Had Beleth been literally anyone else, any of Varric's other friends, he would not have read into that gesture. As it was, she was a bard and trained under Leliana. She knew exactly what she was doing...even if she seemed a little uneasy about it--shit, she was being earnest. Varric was flattered, almost instantly, and regarded the hand on his arm with a look of mild surprise.
"Well, I'm always available if you need a hand," Varric replied back and settled his gloved hand atop hers on his arm. Beleth was a little more bold, in general, than most of the women who flirted with Varric. He opted for a more tailored approach. "Or just a few fingers maybe?"
If he'd been drinking wine, he probably would have spat some of it out at that suggestion and his roguish grin nearly cracked as he chuckled.
"Shit you can't just go surprise flirting with me, Beleth, that's no fair. I haven't even been lulled into an easy stupor by the wine.
Sylaise grant her strength. Beleth can follow the script she’s made for herself, that she spent careful time thinking over, but then Varric just goes and throws her for a loop, which her script doesn’t quite make it through. For a moment, she looks genuinely surprised that Varric is actually flirting back, and then she can feel her face heating up, and she presses a hand over her mouth, glancing away to compose herself.
Cool, cool. Smooth.
“I thought about waiting until we had more wine, but I didn’t want you to feel like I was trying to do something unscrupulous. Like trying to push myself on you after you were intoxicated, or—I’m rambling.” She needs a word limit. Or at least a moment to stop looking and sounding like an idiot. Come on. She’s a bard. She can do this.
“But—no. I’m not messing with you. I wouldn’t do that to you.” She turns her hand to grip his, giving him a warm smile. “I think you’re one of the most interesting, funny, and kind-hearted men I know. I’m sure you hear plenty of compliments, but. I’m serious. I think you’re amazing.”
Varric actually lets out a snort and a laugh at that, but he doesn't seem even remotely put out. It's adorable, how she keeps falling back into the eye-contact, self-assured voice, tentative glances bard training of hers. She's working off a set series of steps and Varric can see through it as plain as day. It was cute that she was trying to dupe a writer with a script and he found himself all the more flattered for the attempt.
"You are priceless, kid," Varric compliments and pats her on the cheek. Perhaps the wrong message. Shit. He grimaces at himself after a beat and, in a strange move, tugs off his fine lambskin gloves. His hands are normal, really hand-like, and have a few callouses and ink-stains, but they are a lot warmer than his gloves when he takes her hand again.
"What kind of crazy asshole would I be if I turned down a cute Dalish woman who was flirting with me over wine? You do know I have a thing for ladies that can kill me, right? And you definitely qualify."
He leans back in his chair, his expression speculative, and quirks a brow at Beleth.
"But I'm also shit at this sort of thing. I can't even write romance. Are you sure you want to go there with me? You can seriously do better."
The cheek patting, ‘kid’ thing is an entirely wrong message, and if it had been anyone else, she might have started in on the dangers of being condescending to people who had multiple assassins on their payroll. As it stands, Beleth’s eyebrows furrow, but gradually smooth out as he continues. And his hands. She takes one of them in her own, fingers running over his skin, studying it with the quiet intensity of someone regarding an instrument—which they are, aren’t they? Hands that have crafted powerful, moving stories.
“I would never try to kill you, Varric.” She assures him, eyes still on his hands. “I have at least two books I’m still waiting on sequels for.” Pause. “That was a joke.” Just in case he was worried that the sole reason she hasn’t murdered him yet is because she needs to find out the ending to Swords & Shields.
She does, however, quirk an eyebrow at him, looking surprised. “...Why do you think I could do better? I’m not that great. And I’m clearly terrible at this, as well.” Romance? Is that what this was? If it was, at the very least, she’d managed not to fret over it for six months. After a moment of thought, she pulls his hand to her lips, pressing light kisses to his fingers. “But I don’t want to do better than you. Or worse than you. I want you.”
He chuckles at the joke, even as she points out that it is one, and lets her turn his hands over as she likes. When she tarts kissing his fingers, his brows lift, but he makes exactly no move to pull away. She wants him and, for a moment, he's not entirely sure what to say--nobody ever wants him. But...what did Beleth have to gain by lying about it?
He looks a little starstruck as he watches her and there's only a quick pause, about the span of a thudding heartbeat, before he reaches his free hand up and smooths his thumb across her cheek. His smile is less roguish than stupid as he leans in and presses his lips to hers. It's probably a shit idea, she's one of his best friends these days, but Varric is nothing but a connoisseur of shit ideas.
Beleth is no stranger to terrible ideas herself, and she's acutely aware of the various terrible ways that this could go wrong. But it is extraordinarily hard to recall them, or particularly care, when Varric is looking at her like that, and touching her so softly. And then he kisses her, and all the worries crowding her head go silent all at once. This may be a shitty idea, but it certainly feels good.
The kiss is returned with enthusiasm, as Beleth tries not to grin like an idiot into it. Play it cool, bard. You're supposed to be super smooth. Or at least try to act like it.
She pulls just slightly away from him, and softly bumps her forehead to his. "I should be the one telling you that you can do better, you know. You're taking all my lines." While she speaks, her free hand idly rests on his shoulder, then begins to drift down towards his chest. Because you can only have so much willpower when it comes to certain things, particularly when the other person likes flaunting it so much.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
26/12/17 07:59 (UTC)"Well, I'm always available if you need a hand," Varric replied back and settled his gloved hand atop hers on his arm. Beleth was a little more bold, in general, than most of the women who flirted with Varric. He opted for a more tailored approach. "Or just a few fingers maybe?"
If he'd been drinking wine, he probably would have spat some of it out at that suggestion and his roguish grin nearly cracked as he chuckled.
"Shit you can't just go surprise flirting with me, Beleth, that's no fair. I haven't even been lulled into an easy stupor by the wine.
"You're not messing with me, right?"
(no subject)
26/12/17 08:18 (UTC)Cool, cool. Smooth.
“I thought about waiting until we had more wine, but I didn’t want you to feel like I was trying to do something unscrupulous. Like trying to push myself on you after you were intoxicated, or—I’m rambling.” She needs a word limit. Or at least a moment to stop looking and sounding like an idiot. Come on. She’s a bard. She can do this.
“But—no. I’m not messing with you. I wouldn’t do that to you.” She turns her hand to grip his, giving him a warm smile. “I think you’re one of the most interesting, funny, and kind-hearted men I know. I’m sure you hear plenty of compliments, but. I’m serious. I think you’re amazing.”
(no subject)
26/12/17 08:32 (UTC)"You are priceless, kid," Varric compliments and pats her on the cheek. Perhaps the wrong message. Shit. He grimaces at himself after a beat and, in a strange move, tugs off his fine lambskin gloves. His hands are normal, really hand-like, and have a few callouses and ink-stains, but they are a lot warmer than his gloves when he takes her hand again.
"What kind of crazy asshole would I be if I turned down a cute Dalish woman who was flirting with me over wine? You do know I have a thing for ladies that can kill me, right? And you definitely qualify."
He leans back in his chair, his expression speculative, and quirks a brow at Beleth.
"But I'm also shit at this sort of thing. I can't even write romance. Are you sure you want to go there with me? You can seriously do better."
(no subject)
26/12/17 09:09 (UTC)“I would never try to kill you, Varric.” She assures him, eyes still on his hands. “I have at least two books I’m still waiting on sequels for.” Pause. “That was a joke.” Just in case he was worried that the sole reason she hasn’t murdered him yet is because she needs to find out the ending to Swords & Shields.
She does, however, quirk an eyebrow at him, looking surprised. “...Why do you think I could do better? I’m not that great. And I’m clearly terrible at this, as well.” Romance? Is that what this was? If it was, at the very least, she’d managed not to fret over it for six months. After a moment of thought, she pulls his hand to her lips, pressing light kisses to his fingers. “But I don’t want to do better than you. Or worse than you. I want you.”
(no subject)
26/12/17 15:39 (UTC)He looks a little starstruck as he watches her and there's only a quick pause, about the span of a thudding heartbeat, before he reaches his free hand up and smooths his thumb across her cheek. His smile is less roguish than stupid as he leans in and presses his lips to hers. It's probably a shit idea, she's one of his best friends these days, but Varric is nothing but a connoisseur of shit ideas.
(no subject)
26/12/17 22:29 (UTC)The kiss is returned with enthusiasm, as Beleth tries not to grin like an idiot into it. Play it cool, bard. You're supposed to be super smooth. Or at least try to act like it.
She pulls just slightly away from him, and softly bumps her forehead to his. "I should be the one telling you that you can do better, you know. You're taking all my lines." While she speaks, her free hand idly rests on his shoulder, then begins to drift down towards his chest. Because you can only have so much willpower when it comes to certain things, particularly when the other person likes flaunting it so much.