Fenris is fifteen years old when he breaks four toes and gets a stress fracture in his lower left leg.
His mother is sad. "I should have wrapped up her ankles a little better, taped something… I should have—I should have—oh, my darling Leto."
His step-father is angry. "Damned girl, can't you do anything right?"
Fenris is glad he won't be able to do ballet for, at least, the next six-to-eight weeks.
When he gets better, he goes through the pain again. This time, he breaks his ankle and his big toe on his right foot.
His mother is sad again, and his step-father is angry again.
Fenris wants out.
He pushes himself. He sprints through the halls when his parents are out of the house—namely en pointe. He does vigorous exercises when he's in his room. At school, he feigns health, and he participates in all the normal activities. It hurts, oh, God, does it hurt, but he doesn't want to do ballet anymore. He's been through hell and back for eleven years, and he will not let this continue.
Sure, it's pathetic, but when he brings up quitting to his mother, she tells him to ask his father, and when Fenris says Danarius is not his father, Danarius overhears, and he tells Fenris to shut up and be a good little daughter.
It hurts. His parents don't know. They might suspect. Fenris thinks Danarius definitely does, and that's why he likes to pull the "daughter" and "girl" card often. Fenris sits there with a smile.
One day, one day.
Fenris sees a podiatrist when he is sixteen. During this period of his life, he has cut his hair. It is short, in his eyes, and his mother had screamed at the sight of it. As it turns out, the screaming was the good sort of scream, and she fawned over his hair for hours. Danarius had stood in the room with them, a scowl on his face and arms crossed over his chest. Fenris paid him no mind.
When Fenris is at the podiatrist, he feels unsafe. The podiatrist is poking at his feet, his ankles. They hurt. Fenris doesn't flinch.
"Permanent damage," the podiatrist says. "This says here you've broken your toes and an ankle and had a number of stress fractures. Are you sure you stayed off your feet as much as possible when you were healing?"
"Yes, of course," Fenris says, and he says it in such a way that causes the doctor to raise an eyebrow out of genuine confusion.
"That's strange." The podiatrist goes over Fenris' file again, sucking on the end of their pen. "How are your menstrual cycles?"
Fenris crosses his arms over his chest, turns his gaze to the floor. "Irregular, nonexistent."
A hum, another suck on the pen. "Do you or have you had an eating disorder?"
Fenris blinks. "No," he says quietly, but the podiatrist stares at him in disbelief. They raise their eyebrow again and return to Fenris' file.
"Amenorrhea, possible eating disorder. Yes, that must be why."
Fenris gets the good news not much later after that. His mother sits on his bed and allows him to lay with his head in her lap as he cries. She's running her fingers through his hair and coos softly. "It's okay, Leto. You can… Ballet isn't everything."
Fenris is so happy. He can't stop crying.
The next day, Fenris' sister is on the phone. She has heard the terrible news. "Mother said you were pretty torn up about it." She doesn't sound worried. She thinks of Fenris as a burden, he's sure. Maybe she's jealous. Fenris had gotten to stay with their mother, after all.
"It's such a tragedy," Fenris drawls.
"It'll be okay, Leto," she says. "You can focus on other things now."
"Goodbye, Varania."
Fenris moves away the first chance he can. It is raining, and Fenris wouldn't be able to tell his mother had been crying if it weren't for the red streaks across her cheekbones. "Leto, please," she pleads, hands together, following him to his car.
Fenris pushes her back. "No."
She grabs for him again. "Leto, I—"
"My name is Fenris!" he says, and she doesn't try to grab him again. Danarius does this time. He has hold of Fenris' hair, pulling at it.
"You are coming back inside this instant, young lady, and you are going to apologize to your mother," Danarius is saying, but Fenris is twisting in his arms, trying to find a way out. "Your name is Leto. You are our daughter, and you are coming back inside right now."
Fenris bites Danarius' arm. He finds purchase, bares his teeth, and doesn't let go. Fenris can taste blood. His mother pries him off Danarius, who begins to shout at the top of his lungs. There is only red. "My name is Fenris, you fucking codger, and I am leaving. You will not touch me again," Fenris growls. His mother cries, hands to her face, unable to watch, to listen. "I was never your daughter, and I will never be your son." Fenris spits in Danarius' face. Danarius swings, fingers coiled in a tight fist.
Fenris drives from home with, what he thinks, is a broken nose. He has an old towel held to his nose. It won't stop bleeding. Fenris hopes he doesn't get pulled over for speeding or doesn't end up lying in a ditch somewhere due to hydroplaning.
Fenris' nose isn't broken. He finds a small home for rent. While he lies in bed, he tries not to think about being on his own. It's a refreshing thought, when he does allow himself to think about it.
It's quiet and lonely, but he'll get used to that.
He feels safe, though. Danarius can't touch him anymore.
Fenris goes to school. It's boring, but he gets it paid in full. He likes living on his own.
His feet feel as if he is stepping on broken glass. It hurts more when it rains. It rains often.
Fenris hates podiatrists, so he doesn't go see one. When he falls and thinks he's broken an ankle, he yells and pulls at his hair for an hour. The neighbors are meddling, peeking into his windows at this point. Only then does Fenris decide to go to the hospital. He drives himself. He'll be damned if he calls for an ambulance with the sorry explanation of "I've fallen, and I can't get up!"
It's late when he shows up at the hospital. Fenris is seen by a young man in blue scrubs, strawberry-blond hair pulled back with a pink hair tie. He's fiddling with a stethoscope around his neck. "Okay, Leto, my name is Anders, and I—may I call you 'Leto'? I should have asked."
"No." Fenris sniffs. "You may call me Fenris. That is my name."
Anders stares at him, looks down at the clipboard in his hands. "I understand. Fenris, hello, my name is Anders."
