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“You need to take a break.”
She hadn’t even heard Rook come in. Neve doesn’t even glance up from her desk, every inch of it covered in notes from her and Rana’s most recent case. Her notebook is open with the notes she took from the initial meeting with their client, but scattered around it are other notes, sketches, possible connections. To the unfamiliar eye, it may look like chaos, or like somebody dropped a folder from above and simply left the scattered papers there.
“I will, soon,” Neve says. There’s a strange deja vu of saying those words, lingering in the back of her mind. She glances back down at the notebook in front of her, scanning the details of what their client told her. There are already several words, locations, times underlined, a few even double underlined, but the pattern is still hidden to her. She wracks her mind, trying to remember the shift rotations of Dock Town’s businesses, trying to think of when the streets are busiest—
A pale hand comes down, fingers splayed across her notes. Neve blinks, looking up to see Vic standing on the opposite side of her desk, brow furrowed. “You said that you would take a break soon three hours ago,” Vic accuses.
No wonder her saying that felt so… repetitive.
“I will, soon,” Neve repeats, and then adds a soft, “I promise.”
“No.”
“No?”
Vic picks up a random note, puts it on top of the page in Neve’s notebook as a makeshift bookmark. Then, very deliberately and with barely disguised annoyance, slams Neve’s notebook shut. And then puts her hand on it, leaning forward and putting her body weight on it. “No.”
“Do you really think that all was necessary?” Neve teases, raising a dark brow at her … Trouble.
“Yes, I do,” Vic replies simply. “Stop looking at your new case, and look at me.”
“Is that supposed to be a challenge?” Neve asks.
“I don’t know, is it?” Vic pulls her hand from the notebook, stands up straight, starts to walk around. She reaches out towards Neve, and the detective offers her hand, lets the other mage lace their fingers together as Vic leans against the edge of Neve’s desk, the outside of Neve’s right knee just barely brushing Vic’s. “I really was thinking about just walking in here naked and seeing how long it would take for you to look up and notice.”
Oh. That’s… certainly an image. “Leave and come back an hour later?” Neve purrs. “To test that theory?”
Vic squeezes her hand. “Neve Gallus,” she teases. “Are you suggesting you want to see me naked?”
Neve squeezes her hand right back, smirking. “I don’t know,” she replies. “You’re smart, Trouble. you tell me.”
She doesn’t expect the sudden kiss she gets. Vic has to lean over and she has to tip her head back, but the strain to lean back after leaning forward over papers for hours hurts in such a good way. She can feel Vic’s hand come to the back of her head, fingers slipping into dark locks and pulling ever so slightly to tip Neve’s head back even more and deepen the kiss. Vic tastes like coffee — good coffee from Lucanis, not her own liquid abomination.
She can feel Vic move, her leg nudging Neve’s out of the way so that she can stand between them. And then there’s a knee between her thighs, forcing them apart so Vic can brace herself on the chair and keep kissing her. Neve’s hands come to Vic’s waist, feeling the warmth of her through the leather of her top.
“If you want to see me naked,” Vic whispers against her lips. “You just have to say so.”
Neve’s heart simultaneously skips and sinks. She wants this woman, desperately, but there are so many things that could go wrong, with the gods, with her job in Dock Town, with everything—
“Neve.” The slightest tug of her hair, just painful enough to bring her out of her thoughts. “Back to me.”
Neve focuses on the woman practically in her lap, realizing that somehow, sometime during their kiss, Vic had taken it upon herself to unbutton her leather top and pull it up enough that it isn’t free from her belt entirely, but it’s loose enough that Neve can see the curve of Vic’s breasts. She could absolutely reach underneath the leather and touch, if she wanted to.
And Maker, does she want to.
“Kiss me again,” Neve demands.
The angle’s still a little off, but Vic moves her hands to back of the chair, stabilizing herself between Neve’s thighs. The chair’s not big enough for Vic to crawl into her lap, but there’s something about being crowded in by her Rook, by feeling the other woman over top of her that makes her feel protected when she’s always been the protector. It’s nice. No, not nice — wonderful.
