#rookine

At least it looked good on her, Sabine had to admit, the whole get-up. Better than the typical plaid and band t-shirts. Charming most days, don’t get her wrong. Sabine loved the grungy adventurer look as much as the next swooning maiden, but the tonight’s tight miniskirt left little to the imagination, Rook’s thighs tensing and relaxing as she shifted from across the fire, one arm slinging over Turvi’s shoulders and laughing up a drunken storm with the nearby Zalan and Sancha. The flexing line of muscle had Sabine downing the rest of her drink, the bitter taste of beer clinging to her tongue.

“You’re awfully quiet over here, sunbeam.”

Sabine nearly jumped from her place on the clearing floor when Athos settled next to her, the big qunari a small mountain all on his own, dwarfing Sabine almost entirely.

Finishing off her drink and gathering the skirt of her dress to make space for him, she flashed him the sweetest grin she could muster. “Hey there, big guy. Care to keep a girl company?”

“If it's you? Of course.” Athos chuckled, Sabine pressed close enough to his side she could feel the vibrations.

He passed her a bottle, twisting the cap open and handing it to her before turning to his own. Sabine accepted it gratefully, pouring the contents into her cup — a cute thing she’d long since kept at Rook's camp just for her use, the bright yellow almost glowing in the firelight from the childishly painted sunflowers on a field of green uneven streaks. Sabine was a singer, not a painter, but Rook had gasped and cooed at it anyway, demanding a matching one she kept Maker knew where.

Rook was an adventurer, never stayed in one place too long, didn't keep too much of her own things at hand when off on whatever mission the Adventurers’ Guild assigned her to. But a warm feeling she'd long refused to name settled at the back of Sabine's chest at the thought of something of hers among Rook's things, brought along anyway — a little cup of sunflowers wherever the wind took her.

It probably had a chip by now from the way Rook loved to rough house with Maker knew what. Character, Sabine decided, just the perfect amount of character for someone like Rook.

“You know just the way to my heart.” Sabine set the half-empty bottle down next to her on the grass and raised her cup to Athos, the clinking sound of ceramic on glass drowned by another peel of laughter from across the fire.

After a moment, Athos asked, suspiciously nonchalant, “How’re you and Rook? You two patch things up?”

“Oh, Maker, does everyone know about that?”

“You weren’t exactly quiet about it, sunbeam. And this is might be a small town, but I think the entire island heard you.”

“Not my fault.” Sabine pouted into her cup.

Athos nodded and grinned, humoring her. “Of course not.” He inclined his head, Sabine’s eyes drifting back to the other side of the fire, when he said, “It’s Rook’s fault.”

“Exactly!” Sabine’s eyes snapped back to him, and she grinned wider, pressing her cheek to Athos’ arm, purring, “Trying to get on my good side, huh, Athos?”

“Are you saying I’m not already? You wound me, Sabine.” Athos made an exaggerated gesture of wiping a stray tear from his cheeks, leaving Sabine giggling next to him.

Eventually, she turned back to the fire, taking another sip from her cup, just in time to catch Rook's eye, something inscrutable flashing on Rook's face so fast before she winked at Sabine, one side of her mouth curving up in a familiar smirk, eyes returning to their normal twinkle.

Sabine returned it with a wink of her own, flourishing it with a kiss pressed to her fingers and blowing it in Rook's direction.

“I suppose that answers my question.” Athos brought his bottle to his lips, voice so soft Sabine nearly missed the next thing he murmured, “And then some.”

Sabine turned to him and released a faux-scandalized gasp. “What's that supposed to mean, mister?”

“Nothing, nothing.” Athos raised his hands in surrender. “Just noticing, is all. You two are tight.”

“Of course we are.”

“Then why are you all the way over here by your lonesome acting like you two haven't already kissed and made up?”

“Well— I—” She flushed red up to her ears, mouth gaping and closing like a fish before she distracted herself with another gulp of beer from her cup.

There was certainly no kissing. Sabine would have remembered that.

Just the ugly slime of jealousy knocked so far up her gut she probably could have thrown up at the sight of Rook in that damn shirt. Dom was never going to let her live it down if he knew.

