Chapter Text
“It’s dangerous to be in Darktown at night.”
A light in the shadows flares, dims, illuminates a drawn but beautiful face. Golden eyes lit the same color as the flame. I could claim I wasn’t scared, but I jumped.
“I can take care of myself,” I huff, watching the face in the alley exhale a gray cloud of smoke.
“I don’t doubt you think you can,” replies the man still hiding in the dark. “You’re incorrect.”
“Is that a threat?” My voice is even, controlled. Years of practiced lying. Years of pretending to not be scared.
The man chuckles, deep in his chest and tearing its way down my spine like nails.
“Do you want it to be?” he purrs. I blink, and he’s halfway to me.
I hadn’t seen him move.
I clutch my keys, feeling for the sharpest, holding it between my knuckles.
“I’ll stab you.”
“Will you?” He speaks around the cigarette, one eyebrow raised and half a smirk on his lips.
“I know what you are!” Voice not controlled anymore. High, reedy. Him laughing in my bones as he stalks toward me.
“Good.”
“I’m looking for the Warden!” It’s a last resort, a name that I don’t have a face for, a name that might buy me my life.
“Are you?” He’s teasing now, something in his words making my head spin.
Another blink, and I’m pressed back against the wall and I still didn’t fucking see him move. The cigarette is guttering at my feet. The keys are gone, an impossibly strong hand against my wrist, squeezing. The other hand gentle as feathers against my cheek, and lips brushing against my neck and I am weak, so very weak and wanting.
“What will you do if you find him?” He growls, the barest brush of teeth against my skin, and I’m aching hard and can barely remember my name.
“I need–” I croak, voice breaking. He hums, and the sound is sex and sin and all the things I think about when I touch myself. “I need his help.”
“Who’s looking for him?” There’s a quick, sharp pain, the slick hot wetness of a tongue at my throat, and if I weren’t being held against a wall I would’ve collapsed.
“M-me. Hawke.” I’m more moaning than talking.
“Mm.” He laps at my throat again. “Word of warning, little bird.”
He’s kissing me. Holy fucking Maker he’s kissing me, and he tastes like blood and tar and I can’t breathe and my free hand is in his hair and I’m kissing back like I’m drowning.
He pulls back, my half-crushed wrist suddenly free. My knees give out, I fall in a heap in the street, and all I can think of is his mouth.
“Down here, even good boys get punished.”
I blink, and he’s gone, and I’m left with half of a cigarette and an aching erection the only evidence he was ever here at all.