You want me to leave it there, afraid of a love affair

[aoes]

[ Hawke never does anything without a reason. Sometimes the reasons aren’t immediately obvious to an outside observer, but he always has them. Even if they’re sometimes too embarrassing to bear thinking about, let alone explaining.

For example, there’s a bloody good reason he’s climbing up the side of Fenris’ horrible, decrepit old mansion right now, with a bottle of wine tucked under on arm, a single red rose between his teeth, and a grim determination not to think about the fact that he’s pretty sure he just felt a piece of the masonry chip off under his foot. And that reason is love.

Well, mostly love, but also Isabela, who’d walked up behind him in the Hanged Man and smacked the back of his head just as he was taking the first sip of a well-earned pint that he spilled half of with the impact. He’d lowered his mug, asked to what he owed the pleasure, and Isabela had pointed an accusatory finger at him and said You let her think you invented orgasms, you shit, and proceeded to give him such a bollocking that he almost wanted to run home and ask his mother to tell him he was a good boy, really.

It was a hell of a way to find out that Fenris considered Isabela a confidant, but worth it to have a reason to explain why Fenris has been avoiding him the way wealthy women avoid Gamlen. And a glimmer of hope, to boot; he hadn’t horribly offended her or even just been a terrible lay. Which opens the way for him to try and make it up to her, because regardless of how incredible he’d thought the sex was he really, really, really likes her. More than enough to embarrass himself in the hopes of convincing her to make a go of it. Surely there’s no nobler reason than love?

Oh, and the fact that she seems to have pushed something (or several somethings) up agains the door that make it impossible for him to just open it, even after all his knocking. Here’s hopin she doesn’t throw anything at his head when he pops it up over the window ledge to say: ]

Fenris?

Comments

[spectraled]

[ fenris hadn't exactly meant to spend the better part of a week ignoring hawke.

it's just --

it had been a lot.

more than she'd expected, and when she'd woken up just before dawn her head was still spinning with all of it. so... a walk, then, and she hadn't meant for it to take hours, but. when she'd come back, he was gone, and while there was a part of her that softened at the idea that he was giving her space, there was another part mortified that they'd just drawn the whole awkward conversation timeline out. she'd meant to go find him in the privacy of his manor one evening and hash all of it out, really, but one night had turned into two and then two into three.

... and then it was a week, and now the idea of having A Talk has built itself up into something insurmountable.

and how is she supposed to tell him what she wants when she doesn't even know? isabela made the whole thing sound so easy -- did you have fun? would you like to do it again? tell him that. -- but! surely hawke deserves a proper explanation for why it would be so impossible for her to become... entangled with anyone --

-- or no, what if it was just a fling for him, and she goes and empties the full weight on her heart out to him, and --

in the end, fenris has decided to wall herself up in her crumbling mansion and indulge in her very favorite activity: drinking far too much wine and throwing the empty bottles at portraits of magisters on the wall. whatever ghosts or malevolent shades linger in this place have little interest in a conversation about Boundaries or The Future, and the wall of half-destroyed furniture shoved hastily in front of the door should keep out any well-meaning friends determined to give her Advice.

unfortunately, she doesn't take into account the idea that hawke is desperate (or foolish or stupid or in love) enough to try climbing the walls, so. when his head pops up above the window ledge, she's already winding up to chuck the most recently emptied bottle at the wall -- it's a very near thing that she swerves her aim just enough to avoid the initial Murder Reflex, and the bottle ends up smashing on the wall just above the window instead.

and then, as if there's some chance he's some kind of lovelorn illusion: ] ... Hawke?

[aoes]

[ Fuck?!?

He has know idea which stupid reflex it is that has him spit the rose out before he ducks back down under the ledge to avoid the shower of glass, clinging to the ledge by his fingertips. The tone of her voice doesn't sound like she threw that bottle on purpose, and though Fenris' specialty is more huge-sword-and-glowing-hands than projectiles, he's pretty sure if she meant it for him it would have hit -

so he inches his face back up again, cautious, and offers a smile. ]

Only if that wasn't meant for my face, in which case I'm definitely Anders.

[spectraled]

[ if she was confused before, it's nothing on the way she feels after hawke proceeds to spit a flower on the floor before ducking out of sight. is there some custom behind climbing one's walls only to spit flowers at them?

(and if so, is it a Friendship custom, or --) ]

... what are you doing.