Anders mulls over Fenris' foot. It isn't broken. "Sprained," Anders says. "Your feet appear to be rather…" He drifts off, brow furrowed. "Tough?"
Fenris curls his toes. The joints pop.
Anders clears his throat. "Painkillers, yes? I'll prescribe you some."
"You will prescribe me testosterone, too."
Anders pauses. He keeps his eyes on the clipboard in front of him, groping for a pen. "Your injury doesn't require that."
"I know. I would like to start testosterone."
"I, I don't think—"
"You will prescribe me testosterone. You will show me how to administer it myself. And you will make it so I will be able to get testosterone whenever I need it." Fenris' voice is firm, yet quiet. He's nervous as hell, but he's steady.
Anders clicks the pen three times. "You are a trans man."
"Yes." Fenris nods. His shoulders feel lighter.
Anders clicks his pen again—four times. "I am transgender, too."
When Anders moves in with Fenris, it's awkward. Fenris is sore from his mastectomy, and Anders doesn't know the definition of quiet time.
However, Anders is a doctor, and Fenris likes having one of those around.
Fenris gets his nipples pierced at the first possible opportunity.
Baby steps.
One of Anders' pet peeves is seeing Fenris smoke in the house. Fenris does it every chance he gets.
Anders sits with Fenris in a tattoo parlor. It's a beautiful sunny evening—the perfect temperature to walk across a stage and begin the never-ending search for a stable job. Fenris has just returned. His cap and gown are stored in his car, his degree among them.
"Social work," Fenris tells the tattoo artist when asked.
Despite agreeing to sit with Fenris, Anders doesn't look happy. He's fidgeting, looking around. Clearly he isn't comfortable with watching Fenris' skin getting poked over and over with small needles. Fenris stares at Anders with a smug expression, only breaking the contact when the tattoo artist asks him to turn this way and that way and raise your head and don't move please.
It's a long session. It's a productive one, though. Fenris' back, arms, neck, chin, and chest are all tattooed. He schedules an appointment to get the rest of his body done at a later date.
"Are you going to get your ass tattooed?" Anders asks.
"Why? Do you want to watch when they do?" Fenris smirks.
Fenris walks out of the tattoo parlor without a shirt on. He feels hot, attractive. He teases Anders as they're walking back to the car. "Don't ogle me, Anders."
Anders sighs.
Fenris gets a desk job. It's at a clinic, and he's seen too many people cry than he would like on his first day, but he loves it.
When he isn't working, he's at home, smoking cigarettes and getting on Anders' nerves. Anders hints at moving, but Fenris tunes that out.
Anders has a boy over when Fenris notices someone had collapsed on the sidewalk, in front of their house. Fenris does the best he can, but that only makes the bathroom turn into a cotton-ball snowstorm. He ends up getting Anders. Anders isn't happy, and he breaks out into a loud laughing fit whenever he sees the stranger, a teenage boy, on the floor, crawling toward the toilet, vomiting. Fenris walks out of the room, grabbing Anders and shoving him against the wall. "Fucking help him," Fenris hisses. "You're a doctor. Get that man out of your bed, too. Our new friend needs a place to sleep."
"Why can't he stay in your room?" Anders asks. "Your bed is softer."
Fenris sticks a cigarette in his mouth. "His name is Cole."
Anders rolls his eyes.
Anders isn't there when Fenris goes for his second session at the tattoo parlor. Fenris would have liked to bring Cole along, but it's during the day, and Cole is still in high school.
Fenris misses Anders. He had said he would only admit it once, but he's admitted it again now. He texts Anders when the session ceases.
Got my ass tattooed today. Miss you xox
Send a pic, sweetheart. x
Fenris waits until the summer before he goes to his final tattoo appointment. Cole is with him this time. Fenris is getting the front of his legs and his feet tattooed, and Cole is watching intently with wide eyes and his fingers curled into fists. He looks ready to pass out.
Fenris only limps a little when walking, although, he has never had a perfect walking gait to begin with. Cole is beside him, talking quietly. "Stabbing, stinging, sharp. I'm glad you let me come with you, Fenris."
It's quiet and lonely again. It'll take some time, but Fenris will get used to it.
A new chapter of Fenris' life starts as he is trampled by a man who had been jogging past his house. Fenris is knocked back, onto his behind, and is left dazed. It is chilly, Fenris is wrapped up in a hooded sweatshirt, but the man above Fenris is in a sleeveless shirt, the collar and underarms already damp with a ring of perspiration. "Whoa," the man says, trying to be surprised, but it is clear from his tone that he is not surprised in the slightest. "Are you all right?"
If Fenris had known the man any better, it would seem Fenris had been purposely run into. The man is smiling, and it's so big, it isn't even partly concealed by the thick beard on his face. He could be friendly, though, and that's why he's smiling, but Fenris is not pleased either way. "Am I all right?" He repeats the question as if it is obnoxious. To him, at the moment, it is.
The man begins to jog in place. He's wearing rather thin gray pants. Fenris glares. The man laughs. It's booming, reeks of confidence. "Are you deaf, or did I give you a concession? I asked if you were all right."
Fenris hates him. "Yes, I am all right. Watch where you're going next time."
The man is moving away from Fenris now, small steps at a time. "Oh, so there's going to be a next time?"
Fenris shakes his head, waves his hands around. "No, that's not what I—"
Another loud laugh. "You might need to get your head checked out. I like your sweatshirt, by the way. I went to that school, too." And then, he's disappearing down the sidewalk.
Fenris stands there, mouth opening and closing, very fish-like. "Well, I like your beard," he says as a rebuttal, but the man is too far away, and Fenris hopes he hadn't heard. But he does, of course he does, and Fenris has that laugh stuck in his head for far longer than necessary. He stalks the rest of the way to the mailbox and goes back inside.