Neve’s hands slide up the buttery leather of Vic’s top, left hand staying at her waist, the other coming to Vic’s chest to tease the neckline open even further. She drags teal-painted nails ever-so-gently down the soft, pale skin between Vic’s breasts, hearing Vic’s breath hitch.
“Neve…”
It’s truly terrifying how much she would sacrifice to hear her name said like that, breathy and needy, for the rest of her days. However many she still has.
“I’ve got you, Trouble,” Neve promises, teeth finding Vic’s lower lip and biting gently. She feels Vic’s hips cant towards her as she lets her hand wander, fingers brushing against the curve of Vic’s right breast. She slides her hand in between pale skin and loose leather, palming Vic’s tit and feeling her Rook lean into it. Warm, she’s so warm and soft. Even after all they’ve been through, even after so many scars that healing potions couldn’t remove—
“Neve.” It’s less breathy this time, more demanding, and Neve realizes she’d stopped — that she’d continued kissing Vic, but her hand had stilled on her breast, just cupping her Trouble. She lets her hand move again, thumb brushing over a rosy nipple, and loves the way Vic inhales sharply and leans into her.
She moves her thumb to rub circles around the blonde’s nipple, their kissing softening to something lazy and a bit messy. She can feel Vic’s pleasured sigh against her mouth, hears the creak of the wood chair as Vic’s hand tightens on it.
Not like Taash ever comes and visits her anyway, but she may need to lock her doors and see to it that Taash can’t get in here, because the Qunari would probably be able to smell her — smell them — for days after.
“Neve,” Vic says again, against her mouth, this time sounding more like a question.
“Yes, Trouble?” She turns her fingers, taking Vic’s nipple between thumb and forefinger and pinching slightly.
“Oh, fuck,” Vic breathes, and Neve feels her hips cant forward even though they’re not near Neve’s. “Can I taste you?”
Taste her. Neve’s mind stops for once, all of the racing thoughts about the case and the woman in her arms coming to a screeching halt. “What?”
“I…” Vic starts, pulling back a little. And oh, isn’t she gorgeous. Where Neve had dragged her nails earlier has three pretty pink lines, not a wound but a mark nonetheless. Neve files that information away for later — pale skin, marks very easily. “I want to eat you out, Neve Gallus.”
For a moment, Neve is entirely at loss for words. Vic’s still leaning over her, her top now almost entirely open, one nipple flushed and dark from Neve’s mild abuse and the other waiting for attention. The mark between her breasts has Neve wondering where else she could mark — how long would it last? Would their teammates see it? She’s staring at the detective with pink, swollen lips and rosy cheeks, ice blue eyes pleading to give her pleasure.
This is going to end in so much trouble.
“Who am I to deny you that?” Neve purrs.
The kiss she gets in response is almost feral, Vic’s hands coming to cup her face and tipping her head back to kiss her fully. Neve’s hands come up to Vic’s wrists, holding tight, thumb brushing against Vic’s pulse point and feeling the racing of it. Maker, this woman is excited.
“Should we move to the cot?” Neve asks as soon as Vic pulls back. She doesn’t pull back for long, though — Neve closes her eyes as Vic kisses at her neck, nipping a little but not enough to mark darkly.
“Would you judge me,” Vic starts, the words muttered against Neve’s collarbone. “If I told you that I’ve had a fantasy of eating you out under your desk since we started all of this?”
“No,” Neve purrs. “But what’s this?”
“Before the docks,” Vic explains, kissing down Neve’s cleavage, little kisses that make Neve’s heart skip. “Before the wisps interrupted us.” The next kiss, right above where her shirt ends, is open-mouthed and wet and warm and makes Neve’s blood run hot as Vic licks the skin there. “Before you gave Assan those treats.”
“So when?” How long has Vic wanted her? How long has she wanted Vic, too?
“Since you told me you had a job to finish.”
There were still stitches in her brow, still blood in her eye and bruises on her skin, at that point. And yet the woman currently sinking to her knees between Neve’s legs still desired her. It feels like she just got knocked to the ground by a darkspawn, the air leaving her lungs as she stares down at the blonde. Vic’s hands come to Neve’s thighs, stabilizing herself as she finds a comfortable position on her knees. Neve has the most perfect view down her Rook’s shirt — the most perfect view overall, truly.
