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

[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. ]