There is a next time. It happens the following week. It's gotten colder, but the man is still in an undershirt and those thin gray pants. Fenris doesn't get ran into, and to that, he is grateful. "Aren't you cold?" Fenris asks, from his position on the front porch, head turning as the man jogs past.
"Nope!" the man says. He gives Fenris a wave. "See you later!"
Fenris grumbles and grabs the mail.
Later becomes tomorrow. Fenris is stepping off the last step of the porch when the man rushes past. He has on a black t-shirt and thin blue pants today, and has obviously been waiting for Fenris before running past. "Thanks!" Fenris calls, raising a hand to show the man his middle finger.
The man laughs. Fenris can never tire of that laugh. He lowers his hand, picks at his thumb. "What's your name?" Fenris asks, and the man whistles like a bird, and Fenris doesn't know what that means.
It's two weeks before Fenris sees the man again. It's snowing. The man is wrapped up all cozy in a pair of sweats. He isn't jogging. He's walking, earphones in place and hands in the kangaroo pocket of his sweatshirt. Fenris is closing the front door behind him when the man passes his house. "Hello," Fenris says.
The man pulls out an earphone. He stops walking. "Hi."
They stand there. Fenris can hear the man's music from up on his porch. "Mind if I walk with you? I was just going to get a coffee."
"Where is that? Just down the street here?" The man points, then scratches the top of his head. His hair is dark, and it's incredibly shaggy up top, where his fingers are. It's thinner at the back, on the sides, but not by much. He had shaved it previously, but he's let it grow out. He's overdue for a haircut.
"Yes." Fenris steps off his porch.
It doesn't take long to consider. They walk side by side, feet crunching on snow. Fenris doesn't like this, even if he was the one to suggest it. It's strange, being this close to someone after being alone for so long. He's been meaning to text Anders back. Anders wants to visit. Fenris forgets the littlest things when he's sitting by himself.
They're at the end of street, in front of the café, standing there. The man's beard looks well-kept, freshly trimmed. Fenris can see the piercings in the man's ears are stretched to small holes. He wonders if they smell when the plugs aren't in place.
"See you later," the man says, and Fenris returns it. He goes inside the shop, and the man pops back in the earphone and continues his walk.
Later comes much later. It's been a month, and the setting has changed. Fenris is shopping, a cherry icee in one hand and riffling through pairs of leggings with the other. He's quick, not desiring to get caught snooping in the women's section. He has to constantly remind himself he is welcome here, clothes aren't gendered, but after years of hiding behind his mother's skirt and demanding to leave with pink cheeks and wet eyes, his stomach continues doing flips and making him sick.
Still, this is the only place he can buy good leggings. He supposes the dancer can leave ballet, but the ballet can't leave the dancer… or something. Fenris slurps at his drink and tilts his head at a black pair.
There's movement to his left. A man, presumably a worker, judging by the red lanyard around his neck, walks past Fenris with stacks of clothing in his arms. He dumps the clothing onto a table, which proceeds to spill and fall onto the floor. Fenris and the man stand there, staring at the flood of yellows and pastel blues. Then, an angry sniff, a sigh. The man turns to look at Fenris, giving him a weak smile. "Do you need help with anything? I'm quite busy at the moment." With that, the man sits on the floor and presses his palms together in a form of prayer. Fenris can only assume the man is not going to break out into a hymn of hallelujah any time soon.
Fenris slurps again, going back to his shopping. It's unnerving how he doesn't feel disturbed by the man within his vicinity, as he was feeling rather sick moments prior. He doesn't think he recalls the man from anywhere. The man looks more on the "boy" side than "man", with his freshly-shaven face and childish behavior toward the clothing he had dropped. Fenris watches from the corner of his eye, amused, smiling. The man is whispering under his breath, mostly swear words. Fenris laughs, he can't help it, and the man raises his head to cast Fenris a narrow-eyed stare. "Sir, please refrain from laughing until I am free to help you."
And that's when it clicks. Fenris remembers the man on the floor. It must have been the voice, the sarcasm, but it's also the face. When he looks at Fenris, it's full of warmth, of ease, and that makes something go down Fenris' spine. He shivers, pulling the collar of his jacket closer around his neck. "My apologies. I think it's rather interesting to know this is where you go when you aren't in front of my house."
And that's when it clicks for the man, as well. He blinks, a slight furrow to his brow, and then his face relaxes, and the brightest smile greets Fenris. "Oh," he says. "Yeah, I work here." He goes back to praying to the clothing on the floor. Fenris goes back to his leggings. He throws three pairs over an arm, continuing to slurp on his icee. It's almost empty. He should throw it out, but every time he makes that slurping noise, the man smiles, and Fenris thinks that smile is the eighth wonder of the world.
Fenris returns the next day. He finds the man on the floor again, seemingly still sitting by a pile of clothes that look suspiciously like the ones he had dropped yesterday. His hands are together again, pressed to his lips. He is glaring. Fenris laughs when he walks past. "Busy day?"
The man hums. "Yes, quite. I'll help you when I am finished with this."
Fenris needs to buy something. He grabs another pair of leggings, because that's why he is here. He's most definitely not interested in the unwavering man on the floor. The man is the least interesting person in the whole store, and that's why Fenris is walking toward him, standing by him. "Need any help?" Fenris asks, but he doesn't know why he does. He hates folding clothes. That was always Anders' job.
The man shakes his head. "No. Don't help me. That would mean I would be done with this job, and to be honest, I really don't want to do anything else today."
"You did this yesterday."
"Yes."
Fenris wishes he had a drink to slurp. He wants the man to smile, which is… well, bizarre, to say the least. He shakes his head and leaves.
