s beard tickles his chin and he all but laughs into it, earning a sharp jab to the side, which only makes him laugh even more. A mess of laughter, terrible puns, even worse jokes─ Alistair always things how amazing it is that he is this damnably happy. The other man makes him laugh, drives him crazy, and frustrates him to no end, but happy. “Shave that damn beard.” He doesn’t mean it, not at all, grins and laughs kisses him again.iii. Some nights are dark, terrible, nightmares clawing at the base of his skull as sweet melody echos in his ears. Come die, it sings, come come come swing your sword and die. For all intents and purposes it feels like he is, often fearing to wake and find himself covered in sores, find that the Blight has eaten through his skin. It never has. It is always he is always awake when Hawke stirs from his own, eyes wide and glassy and trapped for a moment in. He never asks what sees or hears, only pulls him closer and presses a kiss to the top of his head. It’s about all he can do.( they each have their demons, threatening to tear them apart, ever present and not easily banished. )
iv. Fuck. Teeth clash, hands grip, rough and demanding, pressing hard enough to bruise their bones. There is a sweetness underlining desperation, hunger, the want for one more touch before they march, one more in case the worst happens. He can’t die─he won’t die without him knowing… knowing…Alistair growls and kisses him so hard their lips start to bruise.v. He remembers the small mabari pup running around his feet, happy barks filling the air. He remembers listing off the names he could call it, going on and on about how much he wanted one ever since he was a kid. He remembers picking the pup up, mass of fur and dog slobber wriggling and licking at his face. It had been around that time he planted on him and the pup, tail wagging excitedly, followed suit.