The wisps that float around the study are blissfully quiet, but that means Neve can hear her own ragged breath as Vic glances to the golden prosthetic beside her and brushes her fingers against it. “Do you want to take this off yourself?”
Neve swallows, and nods. She can’t — if she lets the other woman take her prosthetic off with the care and affection that she knows Vic will show her, then she won’t be able to let her go, ever. And then it will hurt all the more when the world yanks her Trouble from her.
Neve leans forward, unseating her leg from the prosthetic and leaning the golden device against the side of the desk. Vic makes quick work of her other boot, tossing it somewhere beyond Neve’s chair.
The detective gasps as Vic grabs the legs of the chair, pulling her a few inches closer. “Victoria Mercar!” she scolds.
“Wanted you closer,” Vic replies matter-of-factly, and Neve tries to ignore the way that simple phrase makes her heart skip. She can feel hands on her waist, on her hips, trying to figure out how to get her pants off.
Neve takes Vic’s hands, guiding them to the buttons and loops on the sides. The blonde undoes them quickly, guiding the teal linen pants down her legs, and Neve’s smallclothes down with them.
She’s had lovers before, certainly. It’s a right of Dock Town passage to find some dark alley behind one of the bars, the warmth of liquor and arousal in one’s blood. This isn’t the first time she’s had a woman, or a man, or someone who identifies as neither between her legs. She’s familiar with her hand in someone’s hair and her back pressed to stone walls and trying to keep from making too much noise, even though she knows full well the merchant carts and rowdy tavern goers would cover any cries of pleasure.
She didn’t realize how much she missed this. The precipice of anticipation, waiting for that first touch, that first taste.
Even under the shadow of her desk, she can see Vic’s face. And she could try to ignore the way Vic’s expression is one of pure, wanton wanting, try to tell herself that this is just some fun before it all goes to shit, but she’d be lying. And lying badly, at that.
“C’mere,” Vic whispers, and Neve resists the urge to shiver at the feeling of Vic’s warm breath on the bare skin of her inner thighs. Vic guides her to the front of the chair, thumbs rubbing soothing circles into Neve’s bare hips. Neve reaches down, letting her fingers trail through silver blonde hair, watching as Vic lets her head fall back as Neve pulls ever-so-slightly.
Ice blue eyes are closed, savoring the moment, and Neve’s pretty sure that she’s never seen Vic look this light. Like the weight of everything is gone, if only for a little while.
“You don’t have to save the world right now,” Neve promises, voice low and teasing as she lets her fingers scrape at Vic’s scalp. “All you have to do is make me me cum. Can you do that?”
Vic’s shoulders sag a little with relief, finally given a task that doesn’t seem so impossible as killing gods. “I’m pretty damn sure I can.”
“Then get to it, Trouble.”
Neve files away the way Vic reacted to the simple order for later. That… that could be very, very useful, for her Trouble’s wellbeing.
She can feel Vic’s warm breath against her inner thigh, watches as Vic teases her with soft, tender kisses. Vic’s hands find her knees, spreading them just a bit more apart, and Neve swallows the feeling of feeling too exposed, too open for the other woman. The feeling is banished entirely as Vic’s gaze finds her cunt and her Rook mutters, “Festis bei umo canavarum.”
It’s breathless and adoring and Neve’s only given half a heartbeat to consider chastising Vic for saying you will be the death of me when the reality is closer than she realizes before Vic is leaning forward, lips brushing against slick pink skin and trimmed dark hair. Neve feels the touch of Vic’s thumb against her folds, pressing gently and parting them, making her even more open, more vulnerable.
“Venhedis,” Neve curses as Vic kisses her, open-mouthed and wet, tongue lapping at her, already eager. Neve holds Vic closer, encouraging her, and gets rewarded with Vic’s tongue on her clit already. She inhales sharply, both loving and hating how pleasure comes so quickly. It feels wrong to indulge with everything going on, but Vic’s tongue, her lips, the feeling of her nose pressed to Neve’s pubic bone — that’s what she focuses on, now. The case, the gods, everything else shatters like the glass of an Eluvian as Vic sucks on her clit before dipping her tongue into Neve.