[aoes]

Wooing you?

[ He says it tentatively, aware it's a very stupid thing to say. But listen, he only has so much faith in this building, and Fenris didn't actually throw a wine bottle at his face, so he hoists himself up onto the ledge and plucks the wine out from under his arm, holding it out to her. It's probably nothing on what you'd find in the cellar of a Tevinter Magister, but it's good, and it's from him, and he's still hoping that counts for something. ]

And apologizing. Isabela made me aware of some... oversights I might have made. I didn't mean to - I wasn't trying to mislead you.

[spectraled]

[ wooing --

fenris hates herself for the way that makes her feel; one simple (impossible) word and her heart is fluttering in her chest, treacherous warmth threatening to rise up into her cheeks. kaffas. she attempts to remind herself that it only means that a conversation is necessary, but --

perhaps not one done with him still perched on the windowsill.

at any rate! instead of taking the wine, fenris reaches out to seize his wrist so that she can pull him the rest of the way in. if he ends up falling and splattering on the courtyard below, they'll have to go see anders, and that'll really derail her evening. ]

... there's nothing you have done that requires an apology. [ and finally she takes the wine, if only because it's an excuse to let go of his arm and have something to look down at. ]

[aoes]

[ Well, it's a relief to have his boots on a solid floor, at any rate. She looks down at the wine, and that affords him a moment to look at her, and it's a good thing she's distracted and can't see the way his face goes all soft; his eyes warming, mouth curving in a smile so warm and natural he doesn't even feel it happening. She is beautiful, and she's here, and she hasn't thrown him out. He's doing well, so far! ]

Isabela said - I don't really know how to put this. That I let you think one of the things that happened was something only I can do. And I - don't get me wrong, I'd love to do it again, but I wanted to make sure you knew I wasn't trying to fool you. I didn't think.

[spectraled]

[ that --

she's still so hung up on the idea of him trying to woo her -- or maybe it was a joke? hawke does love jokes -- that she doesn't fully process what he means until well after the words have left his mouth.

so... it takes a moment. one blink, and then another, and then the realization hits her with all the weight of a physical blow. how does he know about that...?! it was something she'd said to isabela after (too many) drinks at the hanged man, and it was mortifying enough to have isabela laugh at her, but --

fenris isn't even aware of the dull glow that begins to shine from her markings. it's a kneejerk defensive response, much like a mabari raising its hackles or a hedgehog rolling into a ball to threaten its spines. but it does have the added (terrible) effect of illuminating the heat that's rushed up into her face, until she's dusky red all the way up to the tips of her ears. ]

Isabela -- [ it was a mistake to give her the bottle of wine, which doubles as an excellent projectile weapon. ] She doesn't -- I didn't --

[aoes]

[ Oh, no

Fenris isn't happy, so this is the worst possible time to have the thought, but she's very pretty when she flushes like that. He's not used to thinking of her as pretty. He's barely used to thinking of her as her! But she's always been something else to him, strong, stoic, beautiful in the way a marble statue or a finely-made knife is beautiful. not - pretty, flushed pink and delicate-looking.

Which isn't really the point here, is it? He picks up the rose, gives it a quick once-over to check there's no glass on it, and tentatively extends it to Fenris. ]

I'm not totally certain what I did wrong. Or even if I did do something wrong or if it's just that you thought better of it. But... I'd like to try and do this properly. To take you for dinner, maybe, or out to kill some slavers, whatever you'd like.

[spectraled]

[ if her markings gave her the ability to transport isabela into the room with them so that fenris might strangle her, the deed would be done already. as it is, it's obvious that she's thinking very loudly about murdering something (or someone) -- she doesn't know how to process the level of embarrassment that comes with the man who you thought might have invented the tingly-good brain-melting thing showing up to clarify that he, in fact, did not, and.

that's when hawke decides it's the perfect time to engage his plans of wooing her.

the shift from mortification to rage to confusion to unbidden delight to trying to trample said delight is... entirely too much for her. at least the markings go out like someone's snuffed a candle, even though it leaves her staring at the rose like she's never seen it before.

perhaps it's the sheer mental overload that prompts what she says next: ]

... it wasn't magic, then.

[aoes]

Noooo. No. That was just a good old-fashioned orgasm. Much as I'd like to be the person giving them to you in future, anybody can do it. Frankly I'm a little shocked Isabela didn't offer to demonstrate.

