#carver x filipa

[shannaraisles]

Catman Begins

Based on a prompt from the lovely @kagetsukai, here’s a little more of Carver and Filipa’s continuing domestication.

*****

"You do realize this step is usually considered as practice for having children, right?"

Carver glanced down at his girlfriend, rolling his eyes at her cheeky expression.

"I think we've missed out a step there, then," he replied, unable to keep from smiling as she blew him a kiss before ducking out from under his arm and through the door ahead of them.

She wasn't wrong, in a way. Getting a pet was generally considered to be the practice step between getting married and having children for a couple, but seeing as Filipa had only just moved in with him, he didn't see it that way. One of their shared ambitions had always been to have a mabari hound, from when they were small children in separate countries, so it seemed only fair that they should come to the local rescue here in Ansburg now they were all settled domestically.

Following her through the door into the kennels, Carver was immediately struck by the sheer noise of the place - the over-excited barking of the dogs whenever anyone walked by, the chatter of the children who were there to choose a pet with their parents. If it had been up to him, he wouldn't have gone beyond the kennels at all, but Filipa had made him promise to look at all the animals, not just the dogs. Resisting the urge to stop was hard, but when she had that firm a grip on his hand, it was keep walking or lose an arm.

"Maker, no wonder kennel cough is a thing," he muttered as they passed back inside, to the cattery that resided at the far end of the kennels. "They were loud."

And it was so quiet in here. Not in a terrifying, frightened way, but in a watchful way. Cats were not an animal Carver had ever really had much time for, but he could recognize the intelligence of the species. Maybe that was why he wasn't sure he could handle a cat - they might be too clever for him. Unfortunately for him, however, Filipa seemed absolutely enthralled.

"Well, hello there," she said, releasing his hand to crouch in front of one of the cages, greeting the extremely flirtatious young calico that had caught her eye. "Aren't you beautiful?"

"And she knows it," Carver commented, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "She'll be a handful."

"Like a mabari wouldn't be?" Pip countered, glancing up at him with a smile.

He shrugged, his own smile just a little awkward. He was very attached to that childhood dream, especially since the Hawke family mabari had imprinted on Garrett, who had never let them forget it.

"Try to enjoy the outing," his girlfriend suggested fondly. "You never know, you might fall in love in here."

"I thought I already did that," he said, bending to kiss the top of her head as she giggled and stood up once more. "Are you saying I should find some kind of animal mistress in here?"

Pip snorted with laughter, tucking herself into his side once again as they began to walk through the quiet warmth of the cattery. It was hard not to meet the curious gazes of the various cats as they passed, from the rambunctious kittens to the aloof queens, to the confrontational toms. It was the kittens that caught Pip's full attention, drawing her to crouch down and coo at a small litter that desperately wanted to bat at her fingers through the mesh, leaving Carver to stand in the middle of the cattery once again, feeling a little superfluous.

A soft mew caught his attention, attracting his eyes to a pretty pair of green eyes in a tiny feline face on the other side of the cattery to Pip. Without quite realizing it, he found himself moving in that direction, lowering onto one knee to look closer at the little cat that had somehow drawn him closer than he had expected to get to the felines. This particular little cat was a striped tortoise-shell color, her small face dominated by those huge green eyes that seemed to stare right into his heart. It wasn't until she stood up that he noticed she was missing one of her front legs, the fur only just beginning to grow back over the obvious amputation site, and for a moment, he felt a swelling of rage at whatever - or whoever - had caused so much damage to such a vulnerable creature.

He reached toward the mesh slowly, laying his fingers through the gaps, and felt his heart clench for just a moment as the little cat moved closer to sniff his fingertips. When she then rubbed her cheek against his outstretched fingers, Carver knew he was done for. Forget finding a mabari ... she was coming home with them.

"Making friends there?"

He started, glancing up guiltily at the sound of Pip's amused voice right behind him. The cat shied for just a moment, returning as soon as Carver himself relaxed.

"She's so pretty," he managed, shrugging one shoulder in defeat. "What's her name?"

Pip looked at the information pack attached to the cat's enclosure.

"Says here she's called Andraste," she said, just about managing to keep a straight face. "Just over one year old, they think. Brought in by someone who thought he'd hit her with his car."

Carver frowned, looking back down at the little cat, who was still marking his fingers with her cheek. He could have sworn she was purring, too, even though it was too quiet for him to possibly hear her.

