Chapter Text
A polite smattering of laughter twinkles over the ballroom. “Okay, okay, but in all seriousness…” Varric raises his glass to the newlyweds. “You two are meant for each other, and I can’t wait to see what matrimonial trouble you get yourselves into. Here’s to a long and happy life together. Salut!”
“Salut!” cheer the guests.
The din of conversation and the clink of cutlery resume. Isabela dabs at her eyes with a napkin. “Ah, fuck. Did they ruin my makeup?”
Ellana squints to evaluate. “You’re good.”
“Thank the Maker. I paid forty bucks for this mascara.”
“You paid forty bucks for mascara when you owe me fifty?”
“What? I had to look hot for tonight.”
“You always look hot. Give me my money.”
“I’ll pay you back next week. With interest.”
“That’s what you said last week.”
Someone bumps into her shoulder, relieving Isabela, if temporarily, of scrutiny of her debts. “What a beautiful ceremony,” Merrill says weepily, clutching a half-full flute of champagne that is swiftly pilfered by clever Rivaini fingers.
“Do we need to take you home now, kitten?”
“No!” Merrill protests, blinking up at Isabela with big, watery eyes. “I want to stay for the dancing! You’ll dance with me, won’t you?”
“Oh, I suppose.”
“Yay! You’ll dance with me too, Ellana, right?”
“I don’t dance unless I’m drunk.”
“Open bar, baby.” Isabela drains her own glass, then Merrill’s. “You’ve got some catching up to do.”
“I can’t. I have to fly early tomorrow, remember?”
“Boo. Why should we have to suffer because you scheduled a morning flight? Can’t you interview for your new big-girl job next week?”
“Yeah, because EVANURIS is reputedly super laid-back.”
“You’re so lucky,” bemoans Merrill. “They never hire Dalish.”
“Affirmative action!” Isabela chimes.
“One, that’s offensive. And two, I’m not hired yet.”
“You will be!” Merrill declares. “You’re going to be the best… um… the best…”
“You guys still don’t know what I do, do you?”
Isabela leans back in her chair, surveying the crowd. “Can’t be assed, if I’m honest. Who are all these people?”
“Hawke is well-connected.”
“Well yeah, but why aren’t they connected to me? Who am I going to talk to all night? You’re too sober and Merrill’s too drunk.”
“I am not!”
“Kitten, you were too drunk after your first sip. It’s not your fault. You’re little.” She pats her lap, and Merrill dutifully comes to perch on her knee. “There you go. Take a breather. I can’t have you flailing about for our dance.”
It’s a fancy reception, probably courtesy of Varric; the happy couple aren’t prone to this kind of display, not that Ellana can complain. A three-course dinner is a welcome break from instant noodles, and she hasn’t had a chance to wear her nice shoes in ages. They hurt her feet. They’re worth it.
“Oh no,” Isabela hisses suddenly from somewhere within Merrill’s sloppy embrace. “Ellana. Don’t turn around.”
Ellana turns around. “Oh, fuck me.”
“I told you not to! Maker’s pasties, he saw you. He’s coming over here. Go, go, go.” Isabela deposits Merrill into an empty chair then adjusts her bosom. “I’ll distract him.”
She scrambles for her clutch. “You’re a true friend.”
“I know. Debt cleared?”
“Yep.” Ellana scurries from her seat in the opposite direction. She should have expected he would be here. She hasn’t seen him since- oh, gods. Early morning be damned, she needs a drink. She weaves through the web of mingling guests to the very back of the ballroom. The bar mercifully materializes.
It’s a hotel bar, but this is a fancy hotel. The bartender has a bowtie. “What can I get you?” they ask Ellana at her approach.
“Um.” Ellana doesn’t drink much anymore. Tonight will have to be an exception. “Whatever he’s having,” she says, gesturing at the glass held by the man on the barstool next to her. She looks over her shoulder while she waits. She’s too short to see past any of the bodies, but she trusts in Isabela. And in Isabela’s tits.
“Hiding from someone?”
“Huh?”
The man beside her tilts his head in the direction of her ostensible unease. “Hiding from someone?”
“Oh. Uh, thanks,” she says, accepting her drink from the bartender before looking to face her neighbour. An elf, bald, in a well-fitting suit. He wears a mask of disinterest despite having asked twice. “My ex,” Ellana explains a bit sheepishly.