Fenris comes back the day after that. The man appears to have moved, but he is still in the same area. Instead of on the floor, the man is leaning against a wall by three mannequins. Fenris' first impression was that he wants to be hidden from view, but the man is in direct line of sight of the registers. As Fenris is walking by, he catches the name "Garrett" on the man's nametag, but the man has an expression on his face that reads as "Please don't call me 'Garrett'". So, Fenris doesn't. He calls him Not-Garrett in his head. It makes him laugh. Not-Garrett looks at him as he laughs, and he begins to smile. Today, he has stubble across his face, and Fenris does think he looks like a "Garrett", rather than the "Billy" or "Timmy" he had looked like a few days back. However, Fenris is going to respect the unspoken bond and continue to refer to him as Not-Garrett until proven otherwise.
Because Fenris can't exactly buy leggings three days in a row, he snatches a wool cap from a table and heads to check out. The cashier is a woman with "Marian" on her nametag. Her face is kind, her eyes are blue, and she has a small scar across the bridge of her nose. She looks like she doesn't mind being called "Marian". "Did you have trouble finding anything?" Marian asks.
Fenris shakes his head. He points behind him with a thumb, toward Not-Garrett, still casually hanging out with the mannequins. "Does he actually work here? He's wearing a nametag, but he doesn't seem to be working."
Marian raises her head, peering over Fenris' shoulder. She isn't surprised. She goes back to ringing Fenris up. "He's trying to get fired," she says. "He thinks if he does nothing all day, then we'll have to fire him, but I'm not going to fire him. None of the other managers will either. We have this pact. It's funny. Your receipt is in the bag."
Anders comes down to visit for the weekend. He seems to enjoy his new job. "I can tell they don't like me a lot—my co-workers. There is this girl—Ellana—she's really nice. She works in oncology." Fenris has his feet propped up on the coffee table. Anders is beside him, eyes focused on the television. "The rest are a bit awkward around me, like they're afraid if they make me angry or upset, I'm going to snap." Anders' shoulders slump. "I'm not going to snap."
"Have you started medicating?" Fenris asks.
Anders shakes his head. "I'm scared. I don't know why. I know it'll make me feel better."
Fenris picks at his toenails. "How do you know if you like someone?"
They're in dangerous territory now. Anders' face is a little blue, because he's holding in a laugh. "Do you have a crush on someone, Fenris?"
"That's the problem," Fenris says. "I don't know."
Anders has to stand from the couch. He wanders into the kitchen. Fenris lights up a cigarette. "When you see this person," Anders starts, looking inside the refrigerator, "what do you feel… inside?"
They're not good at this talking thing. They've always poked fun at each other. This is different, this is new. Fenris has to stop touching his feet. "When I look at him, I want to punch him in the face."
Anders falls to his knees, laughing loud enough to provoke a noise complaint.
Anders gives Fenris his testosterone that evening. "I have missed stabbing you," he remarks dreamily.
Fenris rolls his eyes. "You mean ogling me." He grips the sink, knuckles white against the counter.
Anders pauses, gasping. "You actually got your ass tattooed."
Fenris rolls his eyes again.
Fenris doesn't see Not-Garrett for some time. It's in the dead of winter, so jogging and any other physical activity are out of the question. Fenris doesn't particularly like the idea of going shopping every day for some off-chance he might see Not-Garrett, so that is out of the question, too.
Naturally, Fenris tries to forget about him. He's a stranger, after all, and Fenris is foolish to have given him the time of day.
But, naturally, once Fenris vows to never think of Not-Garrett again, Not-Garrett appears on his porch steps. It's dusk, and Fenris is heading to the café down the street when he sees him sitting. Fenris doesn't think it's an odd sight, even though he should. Not-Garrett looks like he belongs here. He does seem to live close by, as Fenris' house is a reoccurring feature in his runs. Fenris wonders where he lives, then promptly stops thinking about it. He shuts the door behind him, and Not-Garrett turns his head at the sound. His hair is sticking up in the back, like he hasn't washed it in a while, like he has just stuck his fingers in it and given his scalp a healthy scratch. His beard has grown back, and Fenris decides he looks much better with a face full of facial hair. Fenris isn't a judge on that, though. No, he needs to stop thinking and go back inside. Instead, he's taking the steps one at a time, sticking his hands into the pockets of his coat. "Hello."
Not-Garrett stares at him. He blows smoke from his nostrils. It dawns on Fenris he is holding a cigarette between forefinger and thumb. "Oh, you live here? I had absolutely no idea."
It's easy to smile, to laugh when Fenris is around him. The laugh that leaves Fenris is breathy, almost like a refreshing sigh. "You used to run by my house. You bulldozed me a few times, too."
Not-Garrett pauses, flicking ashes from his cigarette. "That was you?" He's smirking when he returns to facing front. He knows.
Fenris sits down, next to him. It's cold, has recently snowed. The steps haven't been brushed off, but the step they are sitting on is completely cleared. Their feet are in snow, and Fenris loves it. He wants to take off his shoes and slip on the snow like a pair of socks, but that wouldn't give Not-Garrett a good impression of him… not like Fenris would care. He drops his head in his hands, elbows on his knees, and stays like that for a bit. Not-Garrett stays beside him, breathing. Then, he nudges Fenris, bumping their shoulders together. "Wanna get coffee?"
The smell of cigarette smoke is closer now. Fenris drops his hands. Not-Garrett is holding out the cigarette, toward Fenris. Fenris takes it, takes a drag. "I was actually heading out to get some coffee," he says.
Not-Garrett laughs, short, sweet. "Great minds think alike."
"I don't even know you," Fenris says. He hands the cigarette back.
Not-Garrett takes it in one hand and holds out the other for a handshake. "Hello, my name is Garrett, but I don't like it when people call me that."
Fenris hesitantly takes the hand offered to him. "What do they call you, then?"