"I'm sorry you've had such a rough start," he murmured to the little feline, rubbing his fingertip against her cheek. "Want to come home with us?"

He felt Pip crouch down beside him, her arm looped over his shoulders.

"We have a winner, huh?"

He nodded, not quite able to take his eyes off the lovely cat that had completely upended his desire for a mabari in the space of just a few minutes. Next time, maybe. This time, the decision was already made, at least for him.

"You don't mind?" he remembered to ask, knowing Pip had wanted a dog as well.

He could hear the smile in her voice as she answered.

"You don't choose your pets," she told him. "They choose you. And it looks like Andraste here chose you before you even noticed she was there."

"Annie," he corrected her without thinking. "Andraste's a big name for such a little cat. She's Annie."

"Annie," Pip agreed, kissing his shoulder. "All right, I'll find Hadren and get this show on the road."

As she rose onto her feet, moving in search of the staff member who would be able to take them through the adoption process, Carver leaned in close to the cage, utterly charmed when the cat leaned up to touch her nose to his through the gap in the mesh.

"Don't you worry, Annie," he whispered. "We're going to take good care of you. You're family now."

[shannaraisles]

Comfort & Ploy - Chapter 6

Carver Hawke needs a girlfriend for the festive season. Filipa Trevelyan needs an excuse not to spend Satinalia with her parents. Best friends pretending to be lovers … what could possibly go wrong?

[Read on AO3]

*****

"Remind me again why Pip and I had to be dressed up and driven separately to this farce?"

Garrett eyed his brother with a wry quirk of his brow, still adjusting Carver's bow-tie as they waited on the steps of Fort Drakon for their respective dates to arrive. They weren't the only ones in limbo - several other men and women were also waiting impatiently for their evening escorts to arrive.

"You really think 'Bela was going to let the opportunity to see your jaw bounce off the ground pass her by?" he pointed out, gently slapping his younger brother's shoulder. "You did good, Carver. The two of you match up perfectly."

Carver glanced away, unused to being praised by his older brother without some ulterior motive. He rubbed at the back of his neck, rolling his shoulders to make the tuxedo jacket settle more comfortably.

"I can't believe it took so long for me to notice how much I - how important she is to me," he said, not ready to admit to that out loud in front of Garrett. Ideally, that initial confession belonged to Filipa. If he could bring himself to express it.

"Well, you've never been quick on the uptake, baby brother," Garrett pointed out with a grin, laughing as Carver shook his hand off his shoulder.

"What are you up to?" he asked his older brother suspiciously. "You're never this nice without an ulterior motive."

"Me?" Garrett endeavored to look shocked and only half managed it. That grin was not helping matters. "I am as innocent as the driven snow, I assure you."

"Driven being the operative word there," Carver said. He would have liked not to be quite so suspicious of Garrett, but a lifetime had taught him never to trust unsolicited praise or open approval from the eldest of the Hawke children. "I'm fairly sure Isabela has driven every ounce of innocence out of you by now."

"Cruelly mocked by my own flesh and blood!" was the dramatic response. "I'm hurt, Carver. Look, this is my hurt face."

"Shut up."

Despite himself, Carver cracked a smile, chuckling as Garrett slapped his back encouragingly. All right, so their relationship had never been exactly cordial, but things were definitely improving as they got older. Having different lives in different cities was definitely helping. The only thing that would have made this Satinalia better would be having Bethany here with them, but she was busy in Starkhaven, being the prince's betrothed to a court full of weirdos who were stuck in the past. That wasn't how she described it, but that was what Carver had taken away from his twin's explanation of Sebastian's day job.

A familiar throat was cleared behind the two men, urging them to turn around, where they found Isabela and Filipa standing side by side, both wrapped up tight in highly inappropriate coats for their evening attire. Carver had to bite down a snort of laughter at Filipa, who appeared to have twinned a long red dress and exquisitely twisted updo with the more familiar and definitely more worn padding of her quilted parka. It was quite the look.

"Ah, my dulcet darling, there you are," Garrett announced, offering his arm to Isabela.

The gorgeous woman winked at him as she took it, glancing over her shoulder at Carver.

"She says you're a gentleman, pup," she challenged with impish good humor. "I think you should prove it."

"I do know how to do this, thank you, 'Bela," he complained, offering his own arm to Filipa, who took it gratefully.

