Summary: A lover's boast leads to a challenge. Sebastian then decides to put Siobhán's skill to rigorous testing before tendering his judgment.

a/n: Inspired by a simple question from joufancyhuh. How did Siobhán shaving Sebastian become a thing?

Boasting in Bed

A fire crackled pleasantly in the hearth, the intermittent snaps sending embers fluttering into the air like dozens of doomed fireflies. The heat of it kept the chill at bay, while candles here and there supplemented the golden, flickering light. An alluring smile curved her lips as she straddled his thigh. Sebastian's hands, warm and rough, skated over her bare skin. Agog telegraphed in his countenance and his touch, which deepened her flush as well as her own desire.

Sometimes this templar could leave her head spinning. At that moment, she wasn't entirely certain how they wound up in their current position. Not only emotionally, but in this case physically—him sitting in a rickety straight-backed chair beside a vanity table, her looming over him with a shave cup in hand. Siobhán only retained the white blouse she'd been wearing, it hung open and loose around her frame. Her lover was a prurient picture of coitus interruptus—shirtless and showing off the ruttish blush creeping across his chest. Even the laces of his trousers hung loose, a tempting reminder of their unruly jaunt through her family home.

Like moths drawn to the open flame, they osculated. The brush of lips as his hand snaked up her spine and pulled her pliant body against his once more. Tongue teasing at his lips, her fingers traced the line of his jaw. His stubble scratched the pads of her fingertips, until her first two fingers came to rest as she broke the kiss

"Chin up, please," she ordered in a honeyed tone. Her fingers pressed upward to encourage his cooperation, which he gave despite a hint of disappointment that graced his comely face.

She loaded the badger hair shaving brush and glanced down at her grinning subject. Even limited to the use of one hand, he certainly managed to make it difficult for her to keep her mind on task. His clever fingers traced ethereal paths across the back of her leg and over the curve of her bottom. When he reached her ribs, she jerked away from his touch, though she didn't get too awful far given the way they were entwined.

"You do that when I have that razor against your throat and you get what you get."

Sebastian just chuckled, his boyish grin widening, but when she took up the brush once more he played cooperative as she lathered him. "I thought you said you have steady hands?"

"I do, but far less so when being tickled." She pressed her lips together, a signal for him to purse his own lips so she could lather his chin and upper lip. Having draped his unruly stubble in a fluffy, white foam, Hawke set the dish aside.

"What is that?" he asked, breathing in deeply a second time.

"You tell me, hunter," she challenged, reaching for the razor, which he had insisted upon sharpening. She had not been certain if it was because he didn't think she was serious in her offer or if it stemmed from the fact that he doubted the veracity of her lofty claim.

Of course, with the way he skimmed light touches over her skin, she guessed that he likely thought this mere amusement. Or perhaps he thought it something he could tease her about later. Neither potentiality sat well with Siobhán.

"Lavender?" His face screwed up at the question.

Hawke chuckled. "What's with that face?"

"Seems an odd choice for a man's shave."

"Really?" she countered. Creams featuring lavender had been incredibly popular in markets in Ferelden and a personal favorite of her father. The thought of him unsettled her slightly, all things considered. "You don't like it?"

There was a flash of something in his eyes and an ashen tone that stole some of the blood from his blush. "It's not that."

"Then what?" Siobhan rinsed the blade and leaned back over him.

As if the slight shake of his head could dismiss the topic as well as whatever haunted him in that moment, he said, "Nothing."

She knew better. Even if she had not known him like she did, she would have to be blind and deaf not to notice. Her hands rested atop his shoulders as she blinked down at him. "I think not." He remained quiet for a moment. Siobhan drew the razor along the corner of his jaw in a smooth, short stroke—a mere flick of the wrist just to remind him of its presence. "You're in no position for denials, Bash."

Her mock threat pulled a smile back to his lips, but it only flashed in his brilliant eyes for a heartbeat. "My mother," he confided. "She loved lavender."

