Strings Attached Ch. 11-15

"Is that so?" He leaned closer, his cheek and chin coming into contact with the back of her neck, the side of his nose grazing the shell of her ear lightly, and she shivered for a reason that had nothing to do with the cold. "I have been told, by a reliable source, that nice guys finish last."

Fifteen: Nathaniel

She giggled and turned her head, lashing him with her damp hair, and he sputtered while she laughed. When she settled back down, she tilted her head back until he could press his forehead against her skull, his breath ruffling her hair. His heart was in his throat, and he felt deliriously short of breath.

"Leliana?"

"Yes, Nathaniel?"

He could feel the vibration caused by her voice against his forehead, and he closed his eyes as he inhaled, her scent somehow exotic despite the undertones of horse and wet leather.

"I have some...questions, if you would indulge me." He felt her nod, and he swallowed thickly as he thought frantically. He was fascinated by the bard but hadn't been confident until today that she returned any interest – and he didn't want to make assumptions that were unwarranted. "This morning, while we were riding, you mentioned Marjolaine."

He paused, uncertain how to proceed. She'd told him many stories, and while none of them were salacious, the way she'd talked about her former mentor, well...

He was interrupted by her sigh. "I should have realised." She tilted her head the opposite way, breaking the contact with him, and his heart sank. "You wonder about the nature of our relationship, yes?"

He couldn't deny that he was worried about exactly that; it hadn't occurred to him until their morning ride that perhaps she wasn't interested in him for reasons that had nothing to do with his family or his character. "Well..."

She was silent for a moment, and he felt sick. Had he made assumptions he shouldn't have? Had he offended her by asking?

She finally responded. "Marjolaine and I were lovers. But that's been over for years, now, and she is dead, yes?"

He gulped and decided to be reckless. She'd flirted with him; surely she could see why he'd be hesitant. "So where does that leave us?"

She turned then, her profile just visible in the firelight through the cave entrance. "I am...that is, I..." She fell silent again, but just as he thought she wasn't going to answer him, she barked out a strangled laugh. "Maker's bride, this is difficult. And here I found Sierra's uncanny knowledge unsettling at first – who knew it was also convenient?" She shook her head briefly. "Very well. I am not that... particular... No, that sounds worse." His shoulders shook in silent laughter, and she sighed. "I do not choose my lovers based upon what Sierra would call 'plumbing'. Beauty and comfort can be found in many different packages, no?"

His mind spun, a whirlwind of relief and awkwardness and a number of other emotions he couldn't readily name, and he didn't immediately reply – which, of course, made things worse.

She stiffened in his arms. "I suppose it's not the most...conventional history. I can see how that might upset—"

"No!" It was too loud, and it made them both jump. He tightened his arms almost unconsciously. "Maker, no, that doesn't bother me. I was just worried..." He couldn't say it. He tried, opening his mouth, but the words wouldn't come out. "I'm relieved," he said instead, lamely. Rolling his eyes at his own ineptness, he shook his head, and it was her turn to shake with laughter.

"Where were you hoping it would leave us, my Lord?" Her voice had gone husky, and it sent shivers up his spine. She turned her head, leaning to the side so she could face him more directly.

He relaxed his hold on her but didn't let go, both because he was worried about her getting chilled again and because he just liked the way she felt in his arms. She was lithe but soft in all the right places, and it was becoming harder and harder to think dispassionately with her there, so close and yet he wanted her closer. He reached up to cup her cheek, and she leaned into his hand slightly, her skin still chilly to the touch.

He leaned forward as he tilted her chin up; they slowly approached each other, gazes locked until she licked her lips and he couldn't help but focus there instead. He paused with a bare inch between them; he could feel her breath on his face, but couldn't hear over the pounding of his own heart. He waited there, giving her the chance to object or pull away; she didn't.

He finally closed the gap, pressing his lips softly against hers. She responded in kind, and he hummed as he moved the hand on her cheek to weave his fingers into her hair, holding her close. The kiss drew out until they were both breathless; with a gasp, Nathaniel pulled back, pecking her lips gently once and then again. He pressed his forehead against hers while he caught his breath, both of them twisted uncomfortably – but Nate, at least, couldn't have cared less.

"I've wanted to do that for..."

She chuckled. "For how long?"

"Since the moment I saw you," he blurted. "Maker, I shouldn't have said that."

"Well, I have been waiting for almost the same length of time, so..."

He silenced her with another kiss – this one considerably less chaste than the first. He flicked his tongue against her lower lip, then swallowed her sigh as she parted her lips slightly. He sucked her plump lower lip into his mouth, nibbling at it lightly, before taking advantage of her gasp to delve more deeply into her willing mouth. Her taste was intoxicating, wild and sweet, and their tongues danced as he pursued it.

With a groan, she twisted in his arms, snaking one arm around his neck to hold him to her. He wrapped his arm tighter around her waist, his other hand still stroking her damp hair. They sat like that for what felt like hours, barely pausing to catch their breath before being drawn back together as if by magic.