Voices Carry

Part One: Sebastian

The Chantry was hushed, quiet in the early evening. Vespers had already come and gone, the last ringing strains of the Chant long since faded in the warm summer air. Sebastian extinguished the candles one by one, rolling his shoulders to unknot his back as he picked up the last candle to light his way to the quiet dormitory. His wing of the Chantry was deserted, save for him; there were no other lay brothers at the Kirkwall Chantry. While he once thought it strange, now he welcomed the solitude, for he could be alone with his thoughts.

His traitorous, traitorous thoughts. He sucked a calming breath through his nose and mouth, the candle jittering in his hand, the wax spilling a hot trail down his palm that he did not feel. Andraste preserve him, he would not give in to these feelings, these urges. He was a man of the Chantry now, forever, regardless of what the Grand Cleric thought. He would be true to these vows, even if he hadn't resworn himself yet.

He had not resworn himself because the Grand Cleric wouldn't allow it. He would take the oaths of a brother in a moment, should she ask him, and he was firm in his resolution there. Elthina had made her displeasure known, however. Traveling with Hawke, despite their disagreements, meant that he was still incapable of the inner peace required to enjoy his life as a cloistered brother. The Chantry disapproved of killing, even though he was only striking in defense of himself and his comrades.

How many times had he followed her into danger, seeking to protect her as she did her good work around Kirkwall? How many times had she shot him a grateful smile when he stayed back, drawing off enemy fire with a hail of arrows? How many times had an argument about religion, a healthy debate, really, turned into a stony silence that was breached when one or the other would apologize? How many times had her eyes laughed at him when he cleared his throat to cover his embarrassment at a ribald joke someone told? How many times had he lain, squirming in his bedroll, as she snuffled in sleep only feet away? Too many to count. He was proud of his resolve, but he had come close to breaking many, many times.

It was either bear with the temptation, or remove it altogether by telling Hawke that he could no longer travel with her; that would mean he would not be able to leave the Chantry as he liked anymore. It was an easy decision for him. He liked her, and he liked helping her. That he should feel this want was a disservice to her, and not at all proper.

He would pray, and he would atone, and it would be all right in the end. He was a strong man, and he would persevere. He knew that temptation lay in many paths, and Hawke was only one of them. Red, impish hair that blazed about her pale face like a halo, dark green eyes that laughed at him even as he'd marveled at their rarity. Soft skin that begged him to touch, to kiss – but that was the path to the Void, and he knew it.

He pushed open the door to his room, intent on the corner of his cell that held his small effigy of Andraste, she who knew all his secrets. Instead, he came face to face with temptation herself, the candlelight sheening off her hair and making the red deeper. She startled, dropping the sealed letter she held.

"Hawke," he said, his surprised tone matching the eyebrows that rose in confusion. "What are you doing here?"

"Oh, hello, Sebastian," she said, and he ignored her shaking voice for the chance to just look at her. He had been surreptitious in all his efforts before, but this was a blatant excuse to drink his fill of her without guilt. She shifted, nervous, from foot to foot, but the spots of color in her cheeks as she flushed made her more desirable to him. "I came to let you know that we would be leaving in the morning, but you were busy, so I was going to leave this in your room for you when you were done with your rounds."

He turned and set the candle on the side table, settling it in a plate covered with wax. He bent to pick up the missive, glancing at the Amell crest on the parchment before setting that aside as well.

"Why do you tempt me so?" The question tumbled from his mouth without thought, here in the privacy of his room. She stared at him, blank. Surely she knew what she did to him?

"Sebastian," she said, and her voice was quiet. "I'm sorry. I've invaded your privacy without thinking, and I had no right."

"No, it's no trouble," he said. "It could have been much worse – it might have been Isabela."

She chuckled. "I wasn't rifling through your chest looking for your smalls, if that's what you mean."

"No," he said with a smile. "That thought is…well…"

She took a deep breath at his hesitation. "My apologies again, Sebastian. That was crass. I meant no offense."

"You can make it up to me," he blurted. His heart was pounding as something in his mind coiled, wicked and wanting. He would never have this chance again, and something in him wanted to see if there was more to her teasing. He would call her bluff.

"What?" She looked very much like a deer that had been startled, even more so when he cupped her face with his hands. He could feel the heat radiating from her in his palms, and it struck something deep and primal within him.

"You can make it up to me, Hawke." His voice had gone hoarse in his throat. He swallowed, willing some measure of control. He leaned forward, noting with satisfaction that her eyes darkened as he neared, her lips parting as he hovered inches from them. His thumb stroked across her cheekbone, then traced her lower lip, soft as sin. She inhaled, trembling in his palms.

Trembling for him.

That was the final rational thought that crossed his mind before he slanted his lips over hers, lost in the taste of her. She whimpered, his kiss branding her as he slid his hand from her cheek to her hair, holding her there in possession as he kicked the door shut with a booted heel. He pressed her up against the bare stone wall, fencing her in with his arms as he nipped at her throat, licking at the stuttering pulse point there.

"Sebastian, stop, stop." Palms pressed against his chest, pushing him away. He forced himself to rear back, to look into those green eyes darkened to a near-black by arousal, and he came close to sobbing as he tried to suck in a lungful of air that wasn't touched with the hint of honeysuckle that was the scent of her. "Andraste's pyre, what's gotten into you?"

"I – this – you. You've gotten into me. And Maker help me, I'm only a man, not an Antivan eunuch." He bent to kiss her again, only to be thwarted as her head turned to the side. He made a desperate noise in his throat. "Hawke, please."

"You're willing to forswear your vows, in the Maker's house?" It was a sharp slap in the face, or it should have been, but he'd not been struck by lightning yet for his folly. He'd already gone too far. One more blasphemy wouldn't hurt. "This is the life you've chosen."

"And I am free to choose another." This time, when his lips brushed hers, she didn't resist. He feathered a kiss along her lower lip before pulling back. "Let me show you my commitment."

Her throat worked as she swallowed, and she looked at him for a long moment. He could see the pulse skittering in her throat, ached to kiss it again, but he had regained enough common sense to know that if he pushed now, she would likely flee. He held himself there, caging her within his arms as he pressed his palms to the cool stone of the wall.

When she gave a slow nod of consent it was all he could do to keep himself steady. He pushed off the wall, taking her hands and leading her to his narrow bed. The candle burning in its dish was not enough light to illuminate the room, and so he dug in his storage chest for another one, lighting it and setting it near the bed. Her lip was between her teeth again; he smoothed the ruddy hair back and pressed a kiss to her forehead, soothing her.

"Do you want this?" he asked, his tone gentle even as his neglected libido was clawing for release. "You can leave, if you like. This is your choice now."

She shook her head. "No, I don't want to leave."

She opened her arms to him, and he gathered her close, a chaste kiss becoming more heated as she threaded her fingers through his hair. She tugged, pulling a possessive growl from somewhere deep in his chest, and he lowered her to the narrow cot he slept on. He settled her on the bed, clever fingers dancing across the clasps of her robes and parting them with ease. He had little trouble skinning her out of the trousers and smalls she wore, accepting her help as she kicked off her boots.

He sat back on his heels, kneeling by the edge of the bed as she stared at him, her ragged breathing drawing attention to her pert breasts as she made a blind search for a blanket to cover herself. His sun-browned hand covered hers, staying the show of modesty.

"No," he said. "You're beautiful, and I wish to look upon you."

She reddened, a near full-body blush, and a pleased chuckle rumbled up through him.

She was beautiful, his Hawke. His Celeste. He rolled that around in his mind for a moment as he took in the long, pale legs and full waist and hips. She wasn't curvy, but she had the softness of someone built for soft beds and days wasted in blissful pleasure. There was muscle there, too, rangy and centered in her arms and hands, centered around the staff that danced like a living thing in her possession. His eyes skimmed her high, firm breasts and down across her pelvis to the nest of reddish curls between her thighs. He remembered his wilder days, and his mind began churning with where he would start with her. It would have to be perfect. Perfect for her and for what this meant.

Touching her ankle with the pads of his fingers, he coaxed her into lying back on the bed before he sought something in his pouches. He came upon what he was looking for at last – his spare bowstring, bound in oilcloth to keep it dry. He looked at it for a moment before unwrapping the cloth and unraveling the string.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her breath catching as he took her wrists and tied them with a soft cloth. Sturdy leather, spare from his repair kit, went over that.

"Prolonging the experience," he said, wrapping the bowstring with a second pad of cloth. Once he was satisfied it wouldn't cut into her wrists, he secured her to the bed, running a gentle hand down her arm to cup her chin. "I will stop at any time, if you're uncomfortable, Hawke."

"Use my first name," she said, her eyes darkening again as she tugged on the binding. "I'm tired of being called my surname. We've obviously moved far beyond formalities."

He allowed a small smile. "Celeste."

"Better. I never knew the Choir Boy had it in him." She looked up at her bound wrists, her tongue darting out to wet her lips. "This is surprising."

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Celeste." He rose, moving to lock the door. The men's dormitory was on the opposite end of the Chantry, but it was never a bad idea to take precautions. The sarcastic lilt to her voice betrayed her nervousness, he knew. She got like that when she was unsure of herself.

"Not even Isabela could get the stories out of you about how you were as a youth," she said. Her smile was nervous, excited. "She would give up a month's winnings to be a fly on the wall right now."

"She is not, however," he said, and a low chuckle. "And a prince never kisses and tells."

She blushed. "I didn't mean-"

He pecked her lips, interrupting her. "I know. And rest assured, I will not divulge this meeting, either."

His lips traveled down from her mouth and feathered over her jaw, to her neck, and the juncture between there and her shoulder. Her breathing quickened, and she whimpered as he traced her pulse point with his tongue. She smelt not only of honeysuckle, but of orange blossom, and he sighed out a warm breath onto her neck, creating a ripple of goosebumps. He glanced up and watched her fingers clench and unclench as her eyes slid closed. He pressed his lips to her shoulder, letting her feel the smile that spread across his face.

"There is much of my past you don't know, Celeste," he said. He bent close to her ear so she could feel the heat of his breath as at last he skimmed a single finger down her arm, then back up and traced the path her sternum took between her breasts. He glanced down and saw her squirm, her thighs pressed together. He smirked, dropping his lips close to her ear again.

"What would you say if I told you that I've wanted you in every way I can imagine? If I told you all about the things that my poor imagination came up with to torture me?" He dragged the tip of his finger feather-light across her tightening nipple, watching it bead under his touch as he turned back to her. "Would you come just to the sound of my voice?"

Her lower lip was between her teeth, and she whimpered at the barest touch of his finger across the pebbling areola. He traced around it for a moment before leaving the sensitive skin behind and moving down to circle her belly, luxuriating in the silky play of muscle under skin. He bent forward, his weight balanced on one hand as he traced out patterns on her skin.

"I could tell you of the time I imagined taking you in the confessional first," he said.

"The confessional?" she asked. His finger traced lower, over her hipbone.

"Yes." She moaned a little at his touch, her hips rising off the tick and seeking friction. He moved back up, circling around to the soft undersides of her breasts. "It was one I'd dream of often, you know. Your beautiful lips wrapped around me while I give confession, my hands in your hair as your drink your fill of me."

She ran her tongue out, moistening her lower lip. "Oh, Maker…"

"Or, even better, the scribe's room. The alcoves are quiet, secluded. We could have a moment to ourselves there, and I could make you pray to me instead of the Maker." The blasphemous words tumbled from his lips, a specter of the rogue he had been before. "I could worship at your altar, leave my offering on your skin."

He pressed his lips to the delicate skin behind her ear, and she shuddered, arms tensing as she lifted her hips off the bed again. He traced the shell of her ear, and her moan was low and heartfelt as she writhed beneath him. His hand came up, and he slid his thumb across her lower lip. He couldn't decide where he wanted to start; all these things he wanted to do, and he would, now that he had the chance. She closed her mouth over his thumb, her tongue lapping at him, greedy for him, and his heart hammered in his chest as he watched.

"I could feast on nothing but you for days and never starve," he said. He lowered his lips to her collarbone, tracing the shape, determined to commit every inch to memory. His mouth followed the natural dip and down to the swell of her breasts. They heaved with the sigh she let out. He paused, looking up at her, and Sebastian had never seen a more beautiful sight. His Celeste, flushed with want and staring at him with green eyes dark with lust. Her hands were bound above her head, and her fingers twisted against themselves in helpless need.

He kissed his way down her sternum and then up again, moving to one of her dark pink areola in reverence. His tongue caressed the peaked tip, and his teeth gave a gentle tug that left her gasping.

"You have no idea how many times I imagined you here, wanting you under my fingers and lips as you come again and again," he said, and she writhed at his touch. He nipped and suckled first one, and then the other, tasting the salt of her sweat and the flavor of her skin that was just Celeste. She smelled of honeysuckle and orange blossom; she tasted sweeter than wine. "You have no idea how many times I dreamt of making you mine, Celeste."

He was rock hard against his trousers, and he didn't even care; the throbbing of his cock was nothing compared to the sight of the Champion of Kirkwall bound and moaning on his bed.

If fate were cruel, he would wake up now with his seed drying to scale on his belly. He prayed that he would never wake up. There was no urgency in his worship of her, no need to sate himself first. He had waited for far too long to do this for him to rush now.

"I want you, all of you," he whispered, his mouth brushing her ear. "I want you in all the ways you can imagine, and some you can't. I want you to ride me until you shriek, until you come flying apart again and again. I want your sweetness on my lips, I want to drink you like wine."

She shuddered, her hips jerking upward in response. Celeste's hair fanned out behind her on the pillow, haloing her in reddish gold as the candlelight flickered across her bare skin. A rosy flush dyed her body, and he traced the path of it with his lips before bringing his mouth back to her ear.

"Perhaps I'll take you from behind on the bed, hard and deep and fast," he said, and she squirmed, her lips clenched between her teeth. "Perhaps I'll watch you thrust your fingers in and out of yourself, knowing that I told you to do it. I want to watch you come, over and over again. And you will, sweetling, you'll come so well for me, I promise."

Celeste moaned, leaning toward him to capture his lips, and he obliged, his tongue sliding along her lower lip and gaining entrance as she gasped his name into his kiss. He splayed himself over her, giving her friction against her nipples with the roughness of his shirt, a low grind with his hips to keep her begging. Sebastian devoured her mouth.

He knelt at the foot of the bed, between her ankles. She watched, eyes hooded as he lifted one of her creamy legs and pressed his lips first to the ankle and then to the swell of her calf. Her breathing hitched as he moved upward, and he lingered in the soft hollow on the inside of her knee, lavishing it with attention. She whimpered, and he smiled at her, blue eyes fixed on hers as he moved higher, flattening his body to a comfortable position as he kissed his way up her thighs. He nipped at the inside of her thigh and her hips jerked, seeking the friction she craved. He danced around his goal, teasing her with nibbling kisses from the inside of her thighs to the outer ridges of her hip bones.

"Sebastian," Celeste moaned, her breathing a sharp pant as she quivered under his hands, her body as tight a bow as he had ever drawn. "Please, Sebastian, please."

"Please what, sweetling?" His voice was hoarse with his own desire, his cock throbbing with desire for her, all of her. "Tell me what you need."

She ground her hips upward, one leg slung over his back. "I need you, please, please."

She sounded almost delirious with need, and Sebastian found it to be the sweetest sound he had ever heard. He groaned and sat up, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it to the side as he kicked his boots free to thump against the chest at the foot of the bed, followed by his trousers, leaving him bare to his smallclothes. He lay out, lifting her hips to observe the damp red curls that hid her folds. Her thighs twitched, and he could feel her feet rest on his back as she slid her legs over his shoulders. He stroked one of her thighs, a sigh of pleasure escaping him at seeing her like this, naked and wet and wanting, before he brought his lips to her outer folds. Celeste arched, the bowstrings that held her leather cuffs drawing tight as she whimpered.

"Yes," she said, and he looked up to see her head lolled back as her chest heaved. "Oh, please, Sebastian, there!"

He obliged, lapping up with the broad flat of his tongue, and she moaned. He found the tight bundle of nerves, the apex, and circled it with his tongue, his hands holding her hips in place as she squirmed. She was warm and pliant, until he reached her center and found her core, so soft and heated from within by an inferno. Sparks danced across Celeste's fingertips as she thrust against his tongue when he entered her, and his eyes were fixed on her face as he curled his tongue up, exploring the slick channel as he pressed his nose upward to brush at that sensitive nub. Her hips thrust upward, burying him in her tangy deliciousness, and Sebastian groaned against her, pulling back up and flicking his tongue against it. One hand left her hips and he slid two fingers inside that aching heat, crooking them, looking for…

She cried out, a whimper that turned into a wail, a keening cry of need. He suckled her clit into his mouth, giving it a gentle tug, and she sobbed his name. He could feel the rippling of her walls as she clamped down on his fingers and flexed her hips to thrust against him. She thrashed her head, a plea of his name strung out like a mantra in the quiet air of his room. The candle painted her in warm oranges, in light and life and flame, and she came hard against his fingers, heels digging into his back as he lapped at her juices.

She sagged against the headboard, moaning, as he continued, his fingers pumping as he drove her toward the precipice again. He lifted his mouth from her, breathing in deep and licking the taste of her from his lips.

"My Celeste, so beautiful. I could watch you do that over and over," he said, his fingers curling upward until he found that spot again. "Would you let me? Would you let me take you into oblivion and back?"

"Yes, Sebastian," she said, her voice a whine of need. "Please, I need you."

It was all he needed. He dove back down, His cock unflagging as it pressed against his belly. He moved the hand on Celeste's hip down to stroke himself through his smalls, and he groaned against her as he felt her clamp down on his fingers again as she came hard with a wail.

She pressed her thighs against his ears, muffling the sound, but the groan that he gave at the sensation of her quivering around him, the spasms he could see twitching her way through her abdominals, was enough to drive him mad. He kicked his smalls away at last and freed himself to his touch. She released him at the same time, sagging back, and he moved to cover her, his cock throbbing as he poised at her entrance.

"I need you," he whispered in her ear as he slid into her slick channel to the hilt. "I need you."

She cried out, clamping her legs around his waist and digging her heels into his rump as he thrust into her. His strokes were long and teasing, and he could feel her peaking again. She watched, her eyes half-glazed from the sensation, and he bent down to capture her mouth with his, letting her taste the tang of herself on his lips. She moaned, her hips bucking up as he snapped into her, a rolling motion that sent her teetering off the edge again. She came apart in his arms, his name on her lips and her praise for a man instead of her Maker.

He thrust into her, his own release close behind. He shuddered through it, burying his face in her neck as he blew a deep breath out of his nose. They were slicked with sweat, flushed and exhausted from the catalyst that had ignited between them.

He heaved himself off of her, so as not to crush her under his bulk, and used the knife on the side table to slice the bowstrings that bound Celeste to the bed. She came free, boneless and sated, and he undid the leather and cloth wrapped around her wrists. She was unharmed, and she buried her face in his chest, peppering it with kisses. He sighed and held her close, his face pressed to her hair.

Soon, she slept, and he lay awake, stroking her hair and staring at the ceiling.

Celeste awoke alone at home, in her own bed, tucked in while wearing a nightgown. She lay in a daze, not believing that it had happened. She could always chalk it up to an overactive imagination and go back to her normal life, but the delicious ache when she stretched told her otherwise. She rose at last, counting her satisfied, well-loved pains as something she would never forget. He couldn't want to do that again. No matter what he had said, he still had to be conflicted.

She braced for it when she saw the foolscap lying atop the folded pile of her robes. She broke the seal and flipped the note open.

My Celeste,

I took you home. I felt it would raise too many questions if you left in the morning from the dormitory with me. I want to thank you for the gift you gave me last night, and hope that it wasn't a singular occurrence. It would make the pair of smallclothes you wore that are now in my possession rather awkward to explain. When you want them back, you're free to try and take them from me.

Sebastian

She chuckled, her blush heating her face. This was a side of Sebastian she had never seen, and one she was quite looking forward to exploring. She set the note down, and noticed another one, this one unsealed and left face up. She picked it up and glanced at it.

Hawke,

You. Me. Details.

-Bela

Celeste shook her head, tossing the other note down as well. Her prince didn't kiss and tell; neither would she.

A/N: No, before you ask, I don't know if this means I will be continuing other stories. I have a new job that starts at the end of the month, and it means I will have less time than ever to write, even professionally for the stuff that pays the bills. That said, I am working on different projects at the moment, and I never know where my focus will end up.

Please enjoy this, and if you're curious, Constant Readers, I have an account over on AO3, under the same penname.

~Lywinis