[Dragon Age] Before the Sunrise
Title: Before the Sunrise
Fandom: Dragon Age
Pairing: Isabela/Bethany, implications of Marian Hawke/Anders.
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 4,004
Notes: Set before the Deep Roads expedition at the end of the first act.
Summary: Before leaving for the Deep Roads, Bethany seeks Isabela out. She wants to have a first time even if it's also an only time.
Bethany's been in the Hanged Man for what feels like at least an hour by the time Isabela appears. She's not used to being here alone, without anyone to guide her or protect her. Even the light--the last of the day's sun straggling in through the windows, the dirty glow from the lanterns and torches--promises to be a threat, to expose her. She has a tight little thrill of anxiety and anticipation in her gut as she waits, and she hasn't had more than half a mug of the terrible ale, so it can't be that. It's just being here, knowing that her sister is busy elsewhere, that she has no one to catch her if she falls.
So when Isabela steps into the tavern, turns around once to take in her surroundings, and then heads straight for her, Bethany feels the shivery and uncertain hope inside her transmute into sinking frustration. Marian must already know; she must have sent Isabela to take her home to Gamlen's miserable hovel, where no one can see her. Bethany can't blame her sister, doesn't blame her sister. It's not as if Marian doesn't understand, as well as anyone who isn't a mage herself can, and it's not as if they don't get along. Fighting at her sister's side is the closest Bethany ever gets to being free. But just once--
Isabela sits down atop the edge of the table and swings one leg over the other. "If you don't finish your drink soon, someone else is going to do it for you. And then you'll be stuck with them."
Bethany tries to decide if that's supposed to be an innuendo, then gives up. "My sister wouldn't like to hear that you're trying to make me poison myself," she says.
A shrug. "Who said I would tell her? Say." She leans forward on the table. "Aren't you supposed to be getting ready for that expedition?"
Bethany shakes her head. "That's what she's doing. She and Varric are reviewing the maps with Anders at his clinic."
Isabela reaches for the mug of ale and downs half of what's left as Bethany speaks. When she's done, she sets it back down and muses, "She rather enjoys him, doesn't she? Anders." She sighs. "Everyone enjoys Varric."
"Anders is a good man," Bethany says, and then, because she did have half the beer, she adds, "She thinks he's a little mad, and desperate, and that he needs a friend who can appreciate that, and not mind so much."
"'A friend,'" Isabela echoes with a smirk. Then she says, "That's funny. I thought we were only talking about Anders, not Fenris and Merrill too."
"They're not--he's not like them, Isabela," Bethany says, stiffening a little, grabbing defensively for the mug to drink a little more. It's not nice, hearing this kind man whose life she could so easily have had--except for the parts that he had to be so brave for, of course--compared to the blood mage with her strange flights of fancy, the hateful fugitive who sometimes frightens her and sometimes makes her sad.
"You're right about that," says Isabela. "Hawke doesn't want to throw them into bed and jump on top. Not as much, anyway. Mmm, I should suggest she try all three at once. Of course, I'll watch."
"Isabela!" No response except for laughter. Bethany is flushed now, but she doesn't mind as much as she did in the past, because it's time to put her plan into action. "I'm as much a Hawke as she is, you know." A treacherous thought suggests to her, Maybe more--you inherited Father's magic, and she didn't. She pushes it away in disgust. She and Marian are both Hawkes; they are together in this, as in so much. "So why is she the one you call by the name?"
Isabela smiles. "Because she would hit me a good one if I tried calling her anything else. Or worse, cut me open with her words. Oooh, she's so good at that. Makes me wonder what else--"
Bethany slams the mug down meaningfully. "My sister, Isabela. My sister! I don't want to hear it."
"Then what do you want to hear?" Isabela spreads one palm on the tabletop, heedless of the grime. "Why are you here, sweetness?"
She's not sure whether the question means that the plan is working fast or that it's not working at all, but Bethany forges on. "I can go places outside of her shadow. But I'm not going to get the chance for a while. Not once we start on the expedition."
"She's making you come, is she?"
Bethany shakes her head. "Not making me, Isabela. I want to go with her and Varric and Anders. We fight together. We always have. But I want to do other things on my own, sometimes." She finishes the ale and shakes her head a little. "Maybe it was a bad idea." Time for a deep breath. Almost ready. "I don't want to stay around here, or go back home to Gamlen. Not yet. Can I come to your room until I'm ready to go? It must smell better there."
"Of course it does," Isabela says. "The tar and cheap liquor are part of the ambience, but the vomit? I smoke that out whenever it gets too bad." She jumps off the table, and Bethany braces for some terrible remark, but it never comes. Instead: "Of course you can come join me for a while, sweetness. You only needed to ask." She holds out a hand, and Bethany takes it, feeling the other woman's calluses against her own and automatically comparing. Isabela has her beat, of course. Bethany pictures those dark and agile hands on rough ropes, day in and day out.