“Ah.”
She can’t tell if he’s bored or being judgmental. “Who’re you hiding from?” she counters, defensive.
“No one.”
“You just drink alone at weddings, then?”
He takes an unbothered sip from his glass. “I don’t know anyone here, best man excluded.”
“Oh. How do you know Varric?”
“Work,” the stranger grunts.
“Knowing Varric, that could mean anything from hitman to florist.”
He chuckles. “It could. And how do you know Varric?”
“Work.” She takes a seat next to him. “I can be evasive too, see?” She sniffs her glass. “What is this, anyway?”
“Rosé,” he says in even syllables, as if explaining to a child. “Les Saules, 9:04 Dragon.”
“Are you a sommelier?”
“Only at weddings.”
“An auspicious year,” she says ironically. “Celene Valmont was born in 9:04.”
“Are you a historian?”
She sips her wine. It is light and fruity. “Only at weddings. How’d you get an invite if you don’t even know the married couple?”
“Varric is generous,” he says, “and I was in town.” He affords her a sidelong glance. “He promised an open bar.”
His reasons are remarkably similar to her own. “Ah, are you so easily persuaded by free drinks?”
He heaves a sigh. “Not usually, but it did sound especially appealing tonight.”
“Drowning your sorrows, then?”
“Trying to.”
“Until I interrupted you?”
“No. The interruption was welcome. You are better company than my own spiraling thoughts.”
“What a terribly kind compliment.”
“I’m charming when I drink.”
She laughs in spite of herself. “How lucky for both of us.” She takes another furtive look over her shoulder.
“Don’t let me keep you.”
“You’re not,” she tells him, lifting her glass. “This is as good a hiding place as any.”
“What a terribly kind compliment.”
“Another?” the bartender offers. Ellana’s tolerance for alcohol is as poor as Merrill’s, she thinks, looking down into her glass to find only a few drops remaining.
“Oh, go on then.”
“Do you like the wine?” the bald man asks.
“I mean, it’s wine. It’ll get me drunk. I think that’s the goal now.”
“I thought the goal was to hide.”
“I can have two goals.”
“There are far more efficient ways to get drunk, you know. Wine will give you a headache tomorrow. The sugar.”
“Why are you drinking it, then?”
“I saw the bottle. I was curious.”
“Okay. So what gets you drunk without a hangover?”
“Vodka waters. They keep you hydrated.”
“That’s gross.”
“It is not without sacrifice,” he admits.
“Shit!” Ellana buries her face in her refilled glass after spotting a shock of pale, curly hair through the crowd. “Hide me.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Stand up and hide me with your huge tall-person body.”
He makes a sound of amused disbelief but complies, uprighting and placing himself back-to-back with her so her smaller form is occluded. He speaks over his shoulder. “Which one am I hiding you from?”
She shrinks into his shadow. “Big. Blonde. Human.”
The warm fabric of his jacket brushes the cut-outs of her dress. “I see no such person.” He takes a beleaguered breath. “How long am I to stay here?”
“I guess you can move if it looks safe.”
So he returns to his seat, chortling. “The breakup went poorly, one assumes?”
“One assumes correctly.” She flags the bartender. “Two vodka waters?”
“With lime,” her neighbour adds. “It will mask the taste.”
“With lime, then.” She narrows playful eyes. “You’re very wise.”
“I am often told so.”
“So. What do you do?”
“Presently? Make smalltalk with strange women at parties. I occasionally swat away ex-lovers for them.”
“A noble pursuit.”
“I like to think so.”
She clinks her new drink against its twin. “Cheers.” Fucking paper straws. “Ooh, this actually isn’t bad.”
“See?”
“Another point for wise. You said you were in town. Where are you from?”
“I travel a lot.”
“That’s not an answer.” He says nothing. “I’m really starting to think you’re Varric’s hitman. You even have the—” She gestures frenetically at his head. “—you know, like from that game. That video game. What’s it called?” She snaps her fingers. “Yeah. Hitman.”
“I fear this conversation has left me behind. I urge you to drink slower, my dear.”
That does things to her. Which means he's probably right. “My dear, patronizing? Or my dear, flirty?”
“Whichever grants me greater esteem in your view, I suppose.”
“Are you so concerned with my esteem?”
