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“Thank you again, Fenris,” Aveline says beside him. "I’ll arrange your pay as soon as I’m back.”
Fenris glances over. Aveline looks worn out, but still better off than he is. Especially remarkable considering her armor must weigh close to fifty pounds. Fenris is beginning to suspect she is not entirely of this world. “Of course. If you need any more help, you have only to ask.”
They trudge through Hightown, the nobles staring at the two of them, sweaty and covered in dust. Aveline smiles at Fenris, dried blood cracking on her lip. “You know, I think I might prefer you to Hawke. You don’t run off in the name of ‘investigation’ and come back spouting apologies with a half-dozen raiders hard on your tail.”
Fenris seems to remember that happening once. Twice. Although he finds himself balking at becoming her primary target even after Hawke’s recovered from his injuries. “Are…all your assignments quite this…arduous?”
“Oh, come on, this was easy. You got whacked in the nose once, that’s a good day, considering where Hawke usually drags us.”
Fenris decides not to mention how his muscles are board-stiff from exhaustion, how he can feel the bruises blossoming under his armor. “Well, as I said. You have only to ask.” He licks his lip absently, tasting the blood. It was a good hit. His nose only stopped oozing when they reached the city again.
“Thank you. I mean it.” She waves, turning toward the keep. “All right, I’ve got to go write this up. Get some rest. Donnic and I will see you tomorrow.”
In the evening, for Diamondback. Fenris watches her go, the orange sunset light reflecting off her shield. He thinks if he sleeps straight through til then he might just be recovered enough to receive visitors.
He plods along, his feet leaden, his legs leaden, his entire body one stiff heavy hunk of lead that requires every scrap of will he has left to drag forward through the streets of Hightown. As always, his progress is attended by disdainful gazes, murmurs of long-suffering resignation. But today he hasn’t even the energy to glare.
At last he reaches the mansion, and presses his forehead against the wooden door, fumbling for his key. Now to wash himself, put some food in his stomach, and then fall into bed, to lie there and wait for the exhaustion to overcome the bone-deep aching, the frayed sensation of strain…
It doesn’t exactly sound like an enjoyable evening.
He sighs, staring at his feet, hand resting on the doorknob. It seems like after such a punishing undertaking, he should be rewarded in some way, and not just with money. So what can he do? Go to the Hanged Man? He does enjoy that, but there’s no way he can force his spent muscles to carry him all the way to Lowtown. Cook something? And let his tired mind wander away only to return to the kitchen ablaze, flames merrily licking at the ceiling, the cupboard, the curtains on the wall. Another poor idea. It must be something that doesn’t require any energy or effort whatsoever on his part. He rolls his eyes, knocking his forehead into the door. It appears tonight will not be—
Then he blinks. There is—one thing.
Fenris turns and heads back out into Hightown.
——
“Serah Fenris!”
Fenris gives the dwarf a curt nod. “Where is Hawke?”
“Er—“ Bodahn hesitates. “He’s not in at the moment—running errands, I believe. Perhaps you’d like to return—“
“I will wait.” Fenris stalks past him and into the main hall.
Bodahn trails, his timidity of the glowing, glowering elf having diminished not a whit since the day they first met. “Are you—injured? Your nose—“
“It’s nothing.” He scrubs at his face again. Had forgotten until the dwarf mentioned it.
“Ah. Well…perhaps you would like some…refreshments?”
“An excellent idea.” Fenris turns. “I will accompany you to the kitchen.”
In the five minutes it takes him to consume two meals’ worth of sustenance, Hawke has still not returned, but Fenris does feel marginally better. He thanks Bodahn and heads back out into the hall.
The dwarf’s hurried steps pursue him. “Er—please, make yourself comfortable in the sitting room, although I must say, it may be some time before—“
“It’s quite all right. I will wait upstairs.” He starts up the steps.
Bodahn lurches to a stop. “Upstairs?”
“Hawke won’t mind.” Probably. Fenris pushes open the bedroom door.
The room is immaculate, the bed made with exquisite care. Fenris looks down at himself. Still covered in dust. He feels as if he’s sullying this place with his very presence.
He shuts the door with his heel, leaving the room lit only by the soft sunset light filtering through the curtains. Fenris crawls onto the throw that covers the foot of the bed. The mattress is soft. Certainly softer than his own. Perhaps he should consider replacing the sorry remnant he sleeps on (half the springs are broken, creating a decided tilt that’s led to more than one morning finding him sprawled out on the floor). He flops down, gazing at the trail of dust specks he’s left on the rich black fabric. Oh well. Hawke can afford a replacement.
At last he indulges in the unrivaled luxury of closing his eyes.
——
“Fenris!”
Fenris stirs, squinting. “Mm?”
Hawke is grinning down at Fenris as if having discovered some extraordinary, precious treasure lying on his bed, rather than a drowsy, dust-covered elf. “I didn’t know you’d be coming by.”
Fenris groans and rolls over. “I had a taxing day.” The stiffness and the ache are even worse now. It feels as if someone stretched his muscles until all the elasticity was sapped away, but they’re still stretching.
Hawke’s face creases in concern. “You’re bleeding.” He reaches out.
“It’s—it’s nothing.” But he turns into Hawke’s calloused fingers brushing his cheek. The casual contact…it’s something he hasn’t known before, and he finds he strongly desires more of it.
Hawke calls out the open door. “Bodahn, draw up a bath, would you?”
Fenris smiles. That’s a good first step. Then Hawke leans down and kisses him on the cheek.
Fenris tries to squirm away. “I’ve been trekking up mountains all day, I’m covered in—“
“I don’t care.” Hawke kisses him again.
The affection, too—Hawke is the most affectionate person Fenris has ever met, and being the object of such love is…overwhelming, a little. But he thinks he’s getting used to it.
“Mountains, you said?” Another kiss. “Did you find any dragons? Don’t tell me I missed a dragon.”
“No. Just a few dozen bandits. Aveline knew they were camped on a mountain, but she wasn’t sure which one, and she didn’t want to wait. So we climbed both.” The sun beating down on them as they clambered up the rocky slopes, grasping roots or sturdy saplings for support. Making the first summit to find a startled herd of deer and nothing else, Aveline shrugging with an offhand on to the next. And Fenris nearly collapsing in protest right there and then. “I hope you’re not planning to kick me out tonight, because I couldn’t walk out of this bedroom right now if you asked me to, much less back to the mansion.”
“You’re saying Aveline dragged you up two mountains rather than waiting for information? Well, that—does sound like her, doesn’t it.”
“It was the least I could do.” After all, it was Aveline’s words that at last drove him to pull away the mess of confusion that lay between him and Hawke and acknowledge what was there at the core of it.
Which was…this.
“The bath is ready, Master Hawke!”
“Good!”
Fenris finds himself being scooped up and lifted off the bed as if he were no more than a child. He struggles uselessly against Hawke’s broad chest. “Hawke—you don’t have to carry me, I can walk on my own!”
“Nonsense! You just told me you couldn’t.” Hawke ferries him out of the bedroom and down the hall, not slowed one bit by the added weight.
Fenris settles. This is not a fight he’s going to win. Bodahn yelps in surprise and flattens himself against the banister as the two of them sweep by.
Hawke kicks the door closed, then kneels and sets Fenris down. “All right, let’s get these clothes off you.”
Steam rises from the bath. Fenris lets Hawke undress him, impatient to sink into the warm water, but also savoring this, Hawke’s deft hands undoing the buckles of his armor, peeling his shirt off, exposing his sweaty skin to the air. It’s nice to be able to relax completely, to allow himself to be made vulnerable by someone else’s hands. Something he’d never had the luxury of before. He didn’t expect it to be so…comforting.
“Maker’s breath. Those are some nasty bruises.”
Fenris looks down at himself. There are quite a few, over most of his body, the worst being the blue-black mass over his left ribs. But that was his own fault—he failed to secure his footing and paid for it with a brief tumble down the slope that was arrested at the end by a helpful jut of rock. Aveline scrambled down, in fear for his life, and was surprised to find him holding his ribs, laughing at his own blunder. “Yes, well, the task was not without its perils.”
Then Hawke’s wiping the blood from his lips with a wet cloth. “There. That’s better.” He kisses Fenris on the mouth, gently.
For a moment it all tilts away into an acid disbelief, the jolt of waking up from a pleasant dream and trying to remember, was it real? Did that actually happen? No, it doesn’t make sense, could never be true—
“Fenris? Are you all right?”
Fenris wants to embrace him. But he’s still covered in sweat and dust so instead he just nods. “Yes, I’m fine. I…I love you.”
Hawke grins that grin again. As if finding something precious. “I love you too.”
Fenris turns and steps into the bath.