The reason for the gratitude became immediately obvious, given the sheer amount of leaning on him that was required to get her up the steps and into the Fort. High heels had never been her thing, but arguing with her sister seemed to be a case of picking your battles. It didn't take more than a few minutes to check their coats, and finally Carver got a good look at the woman he loved.

As Isabela had predicted, his jaw dropped like a stone.

Filipa had been talked into an ostensibly modest dress in the rich red of the season - a dress that twinned long sleeves with a deep V in the back and front, and a slit that flashed her thigh if she moved too fast. She looked ... Utterly stunning. I am the luckiest man here, no doubt about it.

Flicking a stray lock of dark hair out of her eyes, she met his gaze challengingly.

"Well, don't you look gorgeous," she informed him, smiling as he unconsciously straightened up, all but preening at the praise. "And incredibly uncomfortable."

He laughed, offering her his arm once again as his brother headed toward the ballroom with a gold-clad Isabela on his own elbow.

"That makes two of us," Carver answered Filipa. "You look beautiful, but I am never going to let you wear heels again. You feel like you're going to topple over at any second."

"That's why I have you, to keep me upright," she countered, wrapping her arm through his. "I feel ridiculous."

"Trust me, you look far from ridiculous," he promised, smiling down at her. "Ready to go and be grumpy at every stranger who dares look at us sideways?"

"Gosh, what fun!"

Laughing together, they followed in the wake of Garrett and Isabela, joining the line to enter the main hall, from which came the sound of music and many, many people talking and moving around. A formal ball was not their scene at all, but since this was his brother's chosen activity for Satinalia Eve, Carver couldn't complain overmuch. He was genuinely looking forward to the more traditional, less stuffy family Satinalia planned at the Rutherfords' house for tomorrow.

"So, big boy, doesn't she look delicious?" Isabela asked when they finally found the other couple again. "Don't you just want to lick her all over until you find the cherry sweet center?"

"Maker's balls, Isabela, can you lay a filter on it for one evening?" Carver managed in a strangled voice. He didn't need thoughts like that in his head when he was wearing a tuxedo whose pants had been rather more fitted than he was used to.

"Oh, where would the fun be in that?" Isabela chuckled her rich, silken chuckle, absently, adjusting the hang of Garrett's jacket. "You look particularly delectable yourself tonight, pup."

"Oh, I absolutely agree," Filipa piped up, and again, Carver felt himself straighten, proud to be praised by the gorgeous woman on his arm. "But then, you could put him in glittery dragon boxers and fairy wings, and he'd still look amazing."

He looked down at her, surprised and more than a little pleased to hear her say something like that. Maybe there's hope for me yet, he mused. Sweet Andraste ... what if she likes me, too? Was that too much to hope for? It would be amazing if it was true. He could already feel himself edging toward being tongue-tied, and that had never happened around Filipa. He couldn't let it happen now, not when he actually had something of substance to blurt out.

"There you are!"

Another familiar voice caught his attention in time to see Mila Rutherford slide her arms around her sister's waist from behind and grasp Filipa's breasts, jiggling them as she said,

"Doesn't she look gorgeous?"

Filipa's face was a picture. He had no idea how she managed to stay so calm as she answered her sister.

"Mila, get off my tits, would you?" she said politely. "There's every possibility I might just step backwards and accidentally impale your foot with one of these spikes you made me wear."

"So combative, Pip."

Mila laughed, but she did release her sister, coming around to give her a proper hug before bestowing one on a genuinely surprised Carver as well. Cullen wandered out of the milling crowd a moment later, apparently not at all ill at ease with the fact that his wife had essentially run away to find their friends without him. He nodded to Carver, expertly fielding Mila as she stepped back, and tucking her against his side.

"Play nicely, sweetheart, we're in public."

"How much has she had to drink already?" Filipa asked, edging carefully into Carver's side until he had to put his arm about her waist or risk being knocked sideways into the mingling crowd around them.

"I'll have you know I'm sober as a judge," Mila objected in amusement, only for Garrett to butt in.

"I don't know, ravishing Mrs. Rutherford," he mused, "I've known a few judges who couldn't get through the day without a stiff drink or twelve."

"Darling, that was usually because you were the one driving them to drink," Isabela reminded him sweetly.

"They didn't need to know that part." Garrett rolled his eyes at his lover, unable to keep himself from laughing at her innocent expression. "You're just as bad."

"And proud of it, I'll have you know," was Isabela's shameless response, drawing a warm laugh from their little group. It was hard not to enjoy yourself when Garrett and Isabela got started.