She sighed. A little kissing would have been nice.

Abruptly, Sabine stood up, Athos raising a brow at her from his spot.

Why was she being so weird about this, anyway? Rook was her friend — no, scratch that. Sabine’s had friends before, but none of them like Rook. She wasn’t going to let something like this — whatever this was, Sabine not so ready to get into all that — get in the way.

“Sunbeam, what’re you—?”

“You know what, you’re right, big guy.”

“I am?” He gave her a look like he didn’t believe that she’d concede an argument so quickly. Rude.

“Mm-hm.” Sabine nodded, grinning.

Then, promptly turned around and swaggered toward Rook, hips swaying, flicking her long blonde hair back casually.

Rook blinked up at her, her conversation with Turvi dying midway through as Sabine easily commanded her attention. It was almost heady how easy that was. Rook tried to start, “Hey, dollface, what’cha doin—”

Only to be cut off by Sabine plopping herself onto Rook’s lap unceremoniously, shoulder to Rook's chest, the length of her legs perpendicular over Rook's thighs, hard and strained as she took the weight of Sabine's body. Ass settled right up at apex of her legs, arms coming up around Sabine's torso — one to her waist, the other to her shoulder — to keep them both from falling over into the dirt.

Sabine giggled at Rook’s indignant squawk.

“Oh my, don't tell me my big, strong adventurer can't handle little ol’ me,” Sabine teased.

“I can—” Rook huffed, attempting to shift Sabine to a more comfortable position even when she was being obnoxiously uncooperative. “—handle you just fine. Stop— hey—” Another huff as Sabine's arms slipped loose from Rook's hold. “Stop squirming!”

Sabine burst into another round of giggles. She was pretty sure her ass was digging right into the middle of one of Rook's thigh bones, but oh, she wouldn't give up this seat for the world — if only to make sure she didn't miss the way Rook's cheeks turned pink all the way down her chest, disappearing into that, that— that fucking shirt.

Sabine glared at it. If she were a mage, it would have burst into flames ages ago. A waste of perfectly lovely velvet, but Sabine had several more Rook could peruse from, hers for the picking, whatever she wanted. What did this shirt have that any of hers didn't, huh? Okay, sure, yellow and gold might not be Rook's colors, but dig deep enough in Sabine’s closet and they'd find something. Probably.

Sabine's fingers were already flying to Rook's front, one digit tugging at a button, dangerously close to ripping it off.

“Woah there, Beanie!” Rook's hand flew from Sabine's shoulder to cover her hand. Sabine had the decency to pause, cocking her head like Rook was the crazy one. “Damn, if you wanted to get your hands all over me, you could've asked,” Rook joked, though her cheeks continued to burn bright even in the firelight.

Sabine snorted, indelicate, an unusual sound that seemed to surprise both of them, Rook's face cracking into a wide smile, Sabine opening her mouth to quip something back — when smatters of laughter, smothered like they were being held back, had the two of them swiveling their heads to look toward the sound. Sancha and Zalan had drifted toward them in the commotion, plopping themselves next to a grinning Turvi, the hand Sancha was holding to her mouth not enough to conceal her amused smile. Zalan wasn't even trying to hide his.

“Something funny?” Sabine pouted at them, pressing her cheek to Rook's, wrapping her arms around her friend's neck. Too indecently close for polite company, but Sabine couldn't find it in herself to care. Rook smelled nice. Like the forest. And moonblossoms.

It was Turvi who answered, “Oh, I don't know.” He grinned wider, elbow on his crossed legs, palm to his cheek, blond hair falling forward from his half-undone bun. “Looks like you're having fun there.”

“I am, thank you very much.” Rook's cheeks grew warmer as Sabine nuzzled closer, a finger rubbing the back of Rook's neck absentmindedly, skin surprisingly soft. Rook's arms tightened around her. Oh, that was nice. “Rook is too. Aren't you, sweetheart?”

“What?” Rook asked dumbly. Sabine pouted and began pulling away, Rook quick to stop her with a squeeze around her waist. “I mean — yeah. Sure. Definitely.”