[ And as much as he's trying to strike the right balance between matter-of-fact and contrite, there's a flush creeping into his cheeks now, too. Because -

well, she thought it was magic! He should be proud. That's not something to be proud of. If anything it's tragic - Fenris herself said she was no maiden - but he made her come and she thought it was magic.

Maker but he wants to do it again. ]


I didn't - if I'd known, I would have tried to explain.

[spectraled]

[ she thought it was magic and she didn't kick him out immediately after the first one, which should say everything that needs to be said about how much he's clambered his way into her affections.

but.

fenris knows what she should say. hawke is a good man, from a good family, and she cares about him. what he wants (what she thinks he wants?) there is no way for her to give him, and something inside her insists that if she cares about him, she should cut him firmly loose. go back to being friends, and let him put all his attentions and his affections towards someone able to give him a future and a family.

... but she doesn't want to. and now that the moment has come where she should say every reason she's hashed out in her head, words fail her. because isabela had offered to demonstrate, that's the thing, but it had barely even registered. and the thought of hawke with someone else? saying their name like he'd said hers, looking up at them the way he'd looked at her --

it makes her burn, down to the very tips of her toes.

she reaches out and strokes the pad of her thumb gently along one of the petals of that rose, pointedly not meeting his eyes. ]

That -- ... I made you feel that too, then?

[aoes]

[ Oh, hells.

She's probably not even doing it on purpose, that's the thing. But she reaches out and gently brushes her thumb against a petal - and he might not be a great scholar but he's heard of imagery, alright - and pitches her voice soft and low like that, the brilliance of her eyes shaded by thick lashes, and he is undone. ]

Oh, yes. You did. And it was amazing.

[spectraled]

[ hearing it sends a flush through her -- a mix of heat and pride, and it spurs her to finally lift her eyes to meet his. hawke is looking at her much the same as he did that first night, and there's that undeniable pull that's always been there between them --

but now she knows where it leads if she gives in, and it makes it impossible to resist it. ]

I want to do it again. [ low, as if there's someone in the room who might overhear them. ]

[aoes]

Fenris.

[One step closer, and then - maybe against his better judgment - he reaches out, lets his hand settle on the dip of her waist. It's a sliver of what he wants, really, just a part of it - but it's a bloody good start. ]

I want that, too. I want us.

[spectraled]

[ she hasn't bothered with the armor when it's not as if she'd meant to go anywhere -- and that means there's only a thin tunic that stands between her bare skin and the heat of the hand he settles on her, the touch thrilling up her spine. it reminds her of the heat that had come when he'd realized his fingers could touch when he put both hands on her waist --

she isn't even aware of the way she licks her lips.

... but. us. ]

... I told you before that I cannot promise you anything. [ which doesn't sound very convincing, with all that smoke and heat just under the surface of her voice. ]

[aoes]

I want us.

[ Again, insistent. It's firm, despite the way the sound of her voice turns him to putty, the way the sight of her tongue darting out over the full swell of her lip makes him melt. ]

Whatever that means. Whether it's just the way we can make each other feel or coming up with excuses for why my wife won't attend any of the stuffy Hightown events, or anything inbetween. I want us.

[spectraled]

[ fenris is vaguely aware that her idea of this conversation was to end things. but he speaks of a future as if it's something easy, natural -- she has never wanted to belong to anyone, not ever again, but when he says my wife --

she would warn him that she is complicated, but he already knows. that she is hunted, but he already knows. that she is not whole, but a mess of broken pieces that not even she knows how to fit together again, but he knows.

and still. ]

I cannot have you without wanting you completely. [ and whether that is a warning or a confession, she doesn't know. she steps closer, nearly closing the space between them, and fists a hand in the fabric of his shirt. ] Everything. All of you.

Until you are mine, and I am yours.

[aoes]

[ She makes it sound dangerous. Like a warning, or a threat - like the very words should have him flinging himself right back out that window. It's the opposite, really; the thought of it, of belonging completely to Fenris and her to him?

She steps in close, bunches her hand in his shirt, and he settles his other hand on her waist and beams at her. ]

Sounds good.