A waiter passed them by, pausing to offer them each a glass from his tray. To Carver's surprise, both Filipa and Mila politely declined with almost identically awkward smiles.

"Do you have anything other than champagne?" Mila asked the waiter.

He nodded reassuringly, gesturing over the heads of the chattering guests toward the far wall.

"Of course, ma'am. There is an open bar, at which you may obtain wines, spirits, beers, ales, and soft drinks."

"Thank you."

As the waiter moved on, Isabela beat Carver to the obvious question.

"You don't like champagne, ladies?"

"We're allergic to champagne," Mila told her with a smile.

"And wine," Filipa added.

"Oh, and beer, too," Mila finished up, much to her husband's amusement. Cullen, however, buried his laugh at the rather childlike back and forth in a sip from his flute.

"How dreadful," Isabela said mildly. "You can't spend the whole ball sober, you'll have a terrible time."

"I'll go and get you some drinks," Carver volunteered, but was prevented from rushing off by Filipa's hand on his arm.

"Don't worry about it," she told him firmly. "We can get our own drinks. You hold a table somewhere so I can sit down once I have enough liquid courage to walk in a straight line without help."

He chuckled, conceding her point. After all, he had no idea what Mila liked to drink, and she struck him as a woman who would order a complicated cocktail just because it was free and she could. Cullen took Filipa's place beside him as the sisters headed off into the crowd toward the tighter gathering around the open bar on the opposite wall.

"You didn't know about the wine thing?" he asked curiously.

Carver fought down the urge to blush, as though he had been caught in a lie. There was no lie. He had known Filipa over a year and, yes, he'd noticed that she didn't drink wine, but he had never thought to ask her specifically about it.

"It never came up," he told the older man. "I know she prefers spirits, but not why."

"It's the sulfites in certain types of alcohol that gets them," Cullen explained, suddenly lurching to one side to claim a briefly unoccupied table as their own. "Don't ask me quite why it's just that, but apparently it runs in the family."

"Don't they make wine, though?" Carver asked, confusion touching his mood even as he glanced over the heads of the crowd to locate the ladies. He found them in the middle of the crush around the bar, apparently doing wonders at getting close enough to order without having to do any bodily harm at all yet.

"Their uncle does," Cullen told him. "He employs people he trusts to do the taste testing and such, as I understand it."

"But if I drink this, won't I give her an allergic reaction later?" was Carver's next query, gesturing with his champagne flute.

Cullen shook his head.

"Keep it to one glass and follow it up with whisky, that's what I do," he suggested. "Mila's never caught hives after a champagne kiss from me, I know that much."

"That brings up all kinds of questions about where you've been kissing her after drinking champagne, you know," Isabela began, breaking into laughter at the resigned look Cullen offered across the table. "You always shut me down before I reach the punchline!"

"I know you too well," was his response.

Carver chuckled, sipping his own champagne as the others settled into conversation. He couldn't quite bring himself to sit down, wanting to keep an eye on Filipa as she maneuvered through the crowd. She seemed to have made a friend at the bar - a tall gentleman whose smile looked just that little bit too friendly for Carver's liking, even from this distance.

And why shouldn't the man be interested? Filipa was beautiful and easy to talk to, and if he didn't pull his finger out, Carver was going to lose his opportunity to convince her that she really wanted this pretense to be the real thing. He could feel the panic rising in his chest, worsening when he saw Filipa take the man's arm to allow him to escort her back toward her party. It made sense that she would, of course - she wasn't exactly steady on those heels, and having a man to lean on who didn't mind was a sensible thing to do, but Carver could feel his teeth grinding at the sight of the man's too friendly gaze taking in the view that was tantalizingly visible from his loftier height.

A firm hand gripped his elbow. His head snapped around, ready to bark at the gripper, only to find Garrett right beside him with a warning expression on his face.

"Don't let it bother you," his brother advised. "Her opinion is the only one that matters, and trust me - he's nowhere near as interesting to her as you are."

Biting down his instinctively harsh reply, Carver frowned, glancing to the advancing Filipa, and her escort. He'd completely forgotten that Mila was trailing them closely, too.

"I know, I just ..."

He trailed off, disappointed in himself for his jealous reaction. Garrett released his elbow and gently patted his back.

"You'll get better at it," he predicted. "Especially once you tell her how you feel."