"Oh." The playfulness and air of power drained out of her voice. And there they were, both just orphans.

"It's fine." He tried to reclaim an air of frivolity, but his assurance rang hollow.

Siobhan chewed at the inside of her cheek.

He took her free hand in his and pressed a kiss to her index fingertip, then he nipped at the pad, scraping his sharp teeth over the ridges and whirls there. His gaze flicked upward to find hers once more; it bore a hint of its earlier salaciousness. "You don't finish this soon and it will be my goal to make you joyfully, regret it, lass."

"Cad." Her fingers dove into his hair, fisting in his bangs. So anchored, she could pull his head back sharply.

His chuckle reverberated around them as she held him there and drew the blade along the bottom of his jaw. Siobhan not only had the advantage of position, but she also possessed the use of both her hands. Sebastian had dislocated his shoulder—through she still did not know how precisely. He didn't often divulge templar business as one might call it; she kept her distance from the Chantry, the Gallows, and most of their endeavors. Of course, that wasn't a hard and fast rule. Sometimes Siobhán wasn't above sticking her nose in where it really did not belong.

Sebastian had told her about how the healer, after working his arm back into place, had trussed the templar up rather securely and ordered him to rest while it healed. Though she wasn't sure a night with her counted toward rest, at least she hoped not.

The bandaging did not seem to plague him too severely. Even with one hand, he proved a voracious tease. Even taking advantage of the moment when she rinsed the blade to pinch her on the ass.

"Bash," she chirped, eyes narrowing at him.

His grin widened with his laughter.

"No smiling." Her pout was more present in her voice than on her face as she straightened over him once more. As much admonishment as she heaped on him, she wanted his free hand exactly where it was, tracing her curves, skating the edges of her most ticklish spots. She wouldn't trade that touch for the stillest and most well-behaved subject. He mimicked her once more, moving his mouth as she did.

"How'd you learn this?"

"Contrary to Chantry opinion, not all apostates are raised by demons at the thin places in the Fade."

His eyes narrowed as she giggled. The blade plucking over the skin of his upper lip, kept her sharp-tongued lover silent for once.

"I had a father. He liked a close shave, even at the end," she told him, her voice softening with those last few words. "So, I learned." Her hands moved in concert to show off one of her hidden talents that almost no one else knew about.

He said nothing in reply, like she could not steal the pangs of grief from his heart, he knew he was at least as poorly equipped to pull the cold slivers of loss from hers. But he was inordinately skilled at making them both forget about them.

She stretched to rinse the blade a final time. Sebastian shifted beneath her. The chair skidded along the floor until it caught on a lip in the wooden slats and crashed to the ground.

"Wait!" she called, dissolving into giggles as she barely got the towel up and around his face before he got to his feet. A hungry growl rose from behind his soft, pale mask, intensifying her laughter as she removed any extra dollops of the shave cream from his face.

His arm looped around her waist and lifted her up, plopping her onto the edge of the table.

"You have to tell me what you think," she said, when he whipped the towel from between them.

Sebastian dove toward her, but stopped once they were nose to nose. Her own breath came in shallow gasps at the anticipation of him kissing her. It surprised her when he didn't, and her lips tingled with a ghost of what she wanted. "I'd rather have your opinion."

His nose nudged hers, then he brushed her cheek with his own. It was still a little cool, almost clammy, but smooth as glass. Each breath he took tickled against her face, alighting across her nerves.

Almost as if waiting for him to scold her for it, her arms raised, and her fingertips grazed against the back of his neck. When he just hummed and pressed his other cheek across hers, she finally draped her arms over his uninjured shoulder. The other rested over his heart as his nose brushed hers once more.

"So?" he asked.

"Much better." She inched forward, and he pulled away slightly.

"But that's not the real test is it?" The predatory smirk that graced his lips made her heart pound against her ribs. He placed a tender kiss on her mouth. "Don't move."

Siobhan's breath shook in her lungs as she watched him retrieve the chair and set it opposite her at the edge of the table.