She should have known, really, that Victoria Mercar would be beautifully, filthily, gorgeously messy, practically devouring her. Neither of them were trained in the finery that Lucanis was. They’re from the roughness of Dock Town, where you have to give as good as you get, and give quickly, never sure if someone’s watching or if you’ll be interrupted.
Which is exactly what they are.
“Hey, Neve, have you seen Rook anywhere?”
Vic moves the split second before Neve slams her legs closed, and she can feel Vic’s grin against her bare knee as Bellara just walks in, no knock or anything.
“Bel,” Neve breathes, then coughs, trying to cover the need in her voice. “Bel, knocking. Please.”
“Oh, right, sorry! I’m still getting in the habit, don’t really need to knock on doors a lot when you’re out in the woods, you know?” Bellara apologizes, and Neve can already sense a ramble coming on. “Anyways, have you seen Rook? I went to see if she was with Harding but Harding said she hadn’t seen her in an hour or so.”
There are hands on the inside of her knees. Warm, teasing her thighs apart. Neve has half a mind — more than half, actually — to keep her legs firmly shut. But she gives just an inch or two, just enough for Vic to kiss at her inner thighs, and decides that is all she will give.
“No, I haven’t,” Neve replies, as nonchalantly as she can. “Did you check with Lucanis? She may have gone grocery shopping with him.”
Vic’s hands are rubbing at her inner thighs now, thumbs massaging the tense muscle. There’s a slickness to her touch, and Neve’s not entirely sure whether it’s from her own arousal or Vic’s mouth. The thought of either makes her blood run hot.
“Already did!” Bellara exclaims. “He says he hasn’t seen her either.”
“Hmm. Interesting.” There’s a nip to her inner left thigh, and Neve resists the urge to kick the woman under her desk.
“I know, right? I’ve looked everywhere. Davrin and Assan aren’t here, though, maybe she went out with him?”
“Probably.” One word sentences is all she can manage, now, with Vic slowly easing her legs apart again, guiding Neve’s legs over her shoulders. Neve digs the heel of her foot into Vic’s back — a warning not to go too far.
“I know that she likes going out with him so Assan can spread his wings, maybe they ran out of gingerwort truffles. Did she tell you about when Davrin made a tea with them and Assan talked to her? I don’t know whether that actually happened or whether it was a hallucination, but I really should do some experiments — oh, or ask Emmrich! He may know about the hallucinogenic properties of gingerwort tea or if it has any magical components that could make communicating with animals—”
“Bel,” Neve tries. “I’m so sorry, but I do have work that I need to do.” And a mouth to ride. A mouth that’s currently kissing at her inner thighs again, getting closer and closer to where Neve actually wants her.
“Right, right, of course,” Bellara continues. She goes to step backwards, but stops. “Oh…”
“What?” Neve really doesn’t mean for it to be as snappish as it comes off, and she feels bad immediately.
If Bellara notices, she doesn’t show it. “I’ve just... I've never seen your prosthetic just by itself before.”
Venhedis. She did take it off, didn’t she, and placed it within clear view of a tinkerer. “It was chafing.” There’s a flick of tongue against her clit, and she squeezes the chair arm hard enough that the wood creaks.
“If you want to, I mean if you’d trust me with it,” Bellara starts. “I could see if I could make it more comfortable?”
“That would be great, Bel.” Her voice is tight as Vic traces the slowest circles around her clit with her tongue. She has to take slow, deep, even breaths and try to make sure that Bellara doesn’t see the flush on her cheeks.
“Oh! Thank you!” The thanks is so heartfelt it almost makes Neve completely forget about the woman between her legs. “I’ll make it so comfortable you won’t even want to take it off, I promise,” Bellara insists. “Are you allergic to any materials? Metals, fabrics, leathers?”
“Not—” Vic’s tongue dips inside her, nose brushing against her clit, and Neve’s breath hitches. The hand that’s still in Vic’s hair squeezes tight - a warning. At least she had hoped to convey a warning. She gets a soft moan into her cunt instead that she tries to cover with shifting in the chair, the wood creaking and covering the sound. “—that I know of.”