[spectraled]

[ well.

perhaps it was more than a little ridiculous to have expected anything else. this is, after all, the man who thinks that being told a dragon has moved into a local mine is the perfect excuse to go and visit -- she's never seen hawke be daunted by anything, and why should this be the exception?

and that grin? boyishly delighted, ready for whatever the world flings at them? it's irresistable.

it's a mild point of aggravation that she has to lean up on her tiptoes and still yank him down to her to get into kissing range, but it's worth it for the heat of his mouth on hers. ]

[aoes]

[ Ah, that's more like it! Fenris hauls him down into a kiss and the sound he makes is a little surprised and a lot delighted, tapering into a pleased little hum as he kisses her back. How is it possible that he's missed this so much with only one night of kissing behind them? No matter; the point is that he has, and he lifts one hand to threat his fingers through her hair just for the joy of it. And when he finally has to break for breath - ]

You know, about halfway up that wall I started thinking this was a truly terrible idea. I'm glad I stuck it out.

[spectraled]

[ how nice to confirm that a week spent agonizing over whether or not she and hawke should kiss again isn't enough to make the end result any less enjoyable. and when they finally break away, she keeps him there -- close enough for their noses to brush, voices low and warm. ]

Is wooing always meant to involve the risk of breaking your neck? Varric leaves that part out.

[aoes]

[ Oh, that's nice. That closeness, and Fenris keeping him there most of all - warm, welcome, wanted. He smiles and presses a quick kiss to the tip of her nose. ]

Not always. It's more fun when it does, though. I haven't climbed through a bedroom window in years.

[spectraled]

[ the kiss to her nose gets a laugh out of her, low and warm, trusting enough that he'll stay put that she lets go of her hold on his shirtfront and reaches up to trail her fingertips along the line of his beard. ]

Should you be talking about all the other bedroom windows you've climbed through when you're trying to woo someone? [ tipping her chin up, but only enough to catch his lower lip with her teeth in a teasing scrape. ] Do you want to make me jealous?

[aoes]

Depressingly, it's a more common tactic than you'd think.

[ And he's an oaf for using it, even if he hadn't intended to. Still the warmth of Fenris' voice suggests there's very little risk she's in any way bothered. He's a lucky man, and counts himself luckier when that drag of her teeth makes him shiver. ]

I never want to make you jealous. I want to make you happy. I want to make you feel safe. I want to make you feel beautiful.

I want to make you come.

[spectraled]

[ oh.

well, she hadn't really been jealous, but if he's going to reassure her like that? perhaps fenris should suggest it as a possibility more often.

still, never let it be said that she's one to turn down an opportunity. ]

Now?

[aoes]

As often as possible. But especially now.

[ That was an invitation, wasn't it? It sounded like one. He'd better hope it was, because if not the fact that he puts his hand on her hips and lifts her up until their faces are level in order to kiss her again is probably not going to be as welcome as he might have hoped. ]

[spectraled]

[ fenris has never liked feeling small. but she's starting to find that the exception is hawke -- when he lifts her up easily to his level, it gets a laugh instead of a complaint, and she wraps her long legs around his waist to better anchor herself even as he brings his mouth to hers.

she's still holding the wine with one hand, but it leaves the other free to reach up so that she can sink her fingers into his thick head of hair. and there isn't a bit of shyness in the way she opens her mouth to that kiss -- fenris is greedy for him, as if a week has been a lifetime, as if she's starved for this well past the point she can be expected to bear it. ]

[aoes]

[ Oh, it's good. He loves this; the easy way they fit together despite their difference in size, the feel of it so natural it's as if they've been together for years. And the way she opens to him - greedy, wanting - it's incredible.

The fireplace worked out for them last time (until she left and he took it as a message, that is), so that's where he carries her, sitting on the furs before it so that she's in his lap and freeing up his hand to do the more important work of kneading at her backside. ]

[spectraled]

[ hawke settles them down in her nest of furs before the fireplace, and it is welcome. strange that they only spent one night together, and yet it hasn't felt right without him since -- the steady lull of his breathing against the nape of her neck, the weight of his arm thrown across her. and now? fenris has the luxury of imagining a future spent always that way; private little spaces for the two of them, nights spent warmed with him instead of chilled and lonely.

it isn't nearly as frightening as she might have imagined to give up this piece of independence. freedom is sweeter when she thinks of spending it with him; as a friend, as a lover, as -- ]

... your mother is never going to let you hear the end of this. [ a very inappropriate conversation to have with his hand on her ass, but she's heard leandra fret about hawke finding a Proper Wife, and the idea of him dragging fenris home instead --

she tries to duck her head to stifle the laugh, but it's a useless effort. ]

[aoes]

She'll survive.