“See?” Sabine sent Turvi a triumphant smile.

“I'm sure Rook's quite pleased,” Sancha butted in, leaning close to Sabine, mouth pulled into a conspiratorial smile. “She was distracted all day during our patrol. Would have had her head chopped clean off by a monster if Athos and I weren't there to pull it off her!”

Sabine gasped and Rook complained, “Nuh-uh! I wasn't distracted, I was just—”

“Preoccupied?” Sancha helpfully suggested, needling her, “Worried? Unfocused? Ooh, you did run down the wrong tunnel too. Almost like you were, hm, what's the right word… distracted.”

“Well—”

“Oh, Sancha, don't be too hard on Rook. Always difficult to think with a little too much sunshine on the mind.” Zalan shook his head, swirling his bottle in his hand, still mostly full. “Ah, I know the feeling well.”

Sabine giggled. “Such a romantic. Got a book about it?”

“Maybe.” Zalan gave a noncommittal shrug. “If I do, then it's fifty percent off, just for Rook.”

The group burst into more drunken laughter except for Rook, who only complained some more. “Andraste's flaming tits, you guys are the worst.”

Sabine returned her attention to Rook. “Sure. But you haven't pushed me off yet, sweetheart. Can't be that bad.”

“You, dollface? Never,” Rook answered before narrowing her eyes at everyone else. “These guys, though? Can't remember why I let these assholes into my camp.”

“It’s ‘cause you’re a big softie, Rook,” Turvi teased. Sabine only laughed harder. He wasn’t wrong.

Zalan snorted, and Sancha leaned on Sabine, the additional weight threatening to tip all of them over. She bemoaned Rook’s newfound attitude. “Rook’s being so mean, Sabine. We were just trying to be helpful. Won’t you do something about it, please?”

Giggling, Sabine pressed her nose to Rook’s cheek, mouth to Rook’s ear, her next words only for the two of them. “How about it, darlin’? Would you be a good girl for me?”

The sound that left Rook was a cross between a strangled cry and a bitten-back groan, like she was about to combust and die on the spot. But she recovered quickly, huffing out a short, frustrated laugh before turning her head, mouth a scant inch away from Sabine’s own. Her eyes were drawn to Rook’s lips before snapping back up to meet her gaze, blue on blue, a strange — good, bad, wonderful — intensity between them.

“Beanie, I'm many things, but you know ‘good’ isn't one of them.”

Something warm settled low in Sabine's belly, and she brushed her nose against Rook's. How easy it would be to just lean closer and—

Sabine inhaled sharply at the direction of her thoughts, breathing in the same time as Rook breathed out, lungs filling with molten heat, as heavy and tantalizing as the firm weight that settled on her waist. She shook her head, plastering a smirk on her face and smothering the rest of her imagination before it got away from her.

Perhaps she’d had too much to drink.

Humming, she replied, “Perfect. Just the way I like you.”

Somewhere beside them, someone wolf-whistled. Sabine turned her head, meeting a grinning Turvi, egging them on. “Is this the part where you two kiss and make up?”

Kissing would be really nice, Sabine’s eyes flicking for a brief moment to the bow of Rook’s lips, curved and and pink and so unfairly lovely. It took everything in her to return her gaze back to Turvi.

“Didn’t realize you were so interested. Care for a show?” Rook stiffened under her before relaxing and softly laughing, pressing her cheek to Sabine’s shoulder and smirking at Turvi. Sabine hummed in mock thought. “I usually charge a fee, but I’ll give you a discount since you’re such a good friend. You could even join in.”

His smile only turned impish, leaning back, bringing a bottle to his lips and inclining his head. “I mean, if you’re offering—”

“Knock it off,” Athos chided Turvi, though not unkindly. Then to Sabine, he held out her sunflower cup. “Here you go, sunbeam.”

She blinked up at him, surprised at how easily he snuck up on her. Wow. Sometimes she forgot these guys were adventurers, more used to seeing them kicking their feet up at the tavern or at Rook’s camp, sharing a drink or a song. The guild was full of battle-tested professionals — Athos, Sancha, and Rook no exception, especially so when Sabine leaned back on Rook’s chest, short but solid, the line of muscle along her thighs barely strained despite however long Sabine had been sitting on her at this point.