Up the stairs at the back of the room, into the hallway; Isabela opens a door they haven't been in before and steps inside. Bethany follows. True to Isabela's promise, it does smell, but not as bad as the main room of the tavern. But there's no time for taking that in. A moment from now, Isabela will sit Bethany down on a crate, or on the edge of the thin ragged bed if she's feeling generous, and send a message to Marian to come get her wayward sister. Bethany has to act first.
She pushes the door closed and hurriedly reaches for Isabela. Move fast, drag her close, then kiss her deeply, and--
Isabela's rough hands close around her wrists like the ropes she must handle. "Not yet."
Bethany blinks, her face hot, hotter than ever before even around Isabela. How could Isabela have known what she was planning? Why is she stopping her already? This isn't how it's supposed to go.
"You have to tell me if this would be your first kiss," Isabela says, her voice stern, her face serious.
"Oh, Maker," Bethany says. She thought she couldn't flush any deeper, but she was wrong, and she can. "No! Not at all. There was a boy in Lothering when I was thirteen, and--Isabela, this isn't...!"
Isabela lets go of her wrists. "Why did you come to me, Bethany? Your sister could have found you a nice young man, I'm sure."
It's going all wrong. Justifications at the tip of Bethany's tongue transform into truths under the pressure of events. "For just this one last time, before we go into the Deep Roads--before whatever happens after that, happens...either we'll die, or be rich enough to be nobles and won't be able to hide any longer, you know. No, I don't know that for sure. But I know one thing. Everything's going to change. This might be my last chance to do something that my sister didn't get for me. My last chance to experience something of this world, on my own."
Isabela puts a hand on her hip. She looks good like that. She always does. "So why me? It had better not be because you think I'm easy." Bethany glares down at the floorboards. It has no effect except, apparently, to annoy Isabela more. "Oh, no. No going quiet now, or I'm walking right out of here and finding Hawke. Tell me why you came to me."
Bethany swallows and looks up. This part is harder to say. "Because," she says, "you're different than anyone I've ever known. You're different than anything I could ever have been. And you're...no, I'm not going to say you're everything I ever wanted to be."
"Good."
"You do say the most terrible things. But you know everything I don't and you've experienced everything I never will," Bethany finishes.
"Trust me," Isabela says, "you don't want to experience some of the things I have."
"I know," Bethany says quietly. "That's why...that's why it would be enough to touch you for a while." She sighs. "That sounds terrible. I'm not as good at this as my sister." A thought occurs to her. "Oh, no. You haven't--"
Isabela laughs. "We haven't. I think we might sometime..."
"That's enough," Bethany says hurriedly.
"It makes you want to more, doesn't it?" Isabela says.
"What?"
"Knowing that you'd be the first Hawke sister to tumble with me," she says.
"It's not about that, Isabela," Bethany says. "Really. It's not so wrong, is it? To want this. To want something that normal people can have every day."
"It's not wrong at all, sweetness," Isabela says. She looks contemplative for a moment. "You're a bit young, aren't you?"
"For this?" Bethany feels the glare she previously directed at the floor coming back. "I'm almost twenty!"
Rich laughter bubbles up and rings out from Isabela. Bethany isn't sure yet whether to let herself enjoy the sound of it, feel it ripple down her spine and make her shiver. That's what she's here for, but plan and all, she's still not sure if it's okay. "Maker, that's far too old for a first time! No, a bit young for me." And then she's serious once more, her dark eyes unexpectedly wise as she reaches for Bethany's shoulders. "Bethany. This is really something you want? It's not about proving yourself, or competing with your sister?"
"That was never my thing," Bethany says quietly. "Carver did that. I ran and hid. I want to do something with no hiding for once. That's all."
Isabela lifts one hand from Bethany's shoulder and slides it into her hair. Her fingers move very quickly and deftly. "Do you want it gentle like in the stories or rough like in the good stories?"
Bethany swallows hard. Her robe feels too heavy on her, her legs awkward like they don't want to hold her up anymore. "I just want it," she says. "But I probably couldn't handle rough by your standards."
Isabela chuckles, a different sound than her brazen laugh, and this time Bethany hesitantly lets herself feel it. It's hard not to; Isabela's mouth is by her ear now. "I know. I was teasing."
"You're terrible," Bethany says.
"Shush. You like it." Her mouth on the edge of Bethany's jaw now, just barely.
"You wouldn't do it to me if I didn't, would you?" Bethany feels like she should be doing something. She's not sure what. Tentatively, she lifts her hands to rest on Isabela's breasts.
"That's going a little too far," Isabela says.
"What?" Bethany hurriedly pulls her hands back.
"Suggesting that I might be nice to you. Deliberately." She can feel Isabela smirking into the skin of her throat. "Put those back where they were. I know what they say about mages' hands, but I want to see how yours measure up."