“Okay!” Bellara grins with an excitement Neve hasn’t seen brighten that pretty Elven face in a long time. “I’m going to go see if Emmrich has any books on the history and material of artificial limbs! Maybe there are some with enchantments, I wonder how small a focusing crystal would have to be to maybe embrue it with some kind of soothing enchantment, you probably don't want a combat leg. I'm sure Emmrich has something, I'll go look right now!”
“You go do that,” Neve begs.
She watches Bellara rush off, the study door slamming closed behind her, and groans as she hears Vic burst out laughing from under the desk. She pulls back a little to glare at the blonde woman. “You are in so much trouble,” Neve warns.
“I’m in trouble?” Vic asks, and even in the shadow of the desk Neve can see how slick her mouth, her nose, her chin are. “I thought I was Trouble.”
“They’re not mutually exclusive,” Neve insists.
Vic grins at her. She’s seen many smiles from the Mercar mage over the past months — sometimes soft, sometimes giddy, sometimes self-satisfied when she quips something particularly witty. But she’s never seen this smile. There isn’t a hint of sadness or regret or fear in it, no emotion to hide. It’s pure joy, and she both loves and hates that the first time she sees it is when Vic’s lips are wet with her arousal.
“Are you going to finish what you started?” Neve asks.
“I don’t know, maybe I’ll also ask Emmrich if he has any books on—”
Neve uses her grip on Vic’s hair to pull her closer, and Vic laughs, a warm and breathy sound against Neve’s slick inner thighs.
Vic’s just as eager to please as she was before their interruption. She leaves no bit of pink, swollen skin unkissed, unlicked, unsucked. The way she mouths at Neve’s clit has the detective’s head tipping back, eyes closed, hand tight in the other mage’s hair to keep her from moving back at all. Neve’s almost ashamed at how obscene the sounds of Vic’s mouth against her cunt are — almost.
They’re going to have to avoid Taash for a week, at least.
“Vic,” Neve breathes as the other mage's hands come to her thighs, forcing her legs even further apart so Vic's tongue can lick deeper. She’s pretty sure she’s soaked the wood beneath her, mortifyingly enough.
It was always a race to finish in the alleyways of Dock Town, trying to get off as quickly as possible. Vic may move at that same pace, but she lets Neve draw it out. Lets her keep her face there as Neve hits the crest of her release, continues to mouth at her and lick up into her until Neve’s crying out and shaking. Everything feels alight, like the cracking of shock magic, but she lets Vic drink her fill and kiss at her until it becomes too much to handle. Her legs are still trembling, and she feels Vic's hands move up and down her thighs, trying to soothe and calm.
“Venhedis,” Neve sighs, letting go of Vic’s hair so that she can run her fingers through her own.
“That good, huh?” Vic asks, grinning as she climbs out from under the desk and stands.
“Something like that,” Neve replies with a soft smile, looking at her Trouble through hooded eyes. For a detective, she should be ashamed at how slow it takes her to realize that Vic’s belt has been abandoned under the desk, that the laces on her pants are loose. Neve’s gaze finds Vic’s left hand, sees her middle and ring finger — they shine in the golden light of the study.
She was — oh, kaffas.
“Your turn,” Neve decides, moving from the chair to her knees. “Get the door."
“What?”
“Freeze it shut, Trouble. You may be all right with your work being interrupted, but I’m not.”
Vic turns and shoots magic at the door. The ice that covers not only the door handle but also a good two to three feet around it may be overkill, but Neve’s just glad that they won’t be interrupted again.
“I’m going to soak your notes,” Vic warns as Neve reaches for her laces.
“Not if you just lean on the edge,” Neve promises, guiding the dark fabric down Vic’s hips. Quick work is made of the other mage’s boots, her pants and smallclothes joining them and her belt on the floor. Without anything to be tucked into, Vic’s shirt hangs loosely, the leather just barely covering pale breasts.
Neve reaches up to flick the shirt open, letting the leather settle at Vic’s sides, chest now bare. “Gorgeous,” she purrs, frost-tipped fingers sliding up Vic’s stomach and brushing just underneath her upper ribs. Vic shivers, pink nipples hard from the cold touch. Neve wants to reach up, wants to touch them, feel them against her palms, but she has other plans.
