#isabesther

A snort. Isabela turns to Hawke and catches the tail-end of an eye roll. "Not unless you want to explain to Aveline why you can't walk tomorrow."

"Ooh, that sounds like a challenge. You know I like a good challenge." She saunters over and slides a hand up Hawke's leg. "I wonder how hard it would be to break you, hm?"

Hawke grins, all teeth. "Very hard, I'm afraid. You are welcome to try, however." She leans back on her hands, the muscles in her arms flexing as she does so, and spreads her legs a little. A not so subtle invitation, and Isabela finds her gaze drawn down before she realizes it and snaps her eyes up again.

"Tease."

"You've never complained before."

"And I'm not about to now," she purrs, climbing back into Hawke's lap with a smirk. "But you know what they say. All work and no play makes Hawke a very, very boring girl. Or was that a dull girl?"

Laughter sputters from her lips, bright and unexpected. Isabela almost falters at the sound of it, at the sight of Hawke's smile. Her fingers tighten where they have gripped Isabela's waist, and she shakes her head. "Who says that?"

Isabela wets her lips. "I say that," she murmurs, leaning forward to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

Hawke turns her head and catches her lips. Isabela's breath stutters, just a little. Hawke's lips part, her hands coming up to cup her face, thumb brushing her jaw, and she can feel the callouses there and the gentleness of her touch, the way it always gets gentle at the end like she can't quite bear to be rough anymore—

Isabela breaks away abruptly and stands. Hawke blinks owlishly at her, a question creasing her brow.

She has to take a moment to find her voice, and even then her tone is too light. "I just remembered," Isabela says with a wink. "Merrill needed help with... elf things. Poor girl will pitch a fit if I'm not there. You know how she gets."

She doesn't know. Hawke is still staring, confusion etched in the lines of her face, but Isabela is already out the door, heart racing, palms sweaty, trying desperately to outrun the sinking feeling in her gut that feels dangerously warm and fond and like a terrible, stupid idea.