Bethany slips her hands back to Isabela's chest, and this time she slides them under the other woman's collar to take hold of the curves there. Tentatively, she squeezes.
"A little harder," Isabela says. Her tone is didactic; she's a teacher leading a lesson, more for her own amusement than the education of the pupil.
And something inside Bethany snaps. This isn't a joke to her. This might be the only time she ever gets the chance to bare her body and intertwine it with another person's in pleasure. She might die soon, or be locked up forever if she isn't careful. Even if that never happens, somehow, even if things do stay the same, who knows when she'll get the chance to enjoy herself again? Who knows if she'll ever be able to make love? This isn't a joke and she refuses to let Isabela treat it as one--
"Damn you!" Her fingers tighten around Isabela's breasts; her nails dig into her flesh and drag across it. "Damn you, Isabela, you know what this means to me and you haven't even kissed me!" For a half-second, the heat of anger starts to leave her and shame threatens. She should be grateful for whatever Isabela is giving her, as she should be grateful for all the protection she's received in her life. She should...
Isabela breaks her momentary stillness with a pleased little moan, suddenly arching against Bethany. She pushes Bethany against the wall then and kisses her hard. It's true, Bethany has kissed and been kissed before, but not like this. Not like this, with Isabela's tongue forcing her lips open without any of the teasing restraint she showed before, flickering in her mouth while their bodies press together so warm and so soft despite the hard heat behind the motions. After a moment, Isabela pulls away just enough to talk--not enough to free herself from Bethany's hands. "You surprise me sometimes, you know that? I start to think, what an innocent girl, it's going to be fun to corrupt her. Then you do something that reminds me how strong you really are inside." She leans in close again and reaches up to undo the laces of her shirt, then places her hands over Bethany's. "Keep reminding me, will you? I want this to be worthwhile for me too."
Bethany hesitates a moment, then kisses her back. For a second she tries to mimic the force Isabela used, and she just winds up smashing her tongue against Isabela's front teeth. So she gives up on that and instead draws Isabela's lower lip into her mouth and nibbles on it. It's easy to lose herself in that feeling--especially as Isabela starts to twist and press against her. This isn't something she's felt with another person before, not ever; only in furtive moments caught alone. But there's nothing furtive about Isabela. Bethany leans forward and presses her cheek against the other woman's. "I'm sorry I cursed at you," she says.
More laughter. This time, Bethany relaxes into the sound of it, so rich and uninhibited. When has she ever laughed like that? Never. That's what makes it so enticing. That, and the fact that Isabela is moving her hands again to start pulling off Bethany's robes. "You're joking, right? That was good. You can do it again if you want." Isabela gives a little shrug underneath Bethany's awkward hands, and her own garments, already untied, slide down around the curves of her body.
Knives clatter on the floor. Bethany tries to find her voice. "How many of those do you have?" It sounds like a silly question, but she doesn't get the chance to ask silly questions often, so maybe that's okay.
Isabela winks at her. "Six."
Bethany goes scarlet, and Isabela laughs again. Her whole body moves with the sound, her breasts ashiver at Bethany's fingertips, her hips swaying so she touches Bethany's waist. "I suppose it wouldn't do me any good to say this isn't funny," Bethany says, but she can feel the sheepish smile starting on her own face.
"Not a bit," Isabela says, and she drags Bethany's robes down into a puddle around her feet.
Bethany takes a step back, disentangling herself from the pile and, reluctantly, finally taking her hands away from Isabela's chest. "It is a little funny," she admits.
"Sex is hilarious," Isabela agrees. "I'll let you in on a secret, sweetness: that's the best part. Now, off with those leggings. I can't get anywhere with you still in them."
It seems almost too warm to be wearing anything, anyway. Bethany tugs at her boots, at her leggings, sending the former flying at the wall in a fit of nerves. Isabela doesn't laugh this time, just purses her lips in appreciation. Bethany keeps getting distracted looking at her. She didn't know it was possible to look at another woman this way before Isabela, before Isabela and her skin like the dark polished wood of a fine staff and her eyes like precious gold trim but so much more lively than anything inanimate. "You're very pretty, Isabela," she says as she finally peels off the leggings and dumps them on the floor.
"Oh, not really," Isabela says. She takes hold of Bethany's hand--a casual, friendly gesture--and pulls her to the bed. "But I know what to do with what I have, and that's more important. Didn't anyone ever teach you that?"
Bethany shakes her head. "You know what they taught me instead, Isabela."
"It just figures," Isabela says, and she pushes Bethany down on the bed, half-sprawled and half-propped against the low headboard, and kisses her again.
Wait, Bethany almost says, because they still have some clothes on: there's still a scarf wrapped around Bethany's neck, and Isabela is still in those elegant high boots of hers. But her head swims, her gut tenses and heats up. She abandons the train of thought and chides herself. She should know better than to expect fine romance in Isabela's arms. So she kisses back, at first mouth to mouth; then, without thinking, she lowers her lips to Isabela's throat.