“Look who’s talking,” Vic teases, letting Neve spread her legs wide enough that she’s still stable but open for teasing, touching, tasting.
She’s already wet, a bit swollen and open from her own fingers. It takes no effort at all for Neve to slide two of hers in, feeling Vic’s hands come and grip her shoulders for support as the blonde gasps.
“You take me so well, Trouble,” Neve praises, and she does. Vic’s wet heat is glorious — she forgot how much she likes the feeling of a woman around her fingers. Likes feeling, seeing Vic shudder when her thumb just brushes over the blonde’s clit. This woman who has guided them through armies and stood firm in impossible odds now whimpering and mewling as Neve leans forward to suck at her clit. It’s flattering, well and truly.
Even with the little voice in Neve’s head warning her that this may be the last time.
Better make it good, then.
“Neve,” Vic breathes as Neve curls her fingers, back arching. “Neve, please—”
Neve pulls back to look at her. She looks absolutely wrecked, the right shoulder of the leather top having slipped off. There’s a mole there, on Vic’s pale shoulder, that Neve desperately wants to kiss. But she can’t stand very well without her prosthetic, at least not without support that she can’t exactly have with her fingers in her Trouble, so that will just have to wait for later.
“Come on, Trouble,” Neve purrs, thumb on Vic’s clit again, watching as the blonde clenches around her fingers - three, now, all taken so well. Vic's hands are braced against the edge of the desk, her cheeks flushed and legs trembling as Neve quickens her pace. Vic whimpers, just barely audible over the slick sound of Neve's fingers. “Give it to me, I know you can.”
It takes a few more thrusts of her fingers, and her bending again to mouth at Vic’s clit before she hears Vic nearly sob, feels her shudder and break. She keeps her fingers inside for just a moment, pulling back to kiss at the soft silver hair covering Vic’s mound. Vic’s hand comes to the back of her head, not really holding her there, but wanting - needing - the physical touch. Neve's fingers aren't as sore as she expects - maybe it's all of the writing she's been doing. She has half a mind to ask if Vic has another in her. Maybe in a moment.
“You are…” Vic starts, before laughing. “Is there anything Neve Gallus can’t do?”
Tell you I love you.
Neve hides the skip her heart makes by smiling against Vic, turning to kiss at her bare hip before glancing up at the blonde. “I can think of a few things,” she teases, trying to brush it off. “But it’s nice to know ‘making you cum’ isn’t on that list.”
Vic laughs again, shaking her head as she moves to sink to the floor with Neve. She leans against the desk, head tipped back, and Neve just stares for a moment. Vic’s smile is easy, her lips still swollen and cheeks still flushed and eyes closed. She’d thought she was pretty from afar when they occasionally crossed paths in the Shop, but the blonde truly is gorgeous.
She shifts to settle against the opposite set of drawers, catching her breath. At least until there’s a hand wrapped around her wrist, and she’s guided towards Vic, the blonde’s hands moving her until she’s straddling Vic’s lap. Vic’s smile is soft, a little tired, and Neve leans down to kiss her again. Gentle and reverent, her clean hand coming up to cup Vic’s face.
“Neve, I—” she hears Bellara from outside. “Oh. Well, that’s an effective lock, isn’t it?”
Vic snorts in laughter, so loud that Neve’s hand covers the blonde’s nose and mouth to keep their tinkerer from hearing.
“I’ll come back later, then!” Bellara calls, her voice sounding farther away.
Then Neve can’t help but laugh. Shaking her head, pulling her hand from Vic’s mouth but not after Vic kisses her palm. “What are we doing, Trouble?”
“Enjoying ourselves before it all goes to kaffas?” Vic offers weakly.
In reality, they should talk about this. But what is reality when the Veil is being torn down and they have ancient Elven gods to defeat? Anything that she once classified as ‘reality’ is seriously starting to come into question.
So she just leans in to kiss Vic again. Letting the other woman wrap her arms around her waist, letting her kiss her softly and sweetly, Neve realizing belatedly that she's tasting both herself and Vic on her tongue and enjoying it more than she thought she would. Letting her body come down from its high in the warm arms of a woman she lo—
... no.
She can't say it.
Vic's Trouble.
And that's all she can be.