#see im capable of writing something lighthearted & fluffy AND answering prompts quickly. sometimes. rarely.

[thedragonagelesbian]

A kiss shared during a game, for the kiss and tell prompt 👀

yay kiss prompts!!

a kiss shared during a game

"Knightly, stop making that face."

"What face? I'm not making a face."

"I find that face rather helpful," Fenris commented, the barest hint of a smirk poking out at the edges of his Wicked Grace cards, "for the rest of the table."

Varric sighed and shifted in his chair-- at least, as much as he could with Cyrus on top of him. When he wasn't broadcasting the quality of Varric's hand and or taking sips of rum (the only thing he'd drink as of late, despite it turning his head fuzzier than a dandelion quicker than a kid wishing on it), the elf pressed their bodies tight together. He was fidgety even repose, nuzzling Varric's neck or toying with the seams of his jacket or curling into the crook of his arm and shoulder to watch the game through heavy-lidded eyes, feet dangling over the arm of the chair and still twitching. As close to restful as Cyrus could get, and his body was still ready to start running again.

That, Varric had grown accustomed to over the years. What was new were all of those little quirks happening in his lap.

Cyrus gave his affection so readily--hand on Bethany's arm, head on Anders' shoulder, arms around Merrill's torso--but after a lifetime of loving in whispers and shadows, in quiet and thankless work, Varric still couldn't believe he'd ended up here, cuddling in the middle of the Hanged Man.

And still, Varric's grip on his waist tightened as Cyrus once more rearranged himself, slipping down to rest his head against Varric's chest.

The craziest of things became possible by his side.

"I'm fond of it too," Merrill commented, not-quite-chipper and thumbing her cards. Her gifted set, a soot-black kitten playing with flower petals. "With Isabela gone, you win most of the time anyway, Varric. Cyrus is just giving the rest of us a chance, aren't you, lethallan?"

"Planned it like that from the beginning," Anders added. "Sabotage."

And despite the strain in the mage's smile, it made Cyrus snicker, reverberations warm like thunder through Varric's chest.

"Sabotage?" Varric echoed with exaggerated offense. "That's what this is? You, the duplicitous double agent, me, the naive fool left teary-eyed and heartbroken by your betrayal?"

Cyrus' laughter grew from a clap to a storm until he was throwing his head back over Varric's arm and drawing the attention of every patron in the bar with his tipsy, infectious joy. With a light that had become harder and harder to see as of late.

"Yes, yes, you caught me, wicked spy that I am come to tease your Wicked Grace secrets out of you." Still giggling, Cyrus hooked his fingers underneath Varric's necklace and drew their faces close together. "Like this."

Whatever embarrassment Varric might've felt melted away with everything else. The whole world and all its wretched business of champions and stories, it evaporated into Cyrus' mouth, honey-soft and hot. And because that was all there was left--Cyrus' body, safe and present and alive--Varric put his cards down on the table so he could cradle his cheek. The touch of leather all but made Cyrus purr against his lips.

And if someone else meddled with those cards while he was distracted, well, it was a shit hand anyway.