"Garrett." Garrett sticks the cigarette in his mouth for a quick puff. "But I prefer 'Hawke'." He blows smoke from his nostrils again. He looks like a wild animal. Fenris understands why he had whistled like a bird at him now.
"My name is Fenris," Fenris says.
Hawke thinks for a moment. "That means 'little wolf', doesn't it?"
Fenris feels like jelly. "Yes."
They're still holding hands. Hawke breaks it, doesn't act like anything had happened. He stands, stuffing the cigarette in his mouth and brushing snow off his person. Fenris does the same. His feet are hurting now. It was ignorant of him to go outside in this weather. He's used to the pain. He can stand this for an hour, maybe two. "Coffee?" Hawke says, passing the cigarette over to Fenris again.
There're traces of saliva around the filter. Fenris doesn't care. He inhales. "Coffee."
Hawke smiles.
They get coffee. Hawke pays. They sit in the corner and laugh. Fenris thinks this is a date.
Fenris invites Hawke back to his place. He's saying it before he can process the thought, but when he says it, it's out there, and he can do nothing about it. It's frightening. His heart is pounding in his chest.
Hawke smiles. "Well, I do rather like seeing a neighbor's interior decor."
Fenris rolls his eyes.
When Hawke kisses him, it's untimely, and Fenris ends up biting Hawke's bottom lip in the most unflattering way possible.
Fenris is balancing on a foot, trying to quickly shed his feet of their confinements when Hawke swoops upon him like a bird of prey. Their mouths collide, Fenris bites Hawke's lip, and then Fenris swiftly falls into the wall as an attempt at steadying himself.
Hawke trips with him. The windows rattle, the doors shake, Fenris slides to the floor and laughs. "That was anti-climactic."
Hawke shakes his head, rubs his eyes. "I do apologize. I thought I was in possession of more grace than that."
Fenris goes back to his feet, removing his other shoe, his socks. "If you told me of your intentions, I would have kissed you before doing other things." His feet are free. Fenris stretches his legs along the carpet. Hawke does the same. Fenris' legs are longer than Hawke's, however Hawke has more length in his torso—thus making him taller than Fenris, but not by much. While they are sitting like this, heads leaning against the wall, they are the same height. Fenris likes it.
Hawke's eyes are a warm brown. He's looking at Fenris' feet, squinting in the dark. There is a streetlight outside that provides them with a sliver of sight. "Are your…? Yes, they are. Your toes, your feet are utterly—"
"Disgusting, gross?" Fenris suggests.
Hawke reflects on this, giving his beard a rub and resembling a cheap statue of a philosopher. "Unappealing."
Fenris turns his head. Deadpan, "You think my feet are unappealing."
Hawke works off his shoes now, kicking them from his feet. He keeps on his socks. Subconsciously or not, he's planning on staying a while. "Would you rather me say they are disgusting or gross?"
"I would rather you kiss me again."
Hawke does. It's better this time. At first, it's only their heads moving—back and forth, each trying to gain the upper hand. Fenris is the one who falters, who turns toward Hawke, who allows Hawke to take control of the kiss. Fenris opens his legs, and Hawke drops a hand between them, touching, cupping. "You're warm," Hawke says, breathing heavily against Fenris' mouth. He messes with the buckle on Fenris' belt. "Can I touch you?"
Fenris is drunk on Hawke's coffee breath and the tickle of his beard against his lips. "If you must," he teases, and Hawke loosens Fenris' belt, undoes the button, drags down the zipper. Fenris realizes he can't catch his breath fast enough. He shuts his eyes, grabbing the back of Hawke's head and raising it to continue their kiss. Fenris' fingers curl as Hawke slides his hand down his jeans, tugging when Hawke touches his vulva. If Hawke finds anything wrong, he doesn't let it show. His lips move with Fenris', his fingertips slowly beginning to roll Fenris' clit. Fenris runs his tongue over Hawke's teeth. They aren't perfect, more on the crooked side, and that makes Fenris' heart return to normal speed.
Hawke stops kissing him. Fenris keeps his eyes closed. He feels Hawke's fingers abandon his clit in favor of slipping down, stroking his labia, his entrance. Hawke holds himself up with his free hand, shifting his weight, sighing. "Fuck, you're so wet, Fenris."
Fenris blushes. He's thankful for the dark. "Shut up and fuck me." Hawke does. He doesn't waste any time in working two fingers inside Fenris and taking him against the wall. It's rough, it's fast. Fenris has his arms around Hawke's torso, acting as an anchor as Hawke's fingers enter and leave his cunt. They're panting in each other's faces, and when Fenris gets the courage to open his eyes, Hawke is already looking at him. It's stupid, it's breath-taking. Fenris rolls his eyes, laughs, toes curling, hips arching off the carpet. "Don't gawk. Get back to work."
Hawke kisses Fenris' cheek. He stills his fingers, his palm rubbing along Fenris' clit. "I want to use my mouth. I can't exactly do that when your pants are on. Plus, we're not in a bed. I prefer beds."
Fenris clenches around Hawke's fingers. Hawke sighs. Fenris chuckles. "I'll show you my bed."
They're a bit shaky. Hawke has to get his hand free from Fenris' pants, which is proving a bit difficult, as Fenris tries to stand on weak knees and unappealing feet at the same time. Hawke hisses, Fenris rolls his eyes, and at last, they become untangled. Hawke pops his fingers in his mouth and wiggles his eyebrows at Fenris. "Why am I going to fuck you again?" Head lowered, Fenris pulls his belt free from its loops as he shows Hawke to his bedroom.
Fenris hears Hawke smack his lips together. "I do believe it was because of my out-of-this-world witticisms and allure." Fenris drops his belt in the doorway into his room. Hawke steps on it, thankfully not on the buckle. "Whoa," Hawke says, in that tone where he doesn't sound surprised, but the situation dictates him to be. "Is it my out-of-this-world witticisms and allure?" he asks, as if doubting his out-of-this-world witticisms and allure.