"You did say that you preferred a smooth face betwixt your thighs. I thought that would be the ultimate test of your skills."

"Bash."

The hunger in his eyes made her breathless. He looked like he could just devour her, and Maker help her, she submitted to it. "Yes, love." He slipped between she and the chair, stepping between her legs.

He tugged at the hem of her shirt and Siobhán helped him pull it. Sitting there on the edge of that table, she felt barer than mere nakedness, shivering beneath the intensity of his vibrant and impossibly blue eyes. Once again, he loomed over her, just as she had when she shaved him. Just like him, she stared up at into his eyes, lost on a sea of aquamarine where it was only the two of them.

Andraste's grace, he was so close. She could just tip her head, push up against the mahogany beneath her bottom and steal the kiss she wanted. But she didn't. His look pinned her in place and the trust cultivated between them, tenuously at first, kept her from launching for that desire. Lips brushing hers, he teased at a kiss that never came, instead his unbound hand slipped behind her knee. "Lean back."

He lifted her leg to the edge of the table, and like a cantilever it guided her back onto her elbows. Of her own power, she made up for his infirmity, raising her other leg to almost mirror the first.

Sebastian smirked at her, and bent to place a chaste kiss to the inside of her knee. Then he brushed his cheek against her skin there.

"Maker," she breathed, his intent becoming crystal clear.

"I'll take that as an affirmative response," Sebastian chuckled. He worked his way down her legs, inch by inch, moving from right to left as he kissed and nuzzled his way toward the apex of her thighs. As he progressed, she stared, rapt with the view, and allowing her legs to fall open more. His gaze rose to meet and hold hers between open mouthed kisses. Whenever he bared his teeth at her, Siobhán held her breath until they scraped across her flesh with practiced care. Each time her head fell back, and her eyes slipped shut as the sensation rushed through her blood.

Finally, he hovered over her, breath teasing across her lubricious flesh. Soft kisses on curls made the hair on her arms and her neck stand on end. A crackle drew their attention from one another to a nearby candelabra; small arcs of light crawled across the surface for a moment then dissipated with her slow, controlled breath. His warm chuckle rumbled through her as he draped one of her legs over his shoulder.

With a suggestive raise of his brow, she moved the other for him. Sebastian nuzzled against her and he rubbed his freshly shaved face along the sensitive skin of her inner thighs once more for good measure. Then his teasing came to a point, the flick of his tongue against her most sensitive spot. "Bash!"

He hummed against her, clearly approving of the way her back arched and her hips canted to offer him more of herself. It led to one greedy lick, then another. When she let one leg drop from his shoulder, in hopes of encouraging more, the teasing templar sat back on the edge of his chair.

Breath and bosom heaving, she stared at him.

"Ahem." He tapped his fingers on his shoulder, almost managing to keep a straight face when she stared at him, wide-eyed and mouth agape.

"Tease," she huffed, knowing it wasn't entirely true. If anything, in the bedroom Sebastian Vael tended to be a sensualist with a handle on the fine art of luxuria. He could and strove to bring her deep into the throes of a passion that could consume them—quite literally if she weren't as skilled in her arts as he was in his.

More than once after coitus, she'd thought it quite fitting that he was a templar. His ability to dampen magic came in handy once or twice. His attentions resumed. But eventually she gave up on trying to watch, as it was she struggled to keep her legs where he wanted them. His hand grasped her thigh tightly as she writhed upon the table, a ready and quivering feast for his leisurely consumption. One arm shot out to grip the edge of the table; passion contorted her body to roll beneath the machinations of his tongue, which brought her to the precipice poised for a free fall.

"Bash, please. By the Maker." She could feel her magic, tangling with passion, beneath her skin. It pulsed through her and she forced her eyes open, just to make sure she hadn't conjured a storm in the bed chamber again, or anything equally as troublesome.