Carver jerked, startled by the comment, turning a searching look onto his brother.

"How did you ...?"

"I'm not a complete idiot, Carver," his brother assured him with a grin. "Like I said, you're a good match. Get on with it."

Just as Carver opened his mouth to ask how, exactly, he was supposed to do that, Garrett plastered on his best smile, reaching out a hand toward the arriving newcomer.

"Teagan, good to see you," he declared, drawing Carver's rival into conversation at their table and away from Filipa with smooth expertise.

The younger Hawke blinked, impressed with his brother's surprisingly apt social skills, automatically stepping back to let Mila slip past him and into the chair beside Cullen.

"You look like you just swallowed a whole lot of humble pie," Filipa commented, lifting his arm up and sidling into the space she had created for herself. "What did I miss?"

Absently tucking his fingers into the curve of her waist, Carver blinked down at her for a moment longer, making a brave attempt to drag his thoughts back from where they had flown to. One, that his apparent rival was Teagan Guerrin, brother of the Arl of Redcliffe; two, that Filipa seemed to have completely forgotten the man now she was back beside him.

"Can I talk to you for a second?" he asked abruptly. "In private?"

It was her turn to blink up at him, curiosity warring with concern in her pretty eyes as she considered him.

"Uh ... sure," she agreed. "If you can find somewhere private around here."

"Try the balcony," Cullen suggested, though he looked for all the world as though he was talking to his own drink. One hand gestured in the right direction. "Should be a few private places out there."

Carver flashed the man a grateful smile, squeezing Filipa's waist gently.

"Thanks. Come on, Pip."

"After you."

She smiled, leaving her glass with her sister to join Carver in attempting some kind of smooth motion through the mingling guests toward the balcony. Thankfully, the doors were already open; once they were in the right sort of area, the Brownian motion of the crowd ushered them straight out and onto the balcony that overlooked the city, heated with discreet lamps to hold the snowy chill at bay. A few others had left the main hall to brave the chill, but Cullen had been right - they were few and far between, offering space for a relatively private conversation.

Carver swallowed as he drew Filipa over to the furthest corner, where an overhanging honeysuckle heavy with fresh snow cast them into deeper shadow. She was still smiling, her expression more curious now than concerned, more amused than worried. It was a good look on her, he realized, releasing her waist to catch her hands in his and pull her about to face him. He supposed he had never really paid attention to how expressive her face really was; she couldn't hide anything.

"So ...?" she prompted, green eyes bright with encouragement.

"So, yes. Talk." He drew in a deep breath, looking down at their joined hands for a moment. "Pip, I, um ... I think we should stop. The pretending, that is. I mean, it's pretty obvious that Garrett's rumbled us, you know?"

He was surprised to see her expression suddenly droop, a flash of hurt in her gaze before she covered it with a smile that he knew was nothing more than a mask.

"So I suppose there's no point in keeping it up then," she said.

Carver frowned, tilting his head to keep her eyes on his as she made a move to look away. He had a feeling he had missed something here, but if he didn't make headway, he was never going to  get this off his chest. He'd make it up to her another time. Right now, he had something to say, and if he didn't say it now, he might actually explode with jealousy every time she so much as looked at any man who showed an interest in her.

"No, there isn't," he agreed, tightening his fingers about hers at the merest suggestion that she might be about to pull away. "Because I don't like lying to you, Pip. I know this might destroy our friendship, but I'm hoping it won't."

He hesitated, watching her forced smile fade into watchful interest once more.

"I haven't really been pretending," he admitted, feeling awkward just saying it out loud. "I didn't realize until a couple of days ago. I, um, I like you, Pip. Shit, no, that's not what I mean ... I don't like you, I-I -"

He stuttered into silence, mumbling for a moment behind the fingertips she pressed against his mouth to shut him up. And there was her smile - her real smile, the soft quirk of her lips that lit up her eyes and made her shine. The smile he had always taken for granted, all these months, suddenly in front of him, holding up the flame of hope that he hadn't just made a terrible mistake.

"I love you, too," was all she said, gentle words in a moment of stillness that nonetheless deafened him with their impact.

He actually felt his knees threaten to buckle, dropping the one hand she had left in his grasp to clasp her about the waist in an attempt not to sink to his knees in front of her. She wobbled, laughing as her arms snapped up about his neck and shoulders, both of them tottering on the edge of a very ungainly collapse for a moment before he pulled himself together.