"You're remarkable," Fenris says. He turns on his heel, watching as Hawke tries to be smooth and close the door with his foot. Fenris' belt is in the way, and the door doesn't close. Hawke looks defeated. Fenris stifles a laugh by coughing.
Hawke looks at Fenris. Fenris looks at Hawke. "I guess the door has other plans," Hawke says, ignoring the fate of Fenris' belt and the door in order to bound toward Fenris and continue what they had started in the living room. This kiss is rougher. Hawke's hands automatically go to grope at Fenris' ass. "Did I just hear you call me 'remarkable'?" Hawke asks, a little bit smug and a little bit wary.
Fenris pushes Hawke onto the bed. "Shut up and fuck me."
They pull off each other's clothes, clawing at skin, tasting scars. Fenris has his scars hidden among his chest tattoos. Hawke wears his proudly. "Got nicked in a bar fight," he says, as Fenris sucks on a spot on his shoulder. "Ran face first into Marian—have you met her?" he says, as Fenris licks up the bridge of his nose. "I don't even remember that one," he says, as Fenris digs his teeth into his stomach. Hawke has a tattoo on his arm. It's red, indistinguishable, and he doesn't remember when nor why he had gotten it. "I think I was drunk." He rubs his cheek against the inside of Fenris' thighs. "My friend, Varric, was with me. I should ask him."
Fenris doesn't know what Hawke is doing to him half the time, and he thinks Hawke doesn't know what he's doing either, but he does it with such confidence that it comes off as professional. Granted, Fenris doesn't have much experience. The only memories he wishes to remember are the ones he hasn't made yet.
Hawke's fingers turn Fenris' hair into a bird nest. Fenris is glad Hawke isn't the type to wear jewelry on his fingers. Hawke is the type to shove his cock down Fenris' throat with no prior warning. It should be of no surprise to him when Fenris backs off, gagging and with drool on his chin. "You're a mess, aren't you?" Hawke laughs. "A hot mess."
Fenris rolls his eyes, climbing on top of Hawke, up to his shoulders. "I'll make you a hot mess," he growls, and wipes his chin with his wrist.
Fenris doesn't know if Hawke can breathe, but it's fucking fantastic to card his fingers through Hawke's hair and feel Hawke's tongue inside him, relishing, caressing. Fenris comes, leaving him breathless and feeble. Hawke doesn't stop. He has his lips wrapped around Fenris' clit, sucking, never ceasing until Fenris rides out his orgasm in full and is moving from Hawke's shoulders. "I think I made you into a hot mess again," Hawke jests, sticking an arm behind his head. Fenris gives Hawke a pointed look before reaching over, pulling open the end-table drawer and digging inside. Hawke watches. He's quiet. After grabbing a condom and shoving the drawer closed, Fenris sits on Hawke's stomach, his back to Hawke. He opens the wrapper, tossing it somewhere. "Oh." Hawke curls his toes. "I was under the impression you could no longer get pregnant."
"I haven't had a hysterectomy." Fenris rolls on the condom. Hawke touches Fenris' waist, hands firm as he lifts Fenris and moves him down, into place. The mattress shifts when Hawke sits up, Fenris in his lap. "Does that bother you?"
Hawke rubs Fenris' stomach, his other hand around the base of his cock. "Why should it bother me?" Hawke rubs Fenris' clit now, slow circles that make Fenris' eyes flutter shut.
"You have to wear a condom."
Hawke enters Fenris with a thrust and a grunt. His arms wrap around Fenris' torso in a hug. "I like going bareback as much as the next person, but I have enough sense and decency to wear condoms when they are warranted."
Fenris grabs one of Hawke's hands, squeezes. "What a gentleman. Now, shut up and—"
"Fuck me," Hawke chuckles. "I know." And he does. Hawke fucks Fenris, and it's everything Fenris needs right now. Hawke has Fenris on his stomach, on his side, on his back, on his head. No matter the position, Fenris feels as if he isn't here, as if he is on another plane of existence. The bed has been completely stripped of its clothes when they finish together, all sweaty and exhausted. Fenris lazily throws the sheet over them. Hawke insists on being Fenris' blanket. He's draped over him, hands jabbed underneath Fenris' body, mimicking a dead log. "Back to our previous conversation," Hawke mumbles, as if their groans and moans didn't count as conversation. "Are you able to menstruate?"
Fenris rubs his cheek against the mattress. "I haven't for a long time."
Silence. Then, Hawke, cautiously, "Are you able to come more than twice in one night?"
Fenris smiles. "Most definitely."
Hawke disappears under the covers.
In the morning, Fenris expects to wake to an empty bed, his skin free of love-filled bruises and scratches. He expects to see no evidence of having company over, but Fenris wakes to the smell of cigarette smoke, his shampoo, and the typing of keys. When he gets the energy to raise his head, he spots Hawke beside him, still naked, still bearing the testimony of Fenris' fervor on his neck, his collarbones. Fenris' laptop is on the mattress in front of him, a cigarette hanging from his mouth, no ashtray nearby. Fenris thinks he has met his other half.
Hawke runs his fingers through his hair, petting, patting down the stray hairs in the back. It's damp. Fenris must be a heavy sleeper. "I helped myself to your shower," Hawke says, passing over the cigarette without a glance toward Fenris. "Your shampoo smells divine. As does your soap." Fenris takes the cigarette, sitting up, despite his body's protest for a few dozen more hours of sleep. "I tried to wake you to join me, but there are only so many times you can poke someone's sleeping body until it gets weird."
Fenris places the cigarette between his lips. "That must be why I dreamed about this annoying pain in my side."
Hawke doesn't move his head from the laptop. "Really?"