Maker, did she weigh anything to Rook? Probably not. That definitely didn’t add anything to the heat that had been simmering in her gut all night. Or the way the flutter in her stomach was slowly migrating to her chest and up her throat.

No, ser. Not at all.

(And among everyone here, she'd be remiss not to mention Turvi being a mermaid — magical and wonderful and fascinating;no one in the big city would believe she met him. And she swore Zalan was three rats in a trench coat at least half the time, leading some kind of double life that she hadn't been able to suss out just yet.

It all left Sabine so uninterestingly small and human.

Crack open her sparkle and find only glass. Costume jewelry. Disappointing and dull when looked at too closely. And Sabine would rather die than let anyone figure that part out. But that was neither here nor there, and she tried to swallow the welling of her feelings down before it began bleeding at the edges and ruining everyone's fun.)

(… but maybe Rook wouldn't get too bored with her if she found out anyway?)

“Sabine?” Athos cocked his head at her, questioning.

She finally accepted her cup, still halfway full and otherwise untouched. “What would I do without you, big guy?”

“Hey, Athos, could you hand me a bottle too?” Rook called out. “If I’m gonna be stuck here all night, might as well get comfortable.”

Sabine wasn’t entirely sure what came over her, but between the group’s teasing and the way Rook’s pleased laugh danced along her spine — as warm as the breath on her neck and the fingers tapping to a nonsensical rhythm along her arm — when Athos obliged and handed a new bottle to Rook, Sabine really couldn’t be blamed, could she?

One hand raised to Rook’s wrist — unopened bottle falling to the grass, Rook’s brows furrowing — the other raising her cup to her lips, taking a deep sip and letting the alcohol sit on her tongue, somehow sweeter now knowing what she wanted to do next.

She covered Rook’s lips with her own.

Almost hesitant, the laughable chasteness belying the inferno sparking under her skin threatening to spill over, blood rushing to her head, feeling the tips of her ears warming despite the night’s chill. What the fuck was she doing?

A gasp, almost imperceptible — from her? From Rook? — was enough to drown out her incredulousness, using the moment to press her tongue into Rook’s mouth, alcohol spilling between her lips, Rook making another sound beneath her as they both swallowed. Sabine could feel a drop of beer trickle down to her chin, falling to the fist around Rook’s collar, her other hand still gripping her sunflower cup.

They broke away, breaths heaving, Sabine blinking at Rook, cheeks aflame, before starting, “Rook— I—”

Rook didn’t give her a chance to finish, tongue licking a path from her chin to her mouth, gathering the alcohol on her tongue, before capturing Sabine’s lips in a devouring kiss.

Rook kissed like she fought — the rare times Sabine had the chance to watch Rook work, sweat on her brow, blood on her cheek, Sabine’s stomach flipping at the sight alone. Singularly focused, one hand pressed between Sabine’s shoulder blades, the other palmed at her thigh, fingers spreading and digging into the meat of it, indents forming on her skin. Sabine hoped they’d leave a mark.

Chest to chest, Sabine’s hand trapped between them, nestled between Rook’s breasts and her own, she could feel her heart thundering right under her ribcage. Or was it Rook’s? How tantalizing the idea it was to feel how affected Rook had become from a single kiss, mouths moving in sync as Sabine pressed forward the same time Rook did, nearly knocking the two of them over.

Someone coughed, and someone else let out a laugh. “Wow, um, you two, we get it—”

Sabine wasn’t entirely sure who said that — Turvi, maybe? — but everything else faded away in the distance. Unimportant, really, in the face of her hunger and Rook’s teeth nipping at her bottom lip. Rook’s nails digging into the skin of her thigh. Rook’s hand cradling the back of her neck, deepening the kiss impossibly further.

Moaning into the kiss, thighs pressed together as heat pooled low in Sabine’s belly, someone cleared their throat, much louder this time, though not enough to steer her from her course.