Sebastian's gaze caught hers, perhaps taking the opening of her eyes as a challenge to intensify the sensation. The gentle suckle and tug he gave her clit, jolted through her nerves. And Siobhán could not be sure that the electricity licking at her nerves sparked from that alone. She moaned, a low deep sound like thunder, and he hummed against her with relentless intent. Her fingers dove into his hair as the tremors took her with a crackling electricity alighting across her nerves.

Something in the distance snapped then crashed to the floor, but Siobhán paid it no mind. A warmth overcame her, not unlike the warmth that had pooled in her belly earlier, but it was different, this was more than just the heat of desire. As she relaxed against the table, blinking down at Sebastian once more, she noticed a hint of the spark in his gaze.

"I like it when you let go," he told her. His lips brushed the inside of her thigh again as she pushed her fingers through his hair once more with an uneven laugh.

"Bodahn would not agree."

"Perhaps not." He shrugged one of her legs off his shoulder and took his sweet time kissing a meandering route back to her lips. With the parting of her lips, Sebastian moaned into her mouth with the thrust of his tongue. It darkened when she sucked at the muscle upon its retreat.

The kiss broke slowly. She caressed his cheek as he leaned over her. "I thought you said you're supposed to be resting."

"An injured man needs proper sustenance to keep his strength up," he argued, diving for her lips once more. His hand found her breast, squeezing tautly before he flicked his tongue across the nipple he'd singled out. "And I hunger for you."

The shift of his hips against hers, flooded heat back to her tingling cunt. Her own appetite rising to what felt like an unquenchable crescendo at the feeling of his turgid cock against her. The debate, quick yet through, only took a moment to conclude within her head. And with some difficulty, Siobhán sat up, legs dangling astride his as he straightened with her. "To bed then."

A sound roiled in his chest. Her pale green-gray eyes met his as she pressed her body against him, one of her hands pressed along the length of his cock through his trousers. The deep moan that broke from him shook down her spine and she battled with herself, with the wild desire to pull his laces loose and push his pants only far enough aside to free his cock and guide him into her. Despite her climax, she wanted him, wanted more.

"Siobhán," he breathed against her lips. "Kiss me."

She did just that. Trying not to lose herself in it, she slid off the edge of the table, forcing him to bow his back a little farther to keep that connection. As if her bedroom were their own lewd dance floor, she led him the scant distance to her bed, undoing his laces completely as they moved to a rhythm pulsing deep in their blood. That kiss held until she guided him to the edge of the bed. As he inched onto the mattress, she peeled away his breeches.

On hands and knees, she followed his slow progress across the bed. His hand on her cheek, guided her lips back to the welcoming warmth of his. Cradling the back of her neck, he all but pulled her across the length of his body, letting the weight of her settle them both into the blankets where the conversation about his stubble first arose. It had been followed with her boast of delivering him the closest shave he'd ever experienced, and she had no complaints about the thorough job she'd done, though he refused thus far to make his own pronouncement upon her skill in that arena.

Of course, Siobhán had other priorities as she knelt astride his hips, her hand diving between them to wrap around him. The kiss broke in a low groan as she stroked him. With her chance to tease now, she moved in response to the shift she felt in his hips as she poised the tip of his cock at her entrance. Sebastian wasn't her only victim in that moment. She wanted him at least as much as the look he wore told her he wanted to feel the embrace of her body.

"Tell me," she insisted.

"I want to be inside you," he answered without an ounce of hesitation.

That admission sizzled beneath her skin, cracking her resolve for the game she herself laid out. The hand she used to counterbalance herself moved from his chest, and she brushed the backs of her fingertips against his cheek. "Was I right?"

His aquamarine eyes widened with realization. "I thought you didn't broach torture," he replied, his hips snapping upward. She rose in reply, holding him at bay for the moment.

"Admit it."

He tugged at her neck bringing them nose to nose, a growl hung in his voice. "Are your thighs burning?"

"No."

"Then yes, you were ri—"

The word lost all coherence, as she sank down upon him; the moan rumbled through his chest, his eyes slipping closed as if savoring the most decadent of treats.