Veritas

Sebastian carefully pinched his nose and swallowed the draught prepared for him. He could not disguise his signature brogue, and had gone to the proprietor of the Black Emporium for help. He had not been wrong in his assumption that there was a magical solution to his problem, although it might rankle some members of the Chantry. The golden liquid made his voice flat and toneless, almost androgynous, and worked wonders for when he had to serve in the confessional. No longer did he get fearful looks when he spoke and lead the Chant because those confessing knew it was him. It allowed them some measure of peace to know that their confessions were in confidence, since they could never locate the priest who had ordered their penitence.

The screen that blocked off the penitent's side of the confessional shurred open with a small clatter. He heard shuffling, and then the bench creaked as someone sat down. A shadow behind the screen moved, shifting as the guilty soul made themselves comfortable.

He heard the clearing of a throat. "O Maker, hear my cry. I have sinned in Your sight, and ask that I be forgiven my transgressions." The voice was only a whisper, something that ghosted past his ears and stirred memory only a little. "It has been many weeks since my last confession."

"Start at the beginning. The Maker will hear your confession, and your soul will once again be clean in His sight," he intoned.

"I – um, all right," the stammer was followed by a pause. Then the voice came back, stronger, clearer. "I have killed men. I did so in the employ of a mercenary band, the Red Iron."

He very nearly blurted out his surprise. Hawke? But I thought she did not believe in the Chantry's teachings? He resolved to hear her out, because now he was very intrigued.

"Most of them were scum. Rapists, thieves, men who couldn't spell moral character, let alone know what it was. I was mainly a backup, a guard. But I had to kill sometimes, and it never really sat well with me. Now that I have made a name for myself, I have the right to choose my own path and stick with my moral convictions. I still hear them sometimes, in my sleep. But I did what I had to do, to keep my family safe and fed in Kirkwall."

"You killed only when you had to, and you did so to feed your family," he said. "Many times we make hard choices in this life. That you know it was wrong and seek atonement by mediating your current deeds speaks well of your character. But I sense that is not all you came to confess."

"N-no. It's not. I harbor a lot of anger towards my brother, and my mother. They don't understand I couldn't save my sister. Mama constantly shoves it in my face that I live and my sister doesn't. She died during the Blight, when we fled to Kirkwall. My brother constantly claims I'm too big for my breeches because I want to get Mama her house back. He thinks we should be moving on to bigger and better things." She cleared her throat again. "Sometimes I want to behave like when we were children again, and just punch him."

He had to stifle a chuckle. He could see a younger Hawke, scrappy and angry at her brother. "Your mother must still be grieving, although I doubt it was your fault your sister died. Grief can be a harsh thing to experience. Being a family does not necessarily mean that you'll automatically get along all the time, either. Is there more to your confession?"

A pause, silence on the other side of the screen. Then the sigh of breath being blown out in exasperation. "Yes. I'm afraid I've been experiencing…unchaste thoughts."

Sebastian swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat. What was this? He should stop the confession right now, give her penance, and let her be on her way. This was something he shouldn't be hearing. His brain was screaming at him to intone the words "Go forth and sin no more", but the words that came out of his mouth were the exact opposite of the effect he'd intended.

"Unchaste thoughts?"

"Y-yes. I lust after a man, and I wish for his caress almost every night." Her voice had become breathy, very quiet, and he found himself straining to hear her. "Sometimes, I…touch myself."

He swallowed again, his tongue feeling dry and three sizes too big. "Tell me about these thoughts." What, no, Maker's grace, what am I saying?

There was the noise of her shifting on the bench. He nearly jumped out of his skin as her voice sounded clearer through the screen, and he shifted into the shadows of his cell, praying silently for secrecy. She would kill him if she knew. Definitely. He would be a scorch mark on the floor of the Chantry. The Shroud of Sebastian Vael burned into the bricks of the Kirkwall chantry forevermore.

"Well, his hands are what started it," she said, her voice taking on a low purr that set his heart hammering against his ribs. "They're strong, possessive hands. He has these long, square-tipped fingers that look like they could set a woman on fire in a matter of minutes. I often think of him running his hands along my body, splaying his hands over my stomach, caressing my breasts."

Sebastian swallowed audibly. He was beginning to think that a scorch mark on the bricks of the Chantry floor wasn't looking so bad. In fact, it felt a little warm in the cell now, to be honest. He clawed at the drawstrings of his shirt, flapping it to get some air moving on his body. Sweet Andraste, give me strength to endure the trial set before me.

"When I close my eyes, all I can see are those hands sliding up my thighs and parting me for him to see how wanton I really am. He slides one finger inside of me, and it's all I can do to keep from screaming his name right there and then. But he doesn't stop there."

Sebastian made a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "He…doesn't?"

In for a silver, in for a sovereign, I suppose. I already have to go confess after this, I might as well see it through.

"No, he doesn't. He knows exactly what I want, kissing me with his lips while his finger coils inside me. He traces my jaw with his lips, moving to my shoulders. Sometimes he bites, and that just makes it better."

Sebastian couldn't stop the images that flashed through his mind. Hawke, her head thrown back on the pillows, writhing under his hands as he did his damndest to drive her insane. He would lean in and lay teeth to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, claiming her and her honeysuckle-scented skin for his own, soothing the marks with his tongue…

He very nearly whimpered, feeling desire spark down his spine into his belly, spreading warmth throughout his stomach and groin. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep silent.

She seemed to take the silence as his signal for her to continue. "His mouth is ravenous for the taste of me, because the kisses don't stop there. He moves lower, placing kisses between my breasts, moving underneath them, up and over the top, and then he suckles on one of my nipples."

