#them................

◈ First Kiss, on the hand || @afraidofchange​

She smells like crushed grass, forge smoke, and just a hint of sandalwood.

“My door is open seeker, if you ever need to talk,” he had told her that nearly two weeks ago after walking her to her room after they had danced for far longer than his joints cared for, and considered apologizing for overstepping. Even with Corypheus dead, their work was not finished.

(she had had wine on her lips and a ring of flowers accenting her braid then. She smelled like a summerday celebration… he thinks he likes the forge smoke better.)

He was trying not to get too distracted with her in his room, focusing on how she stumbled over her words and clutched her hands together around a report that was just an excuse to get her foot in the door even though she had never needed one. “Cassandra—“ his chest rumbles with a soft chuckle around her name and he takes a seat on his bed so now he has to crane his neck to look up at her, “Breathe.” He smiles, and watches how her blush climbs up her neck and to her cheeks.

He settles his weight further into the bed beneath him and gestures her closer though worries she might spook and give up whatever endeavor she sought out to accomplish; She listens though, Cassandra inhales slowly and shuts her eyes before closing the space not enough for his taste, but she is speaking again.

“I’d like to be wooed—“ and it’s not what he’s expecting, but The Iron Bull nods, watching the tense line drawn across her shoulders as she wills her hands from clasped in front of her to her sides instead, “I want someone who will sweep me off my feet, who gives me flowers, and reads me poetry by candlelight. I want the ideal… but you are—“ “Not what you expected?” “No. You are not that, The Iron Bull.”

He grins at the clumsy firmness of her words, a chuckle working through him again as her face twists in frustration and she raises a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose. “You are a Qunari spy, boisterous mercenary leader, and not a man well known for his romanticism if the rumors are anything to go by… you cannot be that man.”

"And why not? You haven’t even given me a chance yet, Seeker—“ his tone has a cattish curl to it, and he’s finding the hole she’s insisted on digging herself into endearing. Her ear tips grow redder as he leans forward, bracing an elbow on his good knee, “If you’d like to give me a chance, I’d certainly like to give it a shot, Cassandra.” He carefully reaches out, taking one of her hands and pressing a kiss carefully to her knuckles before turning it over and giving one more to the soft of her wrist before releasing her.

The silence hangs heavy around them before she speaks again, “Even the poetry?” And Bull lets a loud laugh cut through the heaviness of the room, with a nod before he settles into a saccharine sweet look, voice turning to a soft and affectionate hum in his throat, “Especially the poetry.” He confirms, giving her a grin as she takes a few steps back still watching him with unsure eyes before she gives a slight nod of her head and makes for an escape.