“Only at weddings.” It's stupid, but she hears herself laugh anyway. He still has the wherewithal for a self-deprecating smile. “Thank you for the drink, incidentally.”
“Don't thank me,” Ellana reminds him. “It's free.”
“Ah, yes. They should have set a limit.”
“You'd think.”
“When they cut you off, I’ll be sure to recall the number for myself.”
They order another round. Then another. The band starts playing and the guests start dancing. Ellana gets to her feet, remembering her friends, and the room promptly somersaults. “Steady,” her companion huffs. Her fingers clutch his sleeve for balance as she slumps back onto her seat. He stares at where her hand comes to rest.
“Sorry. I should have listened to you before.”
“I hear that all the time.” He looks away. His fingers drum the counter. “Are you here with someone?”
“Yes.” She watches his face fall just a little, and quickly amends. “Not like that. Just my friends.” The alcohol is making her dopey. Her eyes are heavy-lidded and… lingering. He’s a weird-looking guy, but not unattractive. Bold features. His nose scrunches when he emotes. He has a little scar. His hands are very nice. The jacket stretches over what must be a pleasant body when he shifts in his seat. “You have freckles,” she blurts out.
He blinks. “I do.”
“They’re cute.”
He clears his throat. He abruptly seems to find his napkin very interesting. “Thank you.”
She kicks her feet with wicked glee. “Oh, come on. Coyness doesn’t suit you.”
“I’m not coy,” he objects. “I’ve simply been disarmed of my senses.”
She leans closer to hum in his ear. “Would you like me to disarm you further?” Oh no. This is why she doesn’t drink. Inhibitions.
Pink colours his cheeks more prettily than any rosé. “I’m… sorry?”
She tries to hide her face in her hands. “Nothing.”
“Oh.” She squints through her fingers. His throat bobs. He grips the edge of the counter. “I have a room upstairs,” he says suddenly.
Oh indeed.
She’s never been with a bald guy before. And he’s, well. A lot different from the last person she slept with, she thinks, with another scrupulous peek over her shoulder. But the room is swaying and her crotch is throbbing and she very much wants to do something fun. She bites her lip. He watches.
“I apologize,” he blusters. “I shouldn’t presume-”
“Yes you should. Let’s go.”
She does remarkably well on the way to the elevator, she thinks, before realizing that the man has been supporting her by the arm the whole time. How gallant.
His long finger misses the call button. “Fuck.”
“We’re drunk.”
“Yeah.”
“Let me.” The up arrow illuminates.
“Excellent proprio…re… no, propri…ception.”
The elevator dings. A look passes between them.
She pulls him by the tie into a heady kiss in the elevator. They are clumsy, but instinct locks them together where it matters, and a tongue brushes hers just as another ding announces their arrival to whatever floor they’ve reached. He takes her by the hand and they scuttle down the hall.
“I don’t usually do this,” he says breathlessly, as if he can’t quite believe that he is, in fact, doing it. A keycard retrieved from his breast pocket swiftly grants them entry to his room.
“Me neither.”
The door falls shut behind them. They face each other. “Holy shit,” he says.
“Yeah.” It is inelegant speech that preludes more inelegant kissing, but she is too tipsy and too horny to pay much attention to quality. She endeavours to disrobe him. The jacket falls with ease, but his tie gives her more difficulty. She wheedles. “What the fuck kind of fuckery is this?”
“Highever knot,” he grunts, assisting her with a deftness that even he seems surprised by. The tie joins the pile of discarded clothing. He goes to work on the buttons of his shirt while she fumbles for the buckle of his belt. The pile grows. What is yet concealed by his undershirt does little to hide a broad chest.
She hums. “You work out?”
“Yeah. Zipper?”
“Zipper,” she affirms, spinning for him. The room spins too. Warm fingers find the tab that releases her from her gown. She turns back to shimmy out of it then steadies herself against the wall with one hand while her other goes to work on her shoes.
His fingers stutter over the button of his slacks. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
“Thanks.” Shoes clatter. Pants drop. They regard each other in their underclothes. There is a fleeting beat of self-consciousness. And then he points down the little hall to where the room opens. “Bed.”
It might be a nice hotel room. There might even be nice hotel art. But she has no time to look, not when the man inside so politely allows himself to be tossed down onto the nice hotel bed. “Fuck, you’re hot.” He says very nice things. Her bra is thrown somewhere. “Fucking hell.” He takes her tits in his mouth, one after the other. She approves.
There is more scrambling of limbs and lips as they quest to remove each other’s underthings. His shoulders are wide. The rest of him is lean and sturdy. “Oh,” she gasps. There are two fingers inside her by the time she even looks down. “Creators preserve me.” It is a beautiful dick, long, thick, leaking at its tip. Begging to be ridden. It twitches dutifully in her fist. Whatever he is doing with his fingers already has her soaked and bouncing.
Somewhere between the panting, he rasps against her mouth. “I don’t have a prophylactic.”
“That’s the least sexy word you could have chosen. I have an IUD. Are you clean?”
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
The sound she makes when his thumb finds her clit almost drowns out his question. “Are you sure you still want to?”
He’s so stupid. She’s going to fuck him. “Yes.” Somewhere in the haze, it occurs to her that having drunken, unprotected sex with a stranger in his hotel room is a rather unwise idea. “This is dumb,” she laughs.
He stills. “Should we stop?”
“No. Not unless you want to.”
“I don’t want to stop.”
“Good. Can I be on top?”
“Fuck, yes.”
He is swiftly straddled. The head of his dick brushes against her. She sinks enough to take his tip. He whimpers. She likes that. “Say please.”
His fingernails bite into the flesh of her hips. He pulls her down roughly onto his cock. “Please.”
○
A ceaseless buzzing wakes her. “Where the fuck…?” Her clutch lies abandoned and vibrating on the hotel room floor. Head lurching, she slips out of bed to retrieve the phone within. “Ah, shit.”
1 Missed Call
Spam Likely
4 Missed Calls
rizzabela
22 Unread Messages
From: rizzabela
8:46pm
where are you?
8:59pm
no seriously where are you
9:25pm
okay he’s gone you can come back
10:07pm
ellana
they keep passing out champignon im so durnk
champignon
champignon
CHAMPAGNE
fuck
10:16pm
where r u :(
10:40pm
o shi he’s back
did he find u and kill u
12:01am
would u be mad if i fucked cullen
12:02am
jk
unless??
12:03am
nah jk
1:39am
taking kitten home
shes so cute wtf
calling policeif i dont hear from u when i wake up
please be safe or ill kill u
1:40am
good luck w interview!!!!! love u hope ur not murdered
text me doofus
6:03am
i’m alive. will text later
The man from the bar is face-down and snoring into his pillow, naked but for his wristwatch. He has a spectacular ass. Her pussy aches. In a good way. The details are fuzzy. She blearily surveys the room. Shit. Her flight leaves in an hour. Where is her other shoe?
Once dressed, she regards the spectacular ass once more. Should she wake him? Leave a note? She’s never done this before. Fuck it. She takes the hotel-branded pen and puts it to the hotel-branded notepad. Feeling a little silly, she scribbles,
Had fun last night
- E
Should she put her number down? It’s not like this is a prelude to anything. He said he was just “in town.” He doesn’t even live here.
What’s the harm, then? It was a good night. Right? The worst he could do is just not text her. She stifles a sigh and jots down her number, then makes her silent exeunt.
Her luggage, mercifully, is still where she left it with the coat check downstairs, having meant to take it with her last night and catch a few hours of sleep in the lounge before her flight. She fixes her hair and makeup in the taxi to the airport, but cuts the boarding call close enough that she has to change in the maddeningly small space of the airplane bathroom.
It’s a short flight that begins its descent nearly as soon as it reaches cruising altitude. Ellana grabs coffee from a kiosk in the terminal then heads outside to flag another cab.
EVANURIS headquarters lies before her. She takes a deep breath. Maybe some part of her wanted to sabotage this. But it could have been worse. The hangover isn’t bad. Vodka waters. What a strange night. Her phone buzzes.
From: rizzabela
9:26am
oh good
WAIT
say something only ellana would say
9:27am
give me my money
9:28am
new phone who dis
9:29am
jk glad ur alive
tf u go last night
9:29am
can’t talk
interview
She puts her phone on silent. She stands at the sound of expensive shoes clacking on lobby tile. She plasters on her corporate smile. She pretends there isn’t still a stranger’s cum leaking out of her.