"No." Fenris flicks ashes. They land in the bed. "Did you have breakfast? I assume you did, since you've done everything else in the world."
"No, you didn't have cereal." Hawke takes back the cigarette. Fenris coughs into his shoulder. Hawke doesn't mind. "I figured it was okay to smoke around your laptop. Others are touchy about that sort of stuff, but your laptop already has signs of smoke damage."
Fenris blinks. He pulls a leg to his chest. "Right."
"I like computers," Hawke says, as if it would explain something. In a way, it does. Fenris scoots closer to Hawke, using his shoulder as a pillow now, after he had coughed on it. Might as well, he reasons. He watches Hawke do God-knows-what on the laptop. It seems as if he's playing a sort of game. He's controlling a character who is wielding a rather large staff with a blade on the end of it.
Fenris squints his eyes. "Please don't tell me 'DragonFister101' is you."
Hawke's eyes widen.
Fenris presses a pillow to his face to muffle his laughter.
Hawke tastes like cigarettes and mint. Fenris sports a glare. "Did you use my toothbrush?"
"No, I squirted toothpaste into my mouth and hoped for the best."
Fenris doesn't know what that means. Hawke looks like he doesn't know either.
"So, next time…" Fenris drifts off, eyes to the floor. His toes curl into the carpet. He needs to clip some of his toenails.
"Oh, so there's going to be a next time?"
Fenris shows Hawke the door. It's cold, snowing. "I would like there to be. You're putting me off right now." He's teasing. Hawke knows that. He has his hands over his face as he laughs.
"I'll text you when I'm free."
"You don't have my number."
Hawke gives Fenris a look. Fenris gives him one right back. They laugh together this time. It's impossible to stop.
Fenris checks his phone once he's back inside. Hawke had sent himself a text message—the eggplant emoji, which is also in his display name, along with the kissy-face emoji and the name "Garrett". Fenris wonders if this means he's allowed to call Hawke by that, but he doesn't want to wrongly assume.
Anders shows up on Fenris' doorsteps two days before Christmas. There is snow in his hair and a bag slung over his shoulder. "You haven't been answering my texts," he says.
Fenris is eating baby carrots. He crunches. "So, you packed a bag and hiked back home?"
Anders grins. "It's the holidays!" He invites himself in. Fenris notices a bounce in his step, a different aura around him, but Fenris doesn't say anything. Popping a carrot into his mouth, Fenris shuts the door and proceeds to do his best at controlling himself when it comes to smoking around Anders.
On Christmas Day, Anders and Fenris bring food to the shitty community center downtown. It's busier than last year. Anders is more relaxed. He smiles more, talks to people, is genuinely friendlier. He doesn't even get upset when Fenris picks at the ham.
To make matters even stranger, when they are safe and warm inside their house, he even asks Fenris if Fenris wants his toenails clipped or his feet rubbed. And, honestly, who is Fenris to reject that offer?
On Boxing Day, Fenris opens up about Hawke. It's breakfast. Anders has toast hanging from his mouth. Fenris won't raise his head from his bowl of cereal. "You can't be serious," Anders says quietly. Fenris is silent, stirring the milk in the bowl with his spoon. Anders repeats himself. "You can't be serious." More silence. Anders tries again. "Did I hear you correctly, Fenris?"
"Yes," Fenris hisses into his Cheerios. "I shouldn't have even told you."
Anders is more like himself than ever before. He's laughing, snorting, and wiping his eyes. "My little Fenris is in love!"
Fenris wishes he could tip forward and drown himself in his cereal.
Sometime during the day, Hawke texts Fenris an invitation to a New Year's Eve party at his place. It looks like a chain message. It's incredibly long and has many emojis thrown into the middle of it. Fenris forwards it to Anders and hears him make a fuss in the next room.
Hawke lives in the apartments downtown. It's a little dirty, a little run-down, but it fits with the other houses in the area. Fenris likes it here the best. Even though he never says it out loud, Anders favors the low parts of town rather than the cities and the fancy buildings, too. It's on his face when he steps into the apartment building, when Hawke invites them in, but… Anders has his eye on a tall dark-haired woman in the corner of the room, and Fenris is positive he's going to embarrass Anders all night.
However, Fenris' plans fall short. As soon as he walks in, Hawke scoops him up in a one-arm hug and parades him around the apartment unit to introduce him to his friends. Isabela is there. She lives in the building. She's drinking from a can of beer, and has Merrill perched on her lap. Merrill's cheeks are pink, and she looks as if she's hopelessly in love. Fenris wonders if he looks like that. He likes to think he doesn't.
Hawke's tour takes him to the tall dark-haired woman Anders had been checking out. After a brief moment, Fenris recognizes her as Marian. Being Hawke's older first cousin, Marian is nicer and more mature than Hawk. She also shares the same red scar across the bridge of her nose. "Garrett likes to run. I often had to catch him."
Beside Marian is Anders, already trying to schmooze his way into the nearest dark hallway or bedroom with her. At least, that's to Fenris' understanding. Anders is licking his lips and nodding his head at everything she says. They have only just met, but Anders looks just like Merrill—hopelessly in love. Fenris, once again, wishes he doesn't look like that when he stares at Hawke.
Sitting on the floor, on the same side of a coffee table, are a set of twins. They have the same nose, the same eyes—although, the girl has the same brown as Hawke's, while the boy has blue like Marian. Fenris doesn't recall Hawke ever mentioning having any siblings, so they must be from Marian's side of the family. Hawke still treats them as if he's their older brother. He walks over to the boy and ruffles his hair and says, "Losing this round again, Carver? Bethany better show you how it's done."
Bethany laughs. Carver scowls. They each have cards in hand and bottles of soda next to them. They must be too young to drink. "It's Varric," Carver says. "He's doing something, and it's making me lose."