His knuckle found its way into his mouth, and he bit down hard. The pain was only a temporary distraction. She had to know he was in here. It was a cruel joke, to hear her speaking like this, even as much as his interest was riveted on her voice, the purring undertone and the vivid description that was leaving him hard and aching, she had to know. Only Isabela would be brazen enough to do this in the hopes of traumatizing a chantry priestess. But Hawke? She had to know he was giving confession today.

But nothing in her voice suggested the quirking lip that she got when she was teasing someone. She had a way of injecting a laughing undertone in her voice if she were teasing, too. All he heard when she spoke was lust. Maybe he was safe. He decided to keep silent. It seemed like his best option to avoid becoming a greasy stain on the floor.

"His hands are so wonderful," she sighed. "Calloused, yes, but one can expect that from such a master archer."

He very nearly swallowed his tongue. Master archer? Oh, Andraste preserve me, she's trying to kill me. She knows I'm in here, and so she's saying these…these obscene things about me so she can drive me insane.

"He doesn't know, and I could never tell him, because the shame would probably make me combust on the spot," she said. "But I can't help how I feel about him, even with his vows. He's a sworn brother in the Chantry, and has taken a vow of chastity. That's why this is so shameful."

His knuckle was bloody now. His other hand was loosening his belt, almost of its own volition, trying to alleviate the pressure.

"Sometimes I see ink stains on his hands, and I imagine me coming to visit him while he's copying manuscripts, and he uses those hands to bend me over his copy desk and take me right in the archives," she said. "He's forceful, digging his fingers into my hips and panting in my ear like a man possessed. He wants me, wants all of me, and takes me."

His trousers had come unbuttoned, and his hand slipped inside, the other still in his mouth to muffle any noise. He was painfully hard, slick with his own juices, and if he didn't take care of this right now, he would die and face the Maker without being able to atone for it. He grasped himself in shaking fingers, freeing his length from his smalls and stroking downward in a slow, languid movement. He bit down on the groan of relief and closed his eyes, leaning his head back as he shifted on the bench, spreading his legs to make himself more comfortable.

"Please continue. The Maker knows your sins, but only by confessing them will you receive atonement." He was proud of his iron control over his voice, certain that the potion was helping him keep the quaver at bay.

"I…yes, messere. Well, I often have these thoughts late at night, just before bed. I often lean back into the pillows, wet and wanton, my hands a poor substitute for his. I have to muffle the screams in my pillow so that Mama won't hear. It's gotten so bad that I've gone to a friend of mine for…help. She provided me with the address of a man who makes these – ahem – toys."

Andraste have mercy, he was going to swallow his tongue. The pads of his fingers rasped across the head of his erection, and he nearly arched right off the seat. His strokes began to get faster, his breathing matching the rhythm.

"These toys are made to please women, messere. He carves wood into the shape of well-formed male parts, to help lonely women with their needs. I use it, and think of him as I scream into the pillows."

The thread of need in his belly began to wind up, tightening into a delicious tension that sparked with every touch of his fingers.

"That's not the worst part, though." The voice was hesitant. He paused, his heart pounding. "Sometimes I like to think that I'm…pleasing him. I clean the toy with my mouth, and imagine that he throws his head back with a groan as I clean my juices off of him. Long strokes of my tongue, and I imagine him holding my hair as I do, unable to hold back."

The thread snapped. He shuddered his release, his hand over his mouth to muffle his moan as his hips jerked once, twice, three times, spilling his seed into his palm. He sat there, breathing deeply, trying to regain his wits and say something before she discovered him and what he was doing.

"Messere?" Her voice was quiet. "I – that's my whole confession."

He nodded to himself, regaining control of his breathing gradually. "I…see. This is an unexpected confession, I have to admit. When one experiences lust like this, the only way to gain atonement is to confront the person one desires and speak to them about it, and then beg their forgiveness. A donation to the poor fund, as well, is in order, for the lesser sin of anger toward your family. The killing you were forced to do you are already atoning for by mediating your actions now."

"Y-yes, messere. I will go and see him when I can, to ask his forgiveness. He'll probably never speak to me again, however."

"The Maker works in mysterious ways. He will provide if you do His will. Go forth, with His blessing, and sin no more."

"Thank you, messere." The bench creaked again as she stood, and the door shurred open, letting dim light into the confessional. He wiped his palm on his shirt tail, tucking himself back in and righting his clothing. He took a deep, shuddering breath and waited for her to clear the Chantry before he escaped the confines of the confessional on wobbly legs and made his way to his room to change.

Hawke blinked in the brightness of the day outside, rubbing a hand over her eyes. Isabela gave a throaty laugh from where she leaned against the warm stone. The smuggler sauntered up, hands on her hips.

"Did you confess all of your sins like a good little Andrastian?"

"I will set you on fire, Isabela, I'm warning you."

"Oh please, you've never actually thrown a fireball at me deliberately." She grinned.

Hawke couldn't help but return the grin. "Well, you should have heard the sounds he was making at the end. It was hard to tell it was him, at first. I never would have known about the potion if you hadn't told me. And you did tell me about the schedule for the confessional, so I suppose I can be gracious, this once."

"So, what happened?"

"He told me I should confess these – erm – feelings to the person I had them for. You should have heard the moan he gave after I told him about the toys." She gave a delighted shiver.

Isabela burst into laughter. "I told you!"

Their fists met in midair, the knuckles brushing as they walked away from the chantry into the warmth of the summer sun.

The End

A/N: I needed a break from churning out chapters of Obeisance. Hopefully this meets with approval. Original prompt on the K!meme: "I want Hawke taking up Sebastian's offer (you know, THAT one). She confesses to have impure thoughts about one of her companions (namely Sebby, but she keeps it vague at first) and then goes about it in great detail - the final result is some sweet, sweet torture for our favorite Choir Boy 3".

Hope you enjoyed.

~Lywinis