"Like that," Isabela says, pleased. "You're a quick learner." She twists atop Bethany, who starts to grab at her shoulders to keep her in place, suddenly afraid that the other woman will slip from her grasp like so many things in life have. But her hands land on Isabela's sides instead, and she realizes with a start that her face is buried in Isabela's chest now. She tries to still the quickness of her breath and fails. With a low chuckle, Isabela takes Bethany's chin in her hand, guides her to one breast, and presses it between her lips.
A tight warmth gathers through her body, in her full mouth, in her chest, and most of all between her legs. Bethany lifts her gaze to meet Isabela's and is gratified to see a faint flush of excitement high on Isabela's cheeks. "Try biting--" Isabela begins, but she's greeted by a muffled, mortified squeak from Bethany, so she just grins and reaches down to stroke her fingers across Bethany's breasts instead.
Bethany breaks away, gasping. "I thought we weren't supposed to like it," she manages between breaths. "When a boy bites, I mean, or tugs too hard--"
Isabela just grins. "Well, I do like to give what for, so maybe it's best when it's a girl biting or tugging too hard."
"Oh," Bethany says, thinking about that. "You're probably right...Isabela!" The realization of what she's saying hits her at almost the exact same time as the feeling of Isabela's hand between her legs, and the name nearly trails off into a moan.
"I'm always right," Isabela says. With her free hand, she pushes Bethany down the rest of the way to the bed, and then she straddles her on her knees. She has a hand between her own legs, too, Bethany realizes, and she flushes a little at the thought. Isabela's like a world of things she's never thought about doing before. Was there ever good reason not to think about them? She thinks there probably was, but she can't quite recall it right now.
She can recall it even less when Isabela's fingers slide into her, when her thumb starts to press and rub against her. Bethany twitches and shivers like a spell gone wrong, her own fingers digging into the bed--but wait, didn't Isabela say something about wanting to see how her hands measured up? Yes, she did, Bethany is sure of it. She can't just lie here and, ah, enjoy herself; she has to take part. She's never been happy with just letting the others do the work for her; why should now be any different? Well, aside from the fact that now is most certainly different than anything else she's ever done before.
Bethany reaches up, leans forward, and drags her nails lightly down Isabela's belly. The motion elicits a pleased murmur, and Isabela strokes her harder, inside and out. Both her hands are starting to speed up their movements, but it's still not enough. Bethany thinks about it for only a moment. Then she wraps her hands around Isabela, grasps her from behind, and pulls her forward.
Isabela topples onto her, hands and body alike. "Oh," she says, not missing a beat, "so that's how it's going to be, eh?" And she stills any reply with a kiss.
It's messy, then, and confusing. Just like Bethany knew it was supposed to be, no matter who you did it with. Isabela presses and grinds against her, and Bethany arches up to meet her, trapping her hands between their bodies, but those fingers keep on working, deft even as they occasionally fumble from excitement. Her own hands dig into Isabela's skin all over her back and below.
Bethany tries to stifle her cries, irrationally certain that someone will hear her and something bad will happen because she drew attention, as she's always been. She can't enjoy herself, can't like this too much, she has to be good, doesn't she?
Isabela doesn't stop. "Sweetness--" Again with that pet name, but her voice is ragged now. "If I don't hear you scream, I'm going to assume I did a bad job." And she ducks her head to kiss Bethany's breasts, her tongue flicking out...
Bethany gives in. She lets the eager moan escape her, and as she does, she lets the feeling that inspires it finish building and burst inside her. Isabela's hands are too good to resist for too long.
After a moment, Isabela sprawls across her, heavy and pleased with herself. With both of them, if her contented sigh is anything to go by. Without thinking, Bethany wraps her arms around Isabela and holds her.
Isabela starts to jerk away from the embrace, and Bethany realizes too late that this isn't the sort of sex you hug after. She's supposed to wash up now, then put her clothes back on and walk away. That's how Isabela does it, right?
Their gaze meets. Bethany knows her eyes are full of apology.
Isabela sighs. "I suppose I can cuddle just this once."
Eventually, her hands still resting on the small of Isabela's back, Bethany says quietly, "Thank you."
Isabela does twist out of Bethany's grasp this time; Bethany lets her. "Don't do that," she says. "Don't look at me like this is your last time as well as your first. That would be terrible."
"But--" Bethany starts to protest. For all she knows, this will be her last time. She could be in the Circle tomorrow, or dead. Isn't that why she came here in the first place? One time. That's all she wanted. That's all she'd dream of asking for. Anything more would be too much, because she's already asked too much of other people.
Isabela cuts her off with a kiss--this time, on the cheek. "You're going to find someone wonderful for you," she says. "And you can keep it a secret just how you learned to be so good in bed with them." She grins. "Now put your clothes back on before your sister thinks to look for you here. Some things even I can't talk my way out of."