There is another person sitting on the floor with Bethany, Carver, and now Hawke. Light brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, nose squashed like it's been broken one too many times, Fenris thinks this is Varric. This is proven correct when Hawke raises his beer and points a finger at Carver. "Varric would do no such thing." Varric laughs, Hawke laughs, and Carver scowls.
Fenris sinks into a spot beside Hawke, not wanting to draw attention to himself. His wishes are granted—at least, until the card game ends. Carver gets up and stomps off into another room, presumably the kitchen, because Hawke yells at him to bring them some more beer. Isabela takes Carver's spot, and Bethany climbs onto the couch to talk to Merrill. During this exchange, Hawke wraps his arm around Fenris' waist and gestures to Varric. "I know you rigged the game."
Varric pretends to be offended. He starts shuffling the deck. "Hawke, you wound me. Do you accuse your boyfriend of such nasty things?"
Fenris must now interact with people—the horror. Hawke isn't paying attention. He's gasping and acting offended right back at Varric. "Oh, Varric, you wound me."
Carver returns with another case of beer. He looks as if he's already downed one himself, but Hawke doesn't notice. He grabs one and drops it in front of Fenris, who takes it with eager hands. Hawke and Varric laugh. "Need to mellow out there?"
"You have absolutely no idea," Fenris says, and takes a long drink.
Varric deals out the cards. "Okay, the game is called Wicked Grace, and I can guarantee I will, most definitely, kick your asses."
When it is midnight, they are still playing cards, and they only pause to shout and holler. Marian pops a bottle of champagne and gets extremely surprised at Anders' lips against hers. Hawke kisses Fenris, all sloppy and gross, and Isabela and Merrill share a loud smooch, as well.
Everybody is fuzzy, and they all drink champagne until the early morning hours. By then, the party has migrated to different rooms of the apartment unit. Bethany and Carver have gone to bed. Isabela, Hawke, and Varric are still playing cards. In their inebriated states, they have started to bet actual money to raise the stakes. Anders and Marian have relocated to either a hallway or an empty room. And Merrill and Fenris are on the sofa, watching the card game before them. Isabela has brought along some marijuana, and each of them is passing the joint around. Merrill had said she would stay out of it, she's broken too many of her own boundaries tonight, but she is currently the one taking a drag from the joint.
Hawke digs in his pocket and sets a fifty dollar bill on the coffee table. Isabela rolls her eyes. Varric laughs. Fenris smiles. Merrill gives the joint to Fenris. "I don't know if you've talked to Cole, but he's been doing well. I know how you are about him."
Fenris inhales, shutting his eyes. "Did his mother not allow him to come down?"
Merrill shakes her head. "He told me she's getting better, but she's still…"
Fenris holds out the joint, exhaling through his nostrils. "I know." Hawke's fingers find it. He gives Fenris' hand a squeeze, which makes Fenris stare at Hawke with hopelessly-in-love eyes, and he hates himself for it. Varric snorts from behind his hand of cards. Fenris turns back to Merrill. "How are you doing?"
Merrill appears smaller than normal. She's wearing a college sweatshirt. It's larger than would be expected, but she looks comfortable. "I'm doing okay. First semester's over. I think I put too much on my plate. I'm taking fewer classes this time around."
"Thank God," Isabela comments with a smirk, dropping twenty dollars onto the table.
Merrill smiles softly at Isabela. "Yes. This way I will have more time with Isabela." Isabela grins. Merrill looks back at Fenris. "One of my professors, Solas, was diagnosed with leukemia. He isn't coming back next semester."
The room has stilled. All eyes are on Merrill, who widens her own already large eyes. "Oh, no, that makes it sound terrible, doesn't it? He isn't dead. He's coming back when he gets better. He took a leave of absence. Cole said he's going to be okay. Cole knows."
Fenris understands. The room has shifted back to its original state. Varric has the joint now. He's laying down more cash, more confident than the other two. Hawke is nervously sweating, laughing under his breath. Merrill has control of the joint again. It's almost burned out. Fenris pops his toes. "Hey, Varric, maybe you can help me with this, but Hawke has this thing on his arm…"
Varric and Hawke make almost identical laughs. "You've noticed it, have you? Yeah, we got drunk one night during our freshmen year, and I dared him to get a tattoo of the first thing that popped into his head. I have no idea what it is, but at least it wasn't a penis."
Hawke almost burns himself as he takes the joint from Fenris. "It reminds me of, of… hell if I know."
Isabela snickers behind her cards. "Maybe it's something abstract. Maybe it's him fisting a dragon."
Hawke's eyes widen, but then it melts into laughter. Nobody can stop. Nobody wants to stop.
Hawke has a dog. She's massive, a Boerboel, and her name is Dog.
Sometimes, in the middle of the night, Fenris wakes to Hawke giving Dog's stomach a good scratch. Dog takes up most of the bed while they're sleeping, but Fenris doesn't mind that. Fenris minds whenever Dog's tail wags and smacks him in the process. "Hawke," Fenris sighs, "you are an enabler."
Hawke coos, giving Dog a wet kiss on the forehead. "I don't know what that means."
One time, as they are having sex in Hawke's apartment, they are interrupted by Fenris' phone ringing. Yes, they try ignoring it, but it rings again and again and again, and they are forced to stop. It's Anders. He's forgotten to fill his prescription, is thinking less-than-happy thoughts.
"Have you talked to Marian?"
Then, Anders' voice, quietly, "I didn't want to bother her. It's late. She doesn't need to see me like this."
Fenris had told Hawke to finish in the bathroom if he's too far gone, but Hawke has stayed with Fenris. The notion can be taken as something considerate, but Hawke buries his nose in his laptop.
Fenris doesn't café if Hawke gets on his computer all the time. Hawke had told Fenris he liked computers, