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“Can’t believe I did that,” Aveline grumbles.
Fenris pulls her arm tighter over his shoulders. The dusk has long passed into twilight, and the blood on his armor, on his face, in his hair has dried to rust-colored flakes. Very little of it is his. There were plenty of blood mages in the deep of those caves, the warren of passages providing them with a savage advantage. But his lyrium shielded him, as it always has, from the brunt of their attacks. As did the overeager templars leading the hunt. In each new engagement, the mages focused down on the templars rather than on him. A mistake they never learned from quickly enough.
The remnants of the company limp along ahead of him and Aveline as they pass under the Gallows arch. Aveline is limping, too, badly—an injury of her own making. Fenris saw it happen, how she tried to twist on a planted foot, buckled and cried out in frustration. She’s spent the return journey cursing herself with a rich variety of Fereldan oaths, some of which Fenris hasn’t heard even from Hawke. She’s heavy in her armor, but Fenris doesn’t mind carrying her. “We’ve arrived,” he tells her. “You’ll be back to fighting fit soon enough.”
A group of templars rush out to meet their injured brethren. Aveline slides her arm from around his neck, hops a little, and manages to stand steady. “Thank you. And go talk to Hawke.”
“I’m headed there as soon as I leave.” He steps back, lets the templars take over, and help her towards the tower. Neither offers him any assistance—not altogether surprising; he’s a rogue element, and closely associated with the city’s most well-known wild card.
With whom he’s late in meeting. So he strides back across the courtyard, heading for the manor.
——
“Fenris! Thank the Maker, I didn’t know what happened.”
Hawke’s pacing in the manor hall, but he goes straight to Fenris as soon he hears the door. Isabela and Varric are there too, lingering a few yards behind as Hawke grasps Fenris’s shoulders. “Are you all right? You’re covered in blood—“
“Theirs, not mine.” Fenris allows himself a smile. “I must confess I killed more than my share.”
There’s a fraction of silence in which their eyes meet, and Fenris recognizes something he didn’t expect—not fear or concern but instead a hard, raw hunger that seems to be taking even Hawke by surprise—
“Where’s Aveline?” Isabela slides around the threshold and into the atrium. “Is she all right?”
“She—yes. I…brought her to the Gallows for healing. Her leg—she injured her leg.” Fenris is finding it difficult to concentrate on the events of the day, not with Hawke staring at him like he’s some sort of dangerous new creature that invites either battle or submission, and Hawke hasn’t quite decided which yet—
“Good. You know how I worry.” Isabela leans against the wall, crossing her ankles.
Fenris strips his gauntlets off and forces himself to speak, half-expecting his words to crackle with the electricity sparking harsh and hot in the space between him and Hawke. “How about—the three of you? Did you discover anything?”
Another second of silence before Hawke realizes everyone’s expecting him to answer. “Er—no, not a thing. The place was near-deserted with everyone gone to the Vimmarks, and the distraction—“ Isabela flashes a grin behind him, and Varric a wink, “—drew Meredith out of her office for long enough so I could give it a thorough search. But there was no evidence of nefarious business.” He sighs. “Back to square one. Although I suppose we never left it, did we?”
Varric shakes his head. “There’s gotta be something going on. The stories I hear…things are bad. And it all leads back to her.”
Fenris isn’t quite listening. And neither, apparently, is Hawke. “I thought—I was afraid you’d been killed,” he says. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
Then he kisses Fenris in a manner more passionate than is probably appropriate for polite company. As Fenris returns the kiss, he decides Isabela and Varric don’t really count as polite company, so perhaps this is acceptable after all. Then he discovers that somehow he’s let Hawke’s thigh sneak in between his legs. When did that happen?
“My goodness,” Isabela remarks.
“I’ll say.” The sound of quick bootsteps as Varric strides past. “I think that’s our cue to leave.”
“Do we have to? Just one more minute.”
“Come on, Rivaini.” The door swings open, a gust of cool twilight air washing over Fenris’s back. Then it clicks shut, and they’re alone. Good.
Fenris grinds against Hawke’s thigh, the treated leather and the strong muscle beneath pressing firm against his crotch. He lets out a low, satisfied moan.
“Fuck, Fenris.” Hawke wraps both arms around his waist, pulls him close, kisses him again.
Fenris rolls his hips, the pressure transmuting into a warm flush of pleasure, picked up and amplified by the hunger he saw in Hawke’s eyes and his own desire to answer it. “Not that I’m complaining, but what put you in this mood?”
“I don’t know.” Hawke shifts his leg, lifting it higher against Fenris’s crotch, and is rewarded with a stifled gasp. “The relief of seeing you alive? Maybe the fact that you just killed Maker knows how many people—oh, I’m going to wander Oblivion forever for that one—“
“Then we’d better make this worth it.” Fenris grinds against him harder now, with little short thrusts of his hips, watches Hawke’s jaw tighten. Then Hawke’s grabbing his ass with one hand—grabbing it, fingers digging in, mauling at the flesh beneath the soft fabric of Fenris’s leggings. Fenris presses his forehead into Hawke’s shoulder. “Yes,” he breathes. “Yes.”
“Fenris.” Hawke kisses his cheek, his ear. “Can we take this upstairs?”
Fenris laughs. “Not yet. This actually feels rather good.” And it does, despite the layers of clothing still covering him, but the little humping motions are keeping the pleasure running at a bounding high, and he’s not inclined to give that up. “Are you feeling left out?”
“Am I feeling—“
Fenris grasps the front of his trousers and raises an eyebrow. “Apparently not.” Hawke is hard, his cock straining the leather. Fenris squeezes him firmly.
“Maker, you’re merciless. Please.” Hawke’s arm wraps tighter around Fenris’s waist, and he palms Fenris’s ass again, groping with no pretense of gentleness.
It’s rather convincing, but Fenris doesn’t yield, dragging his crotch down Hawke’s thigh and back up again, savoring the wave of pleasure. “Not yet.”
The answer earns a growl from Hawke, who leans down and starts kissing his neck—and now Fenris feels the hunger, Hawke’s lips locking around patches of skin, sucking hard enough to leave a bruise. Or several. It’s been too long since Hawke’s come at him like this, and the image, of the red and purple bruises dark on his neck as he wanders Kirkwall tomorrow, makes him buckle a little, his weight resting on Hawke’s thigh.
Hawke breaks away, murmurs in his ear, “I want to taste you.”
Fenris nods. “Let’s—“ His speech is clumsy. “Let’s go—upstairs—“
Hawke grabs his ass with both hands and lifts him up in the air. Fenris crosses his ankles behind Hawke’s back, kisses him. Makes a noise of surprise as Hawke’s fingers dig into his ass, mauling him again. It’s satisfying to be handled roughly like this, and Hawke doesn’t let up as he climbs the stairs and kicks the bedroom door open. Fenris lets his legs down until his feet touch the carpet, and they stand, bodies pressed close to each other, teeth dragging over lips—
But only for a second before Hawke’s diving into Fenris’s trousers.
“Hm—“ Fenris bucks, Hawke’s calloused fingers sliding over his vulva.
Hawke laughs. “You are dripping.”
Fenris grasps the front of Hawke’s trousers again. “And you’re hard as a rock.”
“How many fingers do you think I could slip inside you right now?”
Fenris’s toes curl into the carpet as Hawke parts his labia, the exquisite separation leaving him feeling exposed. “W-wait—“
Hawke stops immediately, holding Fenris’s face with one hand, easing the other out of his leggings. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
It was too much, for a moment. But it’s not anymore. Now it’s not enough. “No. Nothing’s wrong.” Fenris grabs Hawke’s wrist and drags it back down between his legs.
Hawke wastes no time. “All right, how about two fingers?”
Fenris grunts as he’s filled. Most of the time Hawke likes teasing him for a while first, but not today. The sudden penetration spreads him open, but he’s stunned to find how relaxed he is already, how easy it was for him to accept Hawke—he grins. Perhaps because he can’t remember the last time he was this aroused this early.
Hawke kisses his cheek. “Feels like you need a bit more.”
Fenris stiffens as three fingers slide into him. “Yes,” he mumbles, the word lost in Hawke’s chest. Now he’s spread open. He reaches down to find Hawke’s trousers, palms his cock through the leather.
Only to lose his hold when Hawke starts fucking him. He gasps, grips Hawke’s arms just to anchor himself to something. The fingers in him hook hard, thrusting with ferocious speed. Fenris stutters out a cry, standing on his toes, Hawke fucking him nearly hard enough to lift him off the ground.
Then he’s being pulled in, crushed to Hawke’s body. Another murmur in his ear. “Do you like this?”
“Y-yes,” he breathes, his toes dragging on the carpet as he slumps, giving himself to the relentless finger-fucking. Hawke’s hitting something in him, something deep, that’s stealing the strength from his limbs, building a pleasure in his cunt that threatens to break over him like a tidal wave and drag him under—
But he hasn’t even gotten Hawke undressed yet, and the desire, the need to have Hawke inside him is stronger even than the pleasure Hawke’s inflicting on his cunt right now. “Wait.” He gets his feet under him, stands on shaky legs. “I—I want—“ Starts pulling at the laces of Hawke’s trousers, half-dazed and fumbling.
The thrusting slows—and he tilts his hips in disappointment, fucks himself shallowly on Hawke’s fingers—but it helps him get the laces undone, finally, pulling apart the leather flaps, slipping his fingers inside. There, at last. Hawke’s erection is warm and full against his skin, and he strokes it as best he can with the trousers still on—
“Fenris. Fuck. Let’s get our clothes off, or we won’t get very far.”
Fenris grins. It’s not a bad point. He lets Hawke tug at the buckles of his breastplate until the scalloped metal crashes to the floor, and then it’s his turn to strip Hawke’s shirt off so he can kiss the broad chest underneath. The process takes longer than it should, delayed by more intermissions of kissing and groping, each of them too impatient to do things in the right order—but finally they’re naked, Fenris kicking aside his trousers, and Hawke picks him up by his ass again (rough callouses on his skin) and tosses him onto the bed. He laughs at Hawke’s eagerness, his legs falling open, and he remembers for one split-second those words in his ear—I want to taste you—before Hawke’s mouth is on him.
His eyes drift shut. Hawke’s mouth envelops him, tongue parting his slick labia with a long, indulgent lick. But there’s something missing, and he props himself up. “Wait. Come here.”
So Hawke climbs onto the bed, and Fenris kisses him, tasting himself in it. Then he plants his feet and rolls them both over, pinning Hawke to the covers. His fingers trail down Hawke’s chest and stomach, running through the fine, dark hair, then curling around his cock with a teasing squeeze.
Hawke pulls Fenris down and kisses him again. Then: “Sit on my face. Now.”
Fenris is inclined to oblige. So he turns, resting his knees on either side of Hawke’s head, and lowers himself. Another long, loving lick over his sensitive vulva, and he grins, bending to his task.
First he swirls his tongue around Hawke’s cockhead, takes it in his mouth, closes his lips around the ridge. Then he realizes that his original plan—to make it slow and luxuriant, to build Hawke up gradually until he can’t stand it anymore—just isn’t sufficient. Because he wants Hawke in him. Deep. And sooner rather than later.
He sinks down, feels the pressure at the entrance to his throat. Does it again, lets the head pop through—coughs, comes up, moans quietly around the shaft as Hawke sucks his clit. The desire is too much to endure, and he sinks down one more time. Hawke’s thick, but Fenris has had plenty enough practice, and he forces himself lower, lower, until finally his lips are closed around the base of Hawke’s cock.
The warmth leaves his cunt, fingers digging desperate into his thighs. “Fucking Maker—Fenris, your throat’s so fucking tight—“
Fenris gags once but stays right where he is, wanting this, wanting Hawke in him entirely, to hear the stream of strained cursing that lurches off into a broken gasp. To feel Hawke’s thighs tensed hard under his palms. But at last he can’t sustain it anymore and drags himself off, coughing.
Hawke groans. “Fuck.”
Fenris lets his head hang, gazing at his lover. “I’m sorry, was that too much?”
A crooked grin. “I will get you back for that.”
“We shall see.” Fenris throats him again.
This time Hawke manages not to lose himself to it, and he returns to his task, pulling Fenris down to his mouth, licking his slick labia, tongue digging at his entrance. Fenris jumps—sensitive—and considers asking Hawke to use his fingers as well. But no, he will make himself wait to be penetrated. So instead he bobs, taking Hawke to the root and drawing nearly all the way off each time, his lips forming a tight seal around the soft foreskin as he sheathes Hawke’s shaft in his throat.
Then there’s another gasp, and Fenris thinks he’s overdone it again. But instead Hawke smacks his ass. “Fenris, I need to be in you. Please.”
“Hmm.” He sucks Hawke’s cockhead one more time, his tongue making a languorous circle before he pops off. Then he extricates himself, shifting to one side. “Move.” Nods at the headboard.
So Hawke drags himself further up, until his feet aren’t hanging off the edge anymore, and lies there waiting. Fenris stays there for a moment, just looking at him—the thick arms, the powerful chest coated in dark hair, the broad hips and muscular thighs…and he realizes Hawke is doing the same, his eager gaze devouring Fenris’s lithe, lyrium-banded form.
Slowly Fenris straddles him.
Hawke is desperate, his breaths shallow like he’s afraid if he moves too much, he’ll lose his chance. Fenris rather likes that look. He strokes the hair on Hawke’s stomach. “So…you want to be inside me? Need to be inside me.”
A hesitant nod. “Yes.”
“What if I decide…” He reaches down, grasps Hawke firmly. “…just to do this instead?” Angles his hips, parts his labia with the underside of Hawke’s shaft, slides until the tip just catches his entrance…and comes off again.
Hawke’s fists ball in the covers. “Please, Fenris.”
“I don’t know, I rather enjoy this.” He’s grinding now, can feel how aroused he is, how his fluids coat Hawke’s foreskin.
“Maker’s fucking—“ Then his hips jerk upwards, but Fenris moves with the motion, rolls against it, riding Hawke’s shaft with his wet folds. Hawke groans in frustration, fucking against Fenris’s slick vulva while Fenris rubs a lazy thumb over his cockhead. “Please.”
“Hmm.” Fenris rises, catches Hawke’s tip but doesn’t let him penetrate just yet, just makes little thrusting motions, teasing Hawke with his entrance. “I don’t think so.” Strokes Hawke’s chest, drifts down to his stomach. “I rather like the look you get when you’re being denied.”
Hawke’s jaw tightens, his muscles tensing under Fenris’s fingertips. “You’re—so—“
“Cruel?” His lips curl into a sly smile.
Returned with a look of helpless adoration. “I was going to say beautiful.”
Fenris blinks. If Hawke’s trying to earn some indulgence, it’s working. So Fenris leans down and kisses him, deeply, slowly. Twines their hands together, Hawke’s rough callouses slipping through his own slim fingers. “Ask me again,” he murmurs.
Practically feels the trembling words, Hawke’s lips on his. “Please, Fenris. I love you.”
Fenris reaches down and takes Hawke into him.
“Nnh—“ Hawke squeezes his eyes shut, back arching. So Fenris kisses his neck, rocks gently—spread now, cunt flushing with warmth—trails more kisses down Hawke’s collarbone. A broad hand runs down his back, resting there, pulling him just a little closer.
This is nice, the tenderness, the intimacy. Every time just as amazing as the first, or even more so, as they continue to discover each other. But there’s a desire ravening through him that won’t be kept down, to have Hawke utterly at his mercy, to see the frantic need only he can fulfill.
Fenris decides to let the hunger run free.
He rises at last and impales himself fully. The effect is immediate and gratifying, Hawke stuttering out a cry, gathering up the covers as if searching for an anchor. Fenris is unforgiving as he rides Hawke, tightening the muscles of his cunt just to see him buck and squirm. Or try, anyway—Fenris has one hand on his stomach, pinning him down. The other is occupied with his own pleasure. His clit is swollen with arousal, and he rolls it eagerly, the pleasure almost too much, almost.
Hawke grasps his thighs, fingers illuminated by the faint lyrium glow, but doesn’t try to control him. Just as well. Fenris has no intention of showing leniency. He leans back, his lithe hips gyrating, and meets Hawke’s gaze, holding it. Thinks for a moment of what he must look like, his slender body, inscribed with arcane markings, undulating in the air above his helpless lover. Like some kind of succubus. He grins, runs his hand up Hawke’s chest. “Is this what you wanted?”
“Y—yes,” Hawke gasps. “Fuck me. Fuck me.”
So Fenris picks up his pace, plowing himself down on Hawke’s cock, finds he’s getting lost in it, with the friction building hot at his entrance and his clit surging with unchecked pleasure. He feels like he could keep this up forever, with Hawke under his absolute control, captive inside him.
Then Hawke’s grip tightens, fingers digging into his thighs. “Fuck, Fenris, wait, wait, you’re going to make me—“
So Fenris stops, sitting back on Hawke’s hips, still impaled to the hilt. Hawke takes his hand, gives it a weak tug, and Fenris reads the need on his face and leans down, kissing him.
They stay like that for a moment. Fenris lets Hawke slide out of him and relaxes, their bodies lying together. Hawke’s chest is warm, his cheeks flushed. He strokes Fenris’s hair, the back of his neck. “I love you.”
Fenris smiles, kissing the corner of Hawke’s mouth. “And I you.”
Suddenly Hawke sits up, slipping his arm beneath Fenris’s leg and around his back, elbow hooking under his knee. Then he stands them up, catching Fenris’s other leg on the way. Fenris discovers, with a twinge of self-reproach, that in the space of only a few seconds he has lost his position of control. He holds on for dear life as Hawke carries him to the wall and traps him there, his back hitting the smooth stone with a thump. He’s about to say something when Hawke’s mouth meets his.
Oh. Not like their previous kiss. More like a demand. A declaration of power. Without thinking Fenris submits to it, becomes abruptly aware of Hawke’s shaft sliding over his vulva as Hawke’s hips rock against him. He breaks away, nods fervently. “Y—yes—“ Reaches down to spread himself.
Hawke’s gaze grabs him and pins him there. Fenris is seized, helpless, as Hawke’s tip presses at his entrance, then—pops inside, thick, Fenris wanting to close his eyes but unable, not held prisoner as he is by Hawke’s level gaze. His breath catches as he’s penetrated, his inner walls spreading around Hawke’s slow, inexorable advance.
At last their hips meet, and Fenris’s eyes flutter closed as moans. His cunt tightens around Hawke for a brief moment, and he circles his clit, sliding the hood back to rub the tip, searching for that—he gasps, toes curling—that electric bolt of pleasure.
Then Hawke starts to fuck him.
Not like Fenris was doing it before, with long, uninhibited strokes meant to drive his partner over the edge. Hawke’s thrusts are short and shallow, but he’s hilted, and Fenris is impaled, trapped here, unable to do anything besides let Hawke take him in whatever way he wants to. Fenris’s clit is swollen under his fingers, responding each time Hawke bottoms out with another dull shock of unbearable arousal. “Deep—“ he pants, “you’re—so—“
That’s when Hawke’s rhythm picks up, spearing into him twice as fast now, the dull shocks running together into one roiling wave that won’t be stopped. He whimpers, rocking his hips as best he can pinned like this. His clit is throbbing, begging for release. “Hawke—please—“ He breaks off, gasping, as his legs shudder with the impending orgasm. “I’m—I’m going to—“
“Let me feel it.” Hawke kisses him, murmurs into his mouth. “Let me feel you come.”
Those words are all he needs.
The climax hits him like a lightning strike. He cries out, back arching, hips slamming forward to meet Hawke’s. His cunt clenches, squeezing ruthlessly, and Hawke snarls out an oath, tipped over the edge at last. Fenris moans, a spasm running through his legs as Hawke keeps fucking into him, despite how impossibly tight his cunt is right now. Still hitting deep—deep—and it fuels the climax, pleasure racking him even as the clenching of his cunt tilts off into powerful rhythmic contractions that milk Hawke’s shaft, throbbing with his own orgasm against Fenris’s inner walls.
His clit pulses under his fingers, and he rubs it feverishly, aware in some distant corner of his mind that this is too much but not listening, wanting only for the release to break him. Hawke growls out a grinding “fuck” and kisses his neck, sucking hard enough to leave marks that’ll linger for days. Fenris tilts his head, exposing himself to Hawke’s unrestrained lust. His legs jerk, still trapped, folded up over Hawke’s arms.
At last the contractions slow, pooling out into a buzz of sensation that sparks and flares as Hawke keeps thrusting into him. Then all at once he’s sensitive, far too sensitive, and he shakes his head. “Nn—please, Hawke, I can’t, I can’t—“
Hawke grunts, stops moving but stays inside Fenris, their hips joined. Fenris throws his arms around Hawke’s neck, forehead pressed to his chest. Shivers with post-orgasm aftershocks. Listens to Hawke’s ragged breathing.
Then his back lifts away from the wall. Hawke’s carrying him, lays him gently down on the bed. Fenris stares at the ceiling, his vision blurred, his cunt still pulsing with warmth, now and then contracting again, squeezing around nothing. Hawke crawls on top of him, kissing his chest, twining their legs together.
Fenris grins suddenly, and then laughter comes bubbling out of him, full and with the faintest tinge of delirium. Hawke starts to laugh too, face pressed into Fenris’s skin. The rush of euphoria sweeps over them both, and even as the laughter fades the smile stays on Fenris’s lips. He’s never felt this good in his life.
“That was amazing,” Hawke mumbles.
“Mm.” Fenris strokes his hair. It was amazing. “Hawke.”
“Hm?”
“I’m fairly sure there’s still blood in my hair.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Perhaps I should go wash it—“
“No.” Hawke hugs him tighter. “Stay.”
“As you wish.”
He lets his eyes close, drifting into sleep with Hawke’s solid weight resting close on his chest.