Fandom: Dragon Age
Pairing: Isabela/Bethany, implications of Marian Hawke/Anders.
Rating: NC-17
Wordcount: 4,004
Notes: Set before the Deep Roads expedition at the end of the first act.
Summary: Before leaving for the Deep Roads, Bethany seeks Isabela out. She wants to have a first time even if it's also an only time.
Bethany's been in the Hanged Man for what feels like at least an hour by the time Isabela appears. She's not used to being here alone, without anyone to guide her or protect her. Even the light--the last of the day's sun straggling in through the windows, the dirty glow from the lanterns and torches--promises to be a threat, to expose her. She has a tight little thrill of anxiety and anticipation in her gut as she waits, and she hasn't had more than half a mug of the terrible ale, so it can't be that. It's just being here, knowing that her sister is busy elsewhere, that she has no one to catch her if she falls.
So when Isabela steps into the tavern, turns around once to take in her surroundings, and then heads straight for her, Bethany feels the shivery and uncertain hope inside her transmute into sinking frustration. Marian must already know; she must have sent Isabela to take her home to Gamlen's miserable hovel, where no one can see her. Bethany can't blame her sister, doesn't blame her sister. It's not as if Marian doesn't understand, as well as anyone who isn't a mage herself can, and it's not as if they don't get along. Fighting at her sister's side is the closest Bethany ever gets to being free. But just once--
Isabela sits down atop the edge of the table and swings one leg over the other. "If you don't finish your drink soon, someone else is going to do it for you. And then you'll be stuck with them."
Bethany tries to decide if that's supposed to be an innuendo, then gives up. "My sister wouldn't like to hear that you're trying to make me poison myself," she says.
A shrug. "Who said I would tell her? Say." She leans forward on the table. "Aren't you supposed to be getting ready for that expedition?"
Bethany shakes her head. "That's what she's doing. She and Varric are reviewing the maps with Anders at his clinic."
Isabela reaches for the mug of ale and downs half of what's left as Bethany speaks. When she's done, she sets it back down and muses, "She rather enjoys him, doesn't she? Anders." She sighs. "Everyone enjoys Varric."
"Anders is a good man," Bethany says, and then, because she did have half the beer, she adds, "She thinks he's a little mad, and desperate, and that he needs a friend who can appreciate that, and not mind so much."
"'A friend,'" Isabela echoes with a smirk. Then she says, "That's funny. I thought we were only talking about Anders, not Fenris and Merrill too."
"They're not--he's not like them, Isabela," Bethany says, stiffening a little, grabbing defensively for the mug to drink a little more. It's not nice, hearing this kind man whose life she could so easily have had--except for the parts that he had to be so brave for, of course--compared to the blood mage with her strange flights of fancy, the hateful fugitive who sometimes frightens her and sometimes makes her sad.
"You're right about that," says Isabela. "Hawke doesn't want to throw them into bed and jump on top. Not as much, anyway. Mmm, I should suggest she try all three at once. Of course, I'll watch."
"Isabela!" No response except for laughter. Bethany is flushed now, but she doesn't mind as much as she did in the past, because it's time to put her plan into action. "I'm as much a Hawke as she is, you know." A treacherous thought suggests to her, Maybe more--you inherited Father's magic, and she didn't. She pushes it away in disgust. She and Marian are both Hawkes; they are together in this, as in so much. "So why is she the one you call by the name?"
Isabela smiles. "Because she would hit me a good one if I tried calling her anything else. Or worse, cut me open with her words. Oooh, she's so good at that. Makes me wonder what else--"
Bethany slams the mug down meaningfully. "My sister, Isabela. My sister! I don't want to hear it."
"Then what do you want to hear?" Isabela spreads one palm on the tabletop, heedless of the grime. "Why are you here, sweetness?"
She's not sure whether the question means that the plan is working fast or that it's not working at all, but Bethany forges on. "I can go places outside of her shadow. But I'm not going to get the chance for a while. Not once we start on the expedition."
"She's making you come, is she?"
Bethany shakes her head. "Not making me, Isabela. I want to go with her and Varric and Anders. We fight together. We always have. But I want to do other things on my own, sometimes." She finishes the ale and shakes her head a little. "Maybe it was a bad idea." Time for a deep breath. Almost ready. "I don't want to stay around here, or go back home to Gamlen. Not yet. Can I come to your room until I'm ready to go? It must smell better there."
"Of course it does," Isabela says. "The tar and cheap liquor are part of the ambience, but the vomit? I smoke that out whenever it gets too bad." She jumps off the table, and Bethany braces for some terrible remark, but it never comes. Instead: "Of course you can come join me for a while, sweetness. You only needed to ask." She holds out a hand, and Bethany takes it, feeling the other woman's calluses against her own and automatically comparing. Isabela has her beat, of course. Bethany pictures those dark and agile hands on rough ropes, day in and day out.
Up the stairs at the back of the room, into the hallway; Isabela opens a door they haven't been in before and steps inside. Bethany follows. True to Isabela's promise, it does smell, but not as bad as the main room of the tavern. But there's no time for taking that in. A moment from now, Isabela will sit Bethany down on a crate, or on the edge of the thin ragged bed if she's feeling generous, and send a message to Marian to come get her wayward sister. Bethany has to act first.
She pushes the door closed and hurriedly reaches for Isabela. Move fast, drag her close, then kiss her deeply, and--
Isabela's rough hands close around her wrists like the ropes she must handle. "Not yet."
Bethany blinks, her face hot, hotter than ever before even around Isabela. How could Isabela have known what she was planning? Why is she stopping her already? This isn't how it's supposed to go.
"You have to tell me if this would be your first kiss," Isabela says, her voice stern, her face serious.
"Oh, Maker," Bethany says. She thought she couldn't flush any deeper, but she was wrong, and she can. "No! Not at all. There was a boy in Lothering when I was thirteen, and--Isabela, this isn't...!"
Isabela lets go of her wrists. "Why did you come to me, Bethany? Your sister could have found you a nice young man, I'm sure."
It's going all wrong. Justifications at the tip of Bethany's tongue transform into truths under the pressure of events. "For just this one last time, before we go into the Deep Roads--before whatever happens after that, happens...either we'll die, or be rich enough to be nobles and won't be able to hide any longer, you know. No, I don't know that for sure. But I know one thing. Everything's going to change. This might be my last chance to do something that my sister didn't get for me. My last chance to experience something of this world, on my own."
Isabela puts a hand on her hip. She looks good like that. She always does. "So why me? It had better not be because you think I'm easy." Bethany glares down at the floorboards. It has no effect except, apparently, to annoy Isabela more. "Oh, no. No going quiet now, or I'm walking right out of here and finding Hawke. Tell me why you came to me."
Bethany swallows and looks up. This part is harder to say. "Because," she says, "you're different than anyone I've ever known. You're different than anything I could ever have been. And you're...no, I'm not going to say you're everything I ever wanted to be."
"Good."
"You do say the most terrible things. But you know everything I don't and you've experienced everything I never will," Bethany finishes.
"Trust me," Isabela says, "you don't want to experience some of the things I have."
"I know," Bethany says quietly. "That's why...that's why it would be enough to touch you for a while." She sighs. "That sounds terrible. I'm not as good at this as my sister." A thought occurs to her. "Oh, no. You haven't--"
Isabela laughs. "We haven't. I think we might sometime..."
"That's enough," Bethany says hurriedly.
"It makes you want to more, doesn't it?" Isabela says.
"What?"
"Knowing that you'd be the first Hawke sister to tumble with me," she says.
"It's not about that, Isabela," Bethany says. "Really. It's not so wrong, is it? To want this. To want something that normal people can have every day."
"It's not wrong at all, sweetness," Isabela says. She looks contemplative for a moment. "You're a bit young, aren't you?"
"For this?" Bethany feels the glare she previously directed at the floor coming back. "I'm almost twenty!"
Rich laughter bubbles up and rings out from Isabela. Bethany isn't sure yet whether to let herself enjoy the sound of it, feel it ripple down her spine and make her shiver. That's what she's here for, but plan and all, she's still not sure if it's okay. "Maker, that's far too old for a first time! No, a bit young for me." And then she's serious once more, her dark eyes unexpectedly wise as she reaches for Bethany's shoulders. "Bethany. This is really something you want? It's not about proving yourself, or competing with your sister?"
"That was never my thing," Bethany says quietly. "Carver did that. I ran and hid. I want to do something with no hiding for once. That's all."
Isabela lifts one hand from Bethany's shoulder and slides it into her hair. Her fingers move very quickly and deftly. "Do you want it gentle like in the stories or rough like in the good stories?"
Bethany swallows hard. Her robe feels too heavy on her, her legs awkward like they don't want to hold her up anymore. "I just want it," she says. "But I probably couldn't handle rough by your standards."
Isabela chuckles, a different sound than her brazen laugh, and this time Bethany hesitantly lets herself feel it. It's hard not to; Isabela's mouth is by her ear now. "I know. I was teasing."
"You're terrible," Bethany says.
"Shush. You like it." Her mouth on the edge of Bethany's jaw now, just barely.
"You wouldn't do it to me if I didn't, would you?" Bethany feels like she should be doing something. She's not sure what. Tentatively, she lifts her hands to rest on Isabela's breasts.
"That's going a little too far," Isabela says.
"What?" Bethany hurriedly pulls her hands back.
"Suggesting that I might be nice to you. Deliberately." She can feel Isabela smirking into the skin of her throat. "Put those back where they were. I know what they say about mages' hands, but I want to see how yours measure up."
Bethany slips her hands back to Isabela's chest, and this time she slides them under the other woman's collar to take hold of the curves there. Tentatively, she squeezes.
"A little harder," Isabela says. Her tone is didactic; she's a teacher leading a lesson, more for her own amusement than the education of the pupil.
And something inside Bethany snaps. This isn't a joke to her. This might be the only time she ever gets the chance to bare her body and intertwine it with another person's in pleasure. She might die soon, or be locked up forever if she isn't careful. Even if that never happens, somehow, even if things do stay the same, who knows when she'll get the chance to enjoy herself again? Who knows if she'll ever be able to make love? This isn't a joke and she refuses to let Isabela treat it as one--
"Damn you!" Her fingers tighten around Isabela's breasts; her nails dig into her flesh and drag across it. "Damn you, Isabela, you know what this means to me and you haven't even kissed me!" For a half-second, the heat of anger starts to leave her and shame threatens. She should be grateful for whatever Isabela is giving her, as she should be grateful for all the protection she's received in her life. She should...
Isabela breaks her momentary stillness with a pleased little moan, suddenly arching against Bethany. She pushes Bethany against the wall then and kisses her hard. It's true, Bethany has kissed and been kissed before, but not like this. Not like this, with Isabela's tongue forcing her lips open without any of the teasing restraint she showed before, flickering in her mouth while their bodies press together so warm and so soft despite the hard heat behind the motions. After a moment, Isabela pulls away just enough to talk--not enough to free herself from Bethany's hands. "You surprise me sometimes, you know that? I start to think, what an innocent girl, it's going to be fun to corrupt her. Then you do something that reminds me how strong you really are inside." She leans in close again and reaches up to undo the laces of her shirt, then places her hands over Bethany's. "Keep reminding me, will you? I want this to be worthwhile for me too."
Bethany hesitates a moment, then kisses her back. For a second she tries to mimic the force Isabela used, and she just winds up smashing her tongue against Isabela's front teeth. So she gives up on that and instead draws Isabela's lower lip into her mouth and nibbles on it. It's easy to lose herself in that feeling--especially as Isabela starts to twist and press against her. This isn't something she's felt with another person before, not ever; only in furtive moments caught alone. But there's nothing furtive about Isabela. Bethany leans forward and presses her cheek against the other woman's. "I'm sorry I cursed at you," she says.
More laughter. This time, Bethany relaxes into the sound of it, so rich and uninhibited. When has she ever laughed like that? Never. That's what makes it so enticing. That, and the fact that Isabela is moving her hands again to start pulling off Bethany's robes. "You're joking, right? That was good. You can do it again if you want." Isabela gives a little shrug underneath Bethany's awkward hands, and her own garments, already untied, slide down around the curves of her body.
Knives clatter on the floor. Bethany tries to find her voice. "How many of those do you have?" It sounds like a silly question, but she doesn't get the chance to ask silly questions often, so maybe that's okay.
Isabela winks at her. "Six."
Bethany goes scarlet, and Isabela laughs again. Her whole body moves with the sound, her breasts ashiver at Bethany's fingertips, her hips swaying so she touches Bethany's waist. "I suppose it wouldn't do me any good to say this isn't funny," Bethany says, but she can feel the sheepish smile starting on her own face.
"Not a bit," Isabela says, and she drags Bethany's robes down into a puddle around her feet.
Bethany takes a step back, disentangling herself from the pile and, reluctantly, finally taking her hands away from Isabela's chest. "It is a little funny," she admits.
"Sex is hilarious," Isabela agrees. "I'll let you in on a secret, sweetness: that's the best part. Now, off with those leggings. I can't get anywhere with you still in them."
It seems almost too warm to be wearing anything, anyway. Bethany tugs at her boots, at her leggings, sending the former flying at the wall in a fit of nerves. Isabela doesn't laugh this time, just purses her lips in appreciation. Bethany keeps getting distracted looking at her. She didn't know it was possible to look at another woman this way before Isabela, before Isabela and her skin like the dark polished wood of a fine staff and her eyes like precious gold trim but so much more lively than anything inanimate. "You're very pretty, Isabela," she says as she finally peels off the leggings and dumps them on the floor.
"Oh, not really," Isabela says. She takes hold of Bethany's hand--a casual, friendly gesture--and pulls her to the bed. "But I know what to do with what I have, and that's more important. Didn't anyone ever teach you that?"
Bethany shakes her head. "You know what they taught me instead, Isabela."
"It just figures," Isabela says, and she pushes Bethany down on the bed, half-sprawled and half-propped against the low headboard, and kisses her again.
Wait, Bethany almost says, because they still have some clothes on: there's still a scarf wrapped around Bethany's neck, and Isabela is still in those elegant high boots of hers. But her head swims, her gut tenses and heats up. She abandons the train of thought and chides herself. She should know better than to expect fine romance in Isabela's arms. So she kisses back, at first mouth to mouth; then, without thinking, she lowers her lips to Isabela's throat.
"Like that," Isabela says, pleased. "You're a quick learner." She twists atop Bethany, who starts to grab at her shoulders to keep her in place, suddenly afraid that the other woman will slip from her grasp like so many things in life have. But her hands land on Isabela's sides instead, and she realizes with a start that her face is buried in Isabela's chest now. She tries to still the quickness of her breath and fails. With a low chuckle, Isabela takes Bethany's chin in her hand, guides her to one breast, and presses it between her lips.
A tight warmth gathers through her body, in her full mouth, in her chest, and most of all between her legs. Bethany lifts her gaze to meet Isabela's and is gratified to see a faint flush of excitement high on Isabela's cheeks. "Try biting--" Isabela begins, but she's greeted by a muffled, mortified squeak from Bethany, so she just grins and reaches down to stroke her fingers across Bethany's breasts instead.
Bethany breaks away, gasping. "I thought we weren't supposed to like it," she manages between breaths. "When a boy bites, I mean, or tugs too hard--"
Isabela just grins. "Well, I do like to give what for, so maybe it's best when it's a girl biting or tugging too hard."
"Oh," Bethany says, thinking about that. "You're probably right...Isabela!" The realization of what she's saying hits her at almost the exact same time as the feeling of Isabela's hand between her legs, and the name nearly trails off into a moan.
"I'm always right," Isabela says. With her free hand, she pushes Bethany down the rest of the way to the bed, and then she straddles her on her knees. She has a hand between her own legs, too, Bethany realizes, and she flushes a little at the thought. Isabela's like a world of things she's never thought about doing before. Was there ever good reason not to think about them? She thinks there probably was, but she can't quite recall it right now.
She can recall it even less when Isabela's fingers slide into her, when her thumb starts to press and rub against her. Bethany twitches and shivers like a spell gone wrong, her own fingers digging into the bed--but wait, didn't Isabela say something about wanting to see how her hands measured up? Yes, she did, Bethany is sure of it. She can't just lie here and, ah, enjoy herself; she has to take part. She's never been happy with just letting the others do the work for her; why should now be any different? Well, aside from the fact that now is most certainly different than anything else she's ever done before.
Bethany reaches up, leans forward, and drags her nails lightly down Isabela's belly. The motion elicits a pleased murmur, and Isabela strokes her harder, inside and out. Both her hands are starting to speed up their movements, but it's still not enough. Bethany thinks about it for only a moment. Then she wraps her hands around Isabela, grasps her from behind, and pulls her forward.
Isabela topples onto her, hands and body alike. "Oh," she says, not missing a beat, "so that's how it's going to be, eh?" And she stills any reply with a kiss.
It's messy, then, and confusing. Just like Bethany knew it was supposed to be, no matter who you did it with. Isabela presses and grinds against her, and Bethany arches up to meet her, trapping her hands between their bodies, but those fingers keep on working, deft even as they occasionally fumble from excitement. Her own hands dig into Isabela's skin all over her back and below.
Bethany tries to stifle her cries, irrationally certain that someone will hear her and something bad will happen because she drew attention, as she's always been. She can't enjoy herself, can't like this too much, she has to be good, doesn't she?
Isabela doesn't stop. "Sweetness--" Again with that pet name, but her voice is ragged now. "If I don't hear you scream, I'm going to assume I did a bad job." And she ducks her head to kiss Bethany's breasts, her tongue flicking out...
Bethany gives in. She lets the eager moan escape her, and as she does, she lets the feeling that inspires it finish building and burst inside her. Isabela's hands are too good to resist for too long.
After a moment, Isabela sprawls across her, heavy and pleased with herself. With both of them, if her contented sigh is anything to go by. Without thinking, Bethany wraps her arms around Isabela and holds her.
Isabela starts to jerk away from the embrace, and Bethany realizes too late that this isn't the sort of sex you hug after. She's supposed to wash up now, then put her clothes back on and walk away. That's how Isabela does it, right?
Their gaze meets. Bethany knows her eyes are full of apology.
Isabela sighs. "I suppose I can cuddle just this once."
Eventually, her hands still resting on the small of Isabela's back, Bethany says quietly, "Thank you."
Isabela does twist out of Bethany's grasp this time; Bethany lets her. "Don't do that," she says. "Don't look at me like this is your last time as well as your first. That would be terrible."
"But--" Bethany starts to protest. For all she knows, this will be her last time. She could be in the Circle tomorrow, or dead. Isn't that why she came here in the first place? One time. That's all she wanted. That's all she'd dream of asking for. Anything more would be too much, because she's already asked too much of other people.
Isabela cuts her off with a kiss--this time, on the cheek. "You're going to find someone wonderful for you," she says. "And you can keep it a secret just how you learned to be so good in bed with them." She grins. "Now put your clothes back on before your sister thinks to look for you here. Some things even I can't talk my way out of."