"But I never ... I didn't say it," he muttered, almost annoyed that she'd got there first.

She raised a brow, and he felt a shiver ripple deliciously down his spine as her fingertips teased their way into the short hair at his nape.

"Does it really matter who said it first, when we both feel it?" she asked softly.

He couldn't have stopped his smile from becoming a grin even if he had wanted to, for the first time utterly unashamed of how goofy he might look in this moment. She was absolutely right.

"No," he said, laughing with quiet good grace as he hoisted her up off her feet, nose to nose with him in the shadow of the honeysuckle. "I love you, Pip."

"Good," she responded, brushing the tip of her nose to his affectionately. "Because ravishing is definitely on the cards tonight, Carver Hawke."

"I feel like I should salute," he teased, all the tension and worry sweeping from his body in the face of a confession he had actually been afraid would not be reciprocated in the slightest.

"If you drop me, I will leave a mark somewhere embarrassingly obvious," she informed him sweetly. "I'd much rather you kissed me. Properly, this time."

"Oh, last time wasn't proper enough for you?"

He didn't give her an opportunity to argue, pressing smiling lips to hers in a kiss that promised to wipe the lie of their first kiss clean from his memory and lay the foundation for every other kiss to come. And this time, he felt no shame in coaxing her lips to part, in tasting her breath on his tongue as her fingers combed into his hair, her feet dangling several inches off the floor. How much trust did she have in him to let him hold her up and kiss her, he wondered. Then the thought fled as she delicately nibbled his lower lip; Isabela was going to be so proud of herself for having his tuxedo jacket cut a little longer than was usual.

What was it they said about Satinalia wishes? Carver couldn't quite recall, and, if he was honest, he didn't care. His Satinalia wish had just come true, and there wasn't a damned thing anyone could do to make his holiday any better now. She loved him.

"Mmm ..."

His lips vibrated with her voice as she drew back just far enough to meet his gaze, smiling impishly as her fingers smoothed his hair.

"Took us long enough, didn't it?"

He laughed, lowering her down onto her feet, delighted to feel her press herself into his arms in a warm embrace.

"You know my brother is going to be insufferably smug about this," he murmured, careful not to put her hair into too much disarray or risk the wrath of Isabela.

"Let him be," Filipa said, lifting her head to match his smile to her own. "I have everything I want right here."

Carver didn't think his smile could get any broader, yet in the face of that confident statement, there he was, stretching his smile beyond all limits. He gathered her closer into his arms, stretching his neck down to kiss the tip of her nose fondly.

"Let's go and watch him drown in his own smugness, then," he suggested. "And then we can skip out on this ridiculous night out."

"Oh, not a chance," she insisted, straightening up and wrapping her arm through his. "You and I are going to dance at least once. I did not get all dressed up just to leave at the first opportunity."

She cast him a teasing flicker of a grin as they walked back toward the main hall.

"The ravishing comes later."

[shannaraisles]

Comfort & Ploy - Chapter 7

Carver Hawke needs a girlfriend for the festive season. Filipa Trevelyan needs an excuse not to spend Satinalia with her parents. Best friends pretending to be lovers … what could possibly go wrong?

IT’S THE FINAL CHAPTER!

[Read on AO3]

*****

Snow fell overnight, cloaking the world in fresh, crisp white for the morning to come. Across Denerim, children rose before dawn and began to torment the adults in the house with a pressing urge to throw wrapping paper all over the living room. The streets were quiet and calm.

And, for the first time in a long time, Filipa Trevelyan woke slowly, deliciously aching and wrapped in the arms of a man she adored.

There was no embarrassment this time, no sense of something she needed to feel guilty about. Indeed, she cuddled closer to the warm, shifting chest beneath her cheek, smiling lazily as the arm about her shoulders tightened in answer, fingers stroking against her skin with absent affection. She pressed her nose to the smooth skin, breathing in the musky scent that was now hers to enjoy openly, absolutely delighted to discover how well it blended with her own natural scent.

"I know you're awake," a gravelly voice murmured above her head.

"No, I'm not," she mumbled back, refusing to leave her happy dream just yet. There was always a chance it was just a dream, after all. That would be crushing, especially on Satinalia.

She felt Carver's chest shake beneath her as he huffed out a silent laugh, followed by the gentle brush of his blunt fingers teasing her hair back off her face to reveal her rather smug grin.

"Who am I talking to, then?" he asked, his own smile audible in his voice.

"The ghost of Satinalia yet to come," she answered.

He was so warm, so there. Her only recently realized dream had come true in the best possible way. All right, so she'd had to dress up in a ridiculous dress and heels and let Isabela do scandalous things to her breasts to make them stay put without a bra, but it had all been worth it. Because Carver Hawke loved her. Better yet, nothing had truly changed between them. Their friendship was the perfect foundation for what they could now explore together in the dying months of the year. Without thinking, she pressed a kiss to his skin, giggling as he let out a quiet growl in response.

"That didn't seem particularly spiritual," he accused, shifting just enough to let the fingers of his free hand drift down her side, firm enough not to tickle but to arouse.

"I don't know," she mused, eyes still closed against the morning that was upon them. "Last night, we definitely visited the Golden City."

His laugh was an amazing sound to hear, low and mirthful, rumbling through his chest as he hugged her close, pressing his lips to her hair in the kind of kiss most people forgot to daydream about when they wished for romance in their lives. It was the little things that stood out, and Filipa had been blind to them for over a year. Maybe it was time to open her eyes.

She blinked, drawing in a deep, sleepy breath as she tilted her head back to share her smile with Carver. He was still adorably sleep-rumpled, his hair sticking up all over the place, eyes half-lidded with owlish pleasure.

"Pretty sure we didn't bring back anything evil, though," he murmured, tipping her chin a little higher with his thumb to brush his lips to hers. "Could have been a fluke."

"Mmmm ..."

Her arm rose from its wrap about his chest to tease her fingers into his hair as he rolled her onto her back, sleepy kisses deepening with slow tenderness, never demanding, always asking, always answered with unspoken certainty. He drew back, leaning over her as she smoothed his hair, both of them sharing their satisfied smiles with one another.

"We should probably test the theory a few hundred times," she suggested, unconsciously arching into his touch as his hand wandered down over her side and hip once again. "Just to be sure."

"Whatever would the Grand Cleric say if she knew we were tempting the wrath of the Maker?" he teased, bumping his nose to hers.

"Who cares?" Filipa grinned back at him. "Besides, the Maker got married. I doubt Elthina's ever even seen a real dick, much less ridden one."

He snorted, rolling his eyes at her. It was an expression they had passed off on one another too many times to count by now, and seeing him do it in such an intimate setting was exhilarating comfort.

"I'd rather not think of myself as nothing more than an exotic mount, sweetheart," he objected laughingly.

"If you were, I'm pretty sure you would be a nuggalope," she said, and abruptly squealed as he pressed his fingers into her ticklish side, contorting underneath him in helpless fits of giggles. "What? It's a compliment!"

He wouldn't let up, tickling her mercilessly until she was a boneless, breathless sprawl, pinned underneath him and still not quite able to get her giggles under control. She did her best to pout, but from the look on his face, it wasn't working.

"What was that again, sweetheart?" he asked, the endearment tripping off his smiling lips as easily as honey dripping from a comb.

"A ... a griffon?" was her peace offering.

It seemed to do the trick. Carver relaxed, leaning down onto his forearms, braced beneath her shoulders, nose to nose once again.

"That's better," he agreed. "Noble steed. Not exotic monstrosity, thank you so very much."

"You are huge, you kn - no! I'm sorry, I'll stop!"

She grabbed for his hand as he went for her side again, both of them this time dissolving into laughter at their combined antics. Hugging Carver's hand to herself, Filipa rolled to set her back against his chest, wrapping his arm around her again.

"We don't have to get up for at least another hour," she pointed out as he settled in at her back, tucking her close against the long line of his body with a kiss to her nape. "Can we cuddle a while longer?"

She felt his lips curve against her shoulder, his arms gently tightening to make her request a reality.

"Anything you want, Pip," he promised, the low whisper sending a sweet, melting flow of warm relaxation through her body. "We've got all the time in the world."

She smiled, nestling back against him as her eyes closed once more, reveling in the sensation of being wrapped up safe and secure in strong arms that would never hurt her. Who would have thought that agreeing to a little lie just to escape Ostwick for the season would result in this glorious Satinalia morning? She certainly couldn't have predicted it, those latent feelings for her best friend buried so deep that it took pretending to be his girlfriend to bring them out into the light. And she didn't have to bury them ever again.

One little lie. One badly executed falsehood. All the wonder of the perfect Satinalia morning.

Tidings of comfort and ploy, indeed.