“I think it’s time we get outta here and give these two some privacy.” Athos. What a great friend. Sabine distantly noted to buy him a drink at the tavern next time when she wasn’t, you know, getting the necking of a lifetime in the woods, of course. Priorities.

Turvi snickered. “Nah, I think I’m good.”

“Nope!” Sancha smacked Turvi in the shoulder. “Scram. Everyone.”

“Have fun, you two,” Zalan called out from a distance. She could practically hear the smirk on his face. “Try not to do anything we wouldn’t do.”

The sound of cackling laughter faded as they all finally made their way back to Pharos Cove, leaving Rook and Sabine alone.

“I think we scared away all our friends,” Sabine whispered when they finally broke apart, pressing a peck to Rook's cheek, at the bottom edge of the long scar that ran across Rook's left eye. Then she leaned back and rested her cup back on the ground, drink already forgotten.

“Nah. They’ll be fine.”

Laughter melted into the press of lips on pulse, Rook pulling her back, Sabine's giggles stuttering into shaky exhales when Rook nipped at the sensitive skin there. Sabine’s head lolled back, nails digging into the back of Rook’s nape, pressing her closer. Rook gave a low moan, the sound reverberating through Sabine’s whole body, before sinking her teeth into her neck — not enough to break skin, but the bruise was sure to last for at least a good week before it would even begin to fade.

And longer still if Sabine could drag Rook into bed after all this. Bared her neck, pressed Rook's teeth to the same spot again and again until her skin was permanently stained red and purple in the shape a familiar mouth, too high up to truly hide, but why even try? Sabine wasn't one to kiss and tell, sure, but she wouldn't mind setting a few tongues wagging with well-placed smiles and the flick of her hair on the tavern's stage.

Give the entire island something to talk about come morning. Maker knew news travelled fast over here — might even reach Dom before he came back for the next festival, though she didn't think he'd give a damn, all things considered. He was a good man, but she was still petty enough to care about an impromptu one-sided contest she made up in her head over who Rook liked more.

(The answer was Sabine. Obviously.)

Rook licked at the love bite, the drag of her tongue making Sabine shiver, moaning softly, thoroughly distracting her from any thought of contests. Then she shifted, tugging at Rook's hair until she lifted her head.

Dropping her voice, Sabine asked in a syrupy tone, tooth aching but too tempting for anyone resist, “Care for a bit of fun then?”

“I—” Rook swallowed, eyes widening before a smirk settled on her face. Whatever thought passed through her head was smothered by the special sort of confidence that only Rook could pull off, leaning forward, catching Sabine's jaw and nipping it brazenly. “Yeah. Whatever you like, dollface.”

“Whatever I like? That's a pretty tall promise, sweetheart.”

Pressing both her hands to Rook's chest, Sabine pushed her to the ground. Or, perhaps more accurately, Rook let her, falling back with a laugh, hair a dark halo on the grass. Sabine couldn't help it — her breath caught in her throat when the moon broke between the clouds and lit Rook up, prettier than any painting, a silvery sheen on her skin, shadows dancing over the curves and valleys of her figure. Greedy for a touch, Sabine moved, thighs resting now over Rook's hips, straddling her properly, Sabine’s full weight on her. But Rook didn't protest, only brought her hands up to Sabine's hips to steady her, thumbs pressing divots into her skin through her dress.

Rook's shirt crinkled as Sabine ran her hands through it, tracing the patterned stars before making short work of the buttons. The shirt flared open, fanning on the ground, exposing Rook's shoulders, peppered with scars — there and there and there — Sabine tracing them with the tips of her fingers, reaching the beginnings of Rook's griffon sleeve tattoo, the rest hidden away by the shirt.

“I like all sorts of things, Rook.” Sabine changed courses, instead skimming her fingers over Rook's breasts, nipples already peaking beneath the fabric from Sabine's touch and the cool night air, before lifting the tight tank top, fingers digging into the flesh of Rook’s waist, hard. Sabine cocked her head when Rook inhaled sharply. “What if you've bitten off more than you can chew?”

“Haven't you learned not to underestimate me?” Rook snorted and rolled her eyes, feigning annoyance she'd even asked. But then, in a smaller voice, added, “And if it's you, well… I don't think I mind that much, you know.”

Trust, warm as the skin between Sabine's palms, heady with power.

“I'll go easy on you, promise,” she teased.

“Don't you dare,” Rook answered, the rumbling heat behind her words going straight to Sabine's core.

She only laughed softly in response, stooping and pressing kisses along Rook's jaw, light but no less heated, tracing paths down her neck to the sweat beginning to pool on Rook's collarbones. Inching lower still, mouthing at the top of her breasts, skirting the edges of the tank top, one hand taking the fullness of her chest and squeezing until Rook's hips shifted beneath Sabine, cheeks flushing a dark crimson.

“This all you're planning to do, Beanie? Was all that just big talk or—”

“Shut up.”

Rook laughed, and Sabine punctuated her words with a finger hooking to the top of Rook's tank, yanking it down more harshly than she meant to, though the obscene pop of Rook's breasts from their confines had her grinning. Such pretty things — and with no reason not to, she lowered her face and took a nipple into her mouth and set to work. It stiffened immediately against her tongue, Rook’s snickering shifting into a moan, echoing through the empty camp.

Taking it as an opportunity, Sabine slid lower, settling now between Rook's legs and sneaking a hand between them, finger on the hem of Rook's miniskirt, following the taut line of muscle of her inner thigh. Rook bucked against her, panting, and Sabine released her nipple with a lewd pop, quickly latching onto the other, lavishing it with the same greedy attention, rolling it between her lips and sucking, just as her fingers trailed higher and under. The fabric of the miniskirt rolled up, goosebumps spreading across Rook's skin as it was exposed to the air, Sabine finding her prize. A finger stroked Rook through her underwear.

“Already wet.” Sabine murmured against her skin, teasing, mouth quirking up. “I'm starting to think you really like me.”

Rook opened her mouth to answer, but whatever retort she had was lost to the wind when Sabine didn’t miss a beat — pushing her underwear to the side and burying a finger into the warm, wet heat of Rook's cunt. She bit at the meat of Rook's breast, muffling her own moan, though Rook had no such luck in hiding hers. Good thing they were alone.

Sabine had never shied away from an audience, thriving in the spotlight and in front of an adoring crowd — but this?

This was hers alone. At least for the night.

Every shake of Rook's breath as she curled her finger just so, adding another as Rook dripped obscenely down her hand and onto the ground. Every pant of her name as she kissed down the expanse of Rook's chest to her waist and lower still, teeth grazing over scars and the curve of where hip met thigh. The arch of Rook's spine when she licked a long, slow stripe from her entrance to her clit, savoring the first taste of Rook's cunt — and hopefully, not the last. Not if she could help it. The taste of her addicting already, sweet and tangy and heady, going straight to Sabine's brain and etched into the back of her tongue.

She crooked her fingers, hitting a spot she knew left Rook seeing stars, stroking it in tandem with the swirl of her tongue. A steady, pulsing rhythm that left Rook rising higher and higher, a hand clutching at Sabine's hair, hips grinding onto her face, boots digging into her back. She'd pay for that after, sure, no doubt about that, but for the moment — it was difficult to think of anything but the softness of Rook's cunt against her lips and the hard planes of the muscles tightening around her ears.

“Maker, fuck— Sabine—”

The desperate, delicious roll of Rook’s hips nearly dislodged her, but Sabine was steadfast, free hand pressed to Rook's stomach, keeping her in place. Or at least, try to — Rook kept still more by her own will than anything Sabine could actually do to pin her down, a fist tight around Sabine's blonde hair, the other on the grass, fingertips stained green.

She was close, the muscles of her stomach turning taut, more breath and moans forming at her lips than words, hips grinding, chasing pleasure. Sabine chased it with her, closing her lips around Rook's clit and sucking, fingers stroking her core. And when Rook came, it was hot as liquid fire, twice as burning, body humming like a live wire, tensing all at once. Sabine could scarcely breathe but did not slow down, working Rook through her climax.

And oh, how she sang. The prettiest sounds climbing from Rook's throat and into the night air, a crescendo of words and syllables strung together through desire alone. Walls fluttering, thighs shaking — it was a delightful symphony of body and sound.

“Fuck— Beanie—” she gasped, tugging at Sabine's hair.

“Hm?”

“Get up here.”

“Why? I'm very comfortable.” Besides the hard ground, her poor wrist, and the grass stains that'd take forever to get off, but she wasn't gonna mention that. “I think I'll stay down here a little longer. Got someone I'm just dying to get to know even better.”

She grinned — oh, the things she'd do to get Rook to sing for her like that again — and shamelessly licked a path through Rook's folds, Rook breathing in sharply from the sensitivity.

But Rook was having none of that — the less-than-surprising strength making Sabine yelp when Rook forcibly pulled her up, crashing their mouths together, teeth on teeth, making her ears ring before they settled into a graceless push and pull. Rook's fingers dug into Sabine's cheek, blunt nails on skin pressed hard enough to leave faint crescents. Sabine moaned into the kiss — if it could be called that, more devouring than anything else, Rook sucking on her bottom lip, unafraid to use her teeth to push her way into Sabine's mouth, tasting herself until nothing was left.

They both breathed hard when they parted, no more than an inch.

“Maker.” Sabine’s cheeks stained pink all the way up to her ears, demanding, “Do that again.”

Rook didn't need to be told twice, flipping Sabine onto her back with an ease that had her stomach swooping and her legs squeezing together. Rucking up her dress all the way to her hips, Rook palmed greedily at her thighs, bending down to capture her lips again, heated skin on heated skin, blood running hot in their veins.

Rook's hands wandered as she nipped at Sabine's lip, stroking and groping and touching wherever she could reach. Over her clothes, dainty breasts and full hips, returning to plush thighs, then back again, as though mapping Sabine in her mind’s eye, eager to find where she arched into Rook's touch the most. A single-mindedness that left Sabine gasping and her head spinning, Rook pressing her advantage and hooking her fingers to the band of Sabine's underwear.

Wasting no time, she rolled Sabine's panties down, dragging it hot over her legs, past her feet and her sandals, then threw it carelessly away from them. Any protests from Sabine were swallowed down with more kisses, stealing the very breath from her lungs at the ferocity, the flame between her legs burning hotter with every nip from Rook's teeth and the stretch of her thighs when Rook pressed them apart, grasping hands leaving indents on flesh.

Slick revealed to the night, skin pebbling from the cold air and the heated fingers tracing her folds, unabashed, bold in knowing their welcome. And welcome they were, Rook finding little resistance when she breached Sabine with a pair of them, curling within her, stroking at the walls of her cunt in singular, desirous purpose. Sabine gasped and moaned, Rook's teeth grazing her jaw, thumb pressing to her clit in quick, tight circles.

“Already so far gone for me, dollface?” Rook teased, breath hot on her skin.

Gone? Oh, no. She wasn't gone.

Sabine had never felt so devastatingly present, close enough that she was sure Rook could see the edges of her self unravelling under the night sky at the press of her fingers and the sharpness of her teeth there and there and there, breath leaving her lungs in a rush of sound, head buzzing, alive.

As alive as when she got on stage the first time, hands shaking, throat closing up, eyes blinded by the spotlight. As alive as the day she hopped on that boat to an island where no one knew her name or all the things she failed to do when she left her father's wing. Rook left her fumbling, fist tight on Rook's shirt, pressing her closer.

So deliciously overwhelmed that when she crested, walls clamping tight in Rook's fingers, she sobbed in relief. Core pulsing, uncoiling as her thighs shook, Rook sunk her teeth on the junction of where Sabine's neck met her shoulder, sucking a bruise, the back of Sabine's eyes exploding in white.

And when she finally settled, returning to her body with a groan, Rook was still there, fingers nestled in Sabine's cunt, as though reluctant to leave the warm, wet heat of them. Her tongue licked lightly along the top of Sabine's chest, soothing the many, many marks she'd bestowed.

“You okay, Beanie?”

It was impossible to stop the dreamy tinge in her voice. “Never better.”

And Rook only laughed, like the crackle of fire, warming her down to the bone.

(AO3 Version)

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