[ He says it warmly, amused. It's probably going to be a damn sight easier for her to deal with than when he fancied Fenris and thought he was a man, in any case - Hawke is fairly sure that his mother is aware that his tastes are broad and she's never seemed to disapprove, but there has always been the expectation of grandchildren. Probably not a topic to broach with Fenris just yet, but when he gets right down to brass tacks "capable of bearing children" is going beat out "feral elf" in his mother's list of concerns.

And if it's an inappropriate conversation to have with his hand on Fenris' ass, it's certainly not fit for him pulling her tunic up over her head and burying his face in the juncture of her neck and shoulder, mouthing warmly at the skin there. ]

[spectraled]

[ there's a warm huff of laughter, both at the ease with which hawke dismisses maternal disapproval as a concern and with the way he pulls her tunic off and over her head. finally, she sets down her gifted wine -- but not her rose, which isn't enough to prevent her from wrapping her arms around his shoulders to hold him there, the fingers of her free hand trailing down his spine. ]

Confident. [ she turns her head so that she can nuzzle up against his temple for a moment, before her teeth find the shell of his ear to nip him there. ] Do you think you'll tame me into being a proper Hightown noblewoman?

[ even the champion's powers extend only so far. but if fenris knows one thing, she knows the idea of it would be enough to incense danarius -- and that almost makes the idea worth it. ]

[aoes]

[ Ah, the burr of her teeth against his ear just stokes the heat in him higher, and he pauses a moment to suckle at the elegant stretch of her neck, dragging his tongue over her skin when he's done. ]

I hope to make you a very improper Hightown noblewoman. Scandalizing people at dinners, winning duels. Sneaking away during balls to disgrace ourselves.

[spectraled]

[ ah. his mouth on her neck drags a low moan out of her, and fenris lets her head fall back to allow him better access. almost instinctively, she rocks her hips down against his lap -- and there's a thrill that goes through her to find him already hard against her, a wicked sort of satisfaction that she hardly needs to touch him for hawke to already want her this much. ]

How many orgasms do you plan on giving me before you convince me to attend a ball? [ is there a limit? do you eventually run out? considering how dour some of the marriages she's seen are, perhaps not everyone is capable. hmmm. ] Unless you're offering to wear the gown.

[aoes]

Oh, two daily, minimum. I'll even give it a go wearing the gown if you like, although I don't know how well it'll go with the chest hair.

[ And oh, there's something so wonderful about the way she rocks down against him - not the obvious, not simply the fact that it feels good enough to draw a little hum out of him, but the sly smile on her lips after she does, like she feels how much he wants her and she's proud of it.

He likes that. The thought that it's something she's proud of, than he's not just one of many who must have wanted her, over time. ]

Gowns do have a lot of positive points, you know. Ease of access, for starters.

[spectraled]

[ there is very little doubt in her mind that hawke would happily wear the gown. probably without even fenris needing to ask him to -- the promise of scandalizing his hightown neighbors would be more than enough, and the idea is a warm thread of amusement and fondness. he is so different from any other man she's ever known, from any other noble, from any other mage; perhaps that's why she has no defense against him, why he's able to reach so easily past the walls she's built and wrap a hand around her heart. ]

There's much to be said for ease of access.

[ with a little hmm, as if it's something she's deliberating. ] But also something to be said for not having it.

[ and she rocks her hips against his again with a low sigh at the feeling of him straining against the fabric of his pants, that sly smile becoming wicked. ] Some people enjoy frustration.

[aoes]

I think between the gender confusion, the dithering I did about making a move on you in the first place, and the weeks between last time and now, I've about had my fill of frustration.

[ But he says it warmly, jokingly - there's something almost wonderful about it, really. How badly they tried to trip themselves up, and the fact that they got here regardless. He celebrates by leaning her back and ducking his head so that he can press his mouth to one of her breasts, bringing her nipple to a peak with his tongue and barely lifting his face again to speak. ]

But one day in the very near future, I think I'd like you to come over and frustrate me until I'm begging for it.

[ And as if he means to show that he can earn such a prize, he drags his teeth over her nipple before he fixes his mouth there, looping little circles with his tongue as he sucks. ]