rosesandlamppostsinwinter
Alistair gave a snort. “Fine, Hawke.” The man said trying to fight down the grin. He could smell the alcohol on Hawke’s breath but chose to keep his mouth shut. “So care to explain for the assault on my poor rear end? I don’t know what my arse ever did to you to deserve such harsh treatment.” Finally he rubbed the sore spot, almost sure there would be a Hawke size hand print on his pale flesh.
It was impossible for Hawke not to laugh, a lopsided grin. “You... really don’t want the answer to that. I mean... I could tell you but,” he shrugged, slightly before he paused - after a few seconds Hawke chuckled again. “.... butt.”