It’s hot, but just enough, not so much that it drives him out. He sinks down, grasps the wooden edges, lets the water rise over him, covering his knees, lapping at his neck.
It’s rapture.
He makes a noise of contentment and hears a laugh in response. Hawke leans against the side of the tub. “Enjoying yourself, are you?”
Fenris nods, unable to do much more right now. It feels as if the heat is seeping between every fiber of his muscles and untwisting them from their tortured tautness. He sinks down to submerge his head for a moment, then comes up. When he blinks the water out of his eyes the first thing he sees is Hawke stripping his shirt off over his head.
The sight leaves him for a moment bereft of speech, but he at last finds his tongue just as Hawke’s tossing his underclothes away, his naked form entirely exposed. “Hawke, you can’t get in here, it’ll—“
Hawke submerges himself in the bath. The water gushes over the edges, flooding the tiles, soaking their clothes before running down the drain in the middle of the floor.
Fenris sighs. “—overflow.”
Hawke shrugs. “I know. Maker, this really is nice, isn’t it?”
Fenris nods at him. “How are you healing?”
The scars, the two white circles in his chest, are barely visible, especially under the dark hair—the mage was thorough with his healing. Hawke touches them, his fingers drawing little rings around them absently. “To be honest, I feel almost back to normal.” He continues in response to Fenris’s skeptical eyebrow. “Really! I mean, yes, I’ll give it a couple more days, but then I’m sure I’ll be fine. And anyway, if this vacation drags any longer, I’m going to go out of my mind.”
“Please don’t re-injure yourself in the cause of relieving your boredom.”
“I’m fine. Or will be very soon. I swear.” He slides around the edge of the tub and kisses Fenris briefly. “I’m glad you came by. Bodahn told me you’d been waiting nearly an hour—after climbing so many mountains, I’d’ve thought you’d just want to go home and fall into bed.”
Fenris smiles. “Well, that’s not so far from what I did here.”
Hawke laughs. “You have a point.” Then he sinks down a little further, rests his head on Fenris’s shoulder.
“It’s just—pain is…less difficult. With someone else at your side.” It wasn’t always like that—pain used to be an annoyance, but a tolerable one. Later it became harder to shrug off, and Fenris isn’t sure why. Although he has noticed that as he’s begun to figure out what life is like as a free man—discovering the things he enjoys, opening himself up to the companionship of others—his pain tolerance has begun to drop further. He can still sustain it and keep fighting, but he can’t simply ignore it any longer.
Hawke shifts, kisses his neck, settles back on his shoulder. “You know you can come here anytime. For no reason at all. I’m always happy to see you.”
It seems presumptuous, at first. But Fenris reminds himself that they’re together. So apparently it’s not presumptuous. It’s normal, even. “I’ve never…done this before.”
“Hm?”
Fenris clarifies. “Never been—with someone.”
“That’s all right. There’s not much to it.”
Somehow Fenris has a hard time believing that. “Is there anything I should know?”
When there’s no response, he looks down. Hawke is grinning at him. “That I love you with every smitten fiber of my being?”
Fenris laughs despite himself.
They stay a little while longer, until Fenris starts falling asleep, so then they get out (the air is cold, Fenris rubbing his arms as goosebumps shiver into existence all over his body), wrap themselves in towels, and carry their wet clothes back to Hawke’s room.
“Are you feeling better?”
Fenris tosses his pile of clothes on top of Hawke’s. “Yes, somewhat.”
“Lie down. On your stomach.” He nods at the bed.
Fenris folds his arms. “I hope you don’t have anything indecent in mind, because I certainly don’t have the energy to—“
“No! No.” Hawke puts up his hands. “Just—trust me.”
Trusting Hawke has saved his life more than once, but has put it in grave danger nearly as many times. Still, Fenris has to admit he’s curious. So he lies down, the deep red covers soft against his clean skin.
Then something very heavy sits on him.
Fenris grunts and tries to twist. It’s Hawke, of course. Also naked, and straddling his ass. He lies flat again, resting his head on his hands. “I told you, you’re going to have to satisfy your own desires tonight, because—“
“No! I’m not—oh, never mind. Just close your eyes, all right?”
So Fenris obeys, waiting for whatever incredible surprise it is he’s about to be the target of.
The first thing he feels is Hawke’s hands on him, pressing into his sore upper back. Harder and harder, until it starts to hurt—but this pain is new, directed by Hawke’s skilled fingers, and it delves deep, soaking straight through the muscle ache, saturating his flesh with this strange sensation—
Fenris moans, realizes only when Hawke bursts out laughing what it sounded like. He covers his mouth, cheeks flushing. “That was…not intended,” he mumbles.
Hawke’s still laughing. “You sounded as if you just had the best orgasm of your life.”
Fenris grits his teeth. “What are you doing to me?”
“Giving you a massage. Should help you feel better in the morning.”
So this is what massages are like? He’s never received one himself, although he witnessed them frequently enough in Minrathous. “Are they supposed to hurt?”
“Er—sort of. But they need to, a bit. Is it—bad?”
Fenris frowns in thought. “I’m not sure. Do it again.”
So Hawke obliges. Once more, the pain permeating through him—but it seems to sublime into something else, a feeling of release, a blurring of sensation such that his upper back is one tingling mass of…whatever this is. Expertly manipulated by Hawke’s powerful hands. The man climbs up the sides of buildings for fun—Fenris supposes he shouldn’t be surprised Hawke’s fingers are this strong.
Then Hawke’s weight shifts back as he sits up. “So?”
“Keep going,” Fenris murmurs.
Hawke goes slowly but remains ruthless, digging deep into Fenris’s muscles, pulling up the ache of fatigue at its roots. He rolls the balls of his thumbs with a motion that makes Fenris’s legs go rod-straight, toes pointed at the wall. It does hurt, definitely, but the aftereffects are both extremely confusing and (he thinks) pleasurable. He tries to prevent any more immodest noises slipping out of him and is only half-successful; his failures are marked by more giggling from Hawke. After a little while even the embarrassment leaves him, evicted by the inexorable progress of Hawke’s hands and the swirling mass of sensation they leave in their wake. Hawke goes from head to toe, working patiently Fenris's thighs and calves, finishing at last with the slow, relentless kneading of his feet, rolling the bones between his palms. Then Fenris no longer feels his touch.
For a few long seconds there’s silence in the room. Hawke breaks it with a tentative “Are you…still alive?”
Fenris just breathes for a moment, then figures he should answer that question. “Mm.”
“Oh, good.” More silence. “Are you…all right?”
“Not sure,” he mumbles.
“I see.” Hawke’s silent again, and Fenris can practically see him biting back the laughter. “Would you like to sleep? I’m knackered myself, so if you want to just get your head up here by the pillows—“
“Can’t move.” Not quite an accurate statement. He’s sure if a threat to his life or Hawke’s appeared, he could, in fact, rouse himself. But the desire to just stay here is so vast, so overwhelming, that if he were lying at the bottom of the ocean he suspects he’d have an easier time of compelling himself to move.
“Well, looks like it’s up to me.” Hawke leans forward and rearranges him so he’s lying lengthwise, carefully shunting his arms and legs back into place, and pulls the covers over both of them.
Enfolded by soft sheets and blankets, still tingling down to the tips of his toes from the massage, Fenris blinks at the ceiling. It’s hard for him to process this level of comfort. Then Hawke flips over, resting his head on Fenris’s chest, wrapping an arm around his middle. Yet another comfort, on top of everything. How is this possible?
“You said I could come here…any time?” he ventures.
“Hm? Oh, yes.” Hawke kisses Fenris’s chest. When there’s no reply, he props himself up on one elbow. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” he says. “Just the opposite. I told you, I’ve never done this before. I’m trying to figure out—how it works.”
Hawke thinks for a minute. “Well, I’m fairly sure you just do what feels most natural.”
“This doesn’t feel natural, Hawke.” Fenris hesitates, then sighs. “No, that’s not—I mean, I’m unused to it.”
“Hm, I see.” Hawke nods sagely. “Then I recommend you get yourself used to it by staying over as often as possible.”
Fenris smiles. “A sound strategy.”
Hawke grins and kisses him, then settles down again. Fenris strokes his hair. The tingling has dulled out to a sense like he’s bobbing gently on the surface of a becalmed ocean. He feels rather cast adrift, but it’s quite pleasant overall.
No shuffling through an empty house. No waiting alone, on his lopsided bed, for the exhaustion to smother the pain. And, if Hawke is to be believed, it never has to be like that again. This can happen over and over, as many times as they want it to. Is that normal? Does everyone do this?
He reflects for a moment on how much he’s missed, having had most of his life to this point stolen away by Danarius, in one way or another. But he decides that this—being with Hawke, being with Hawke—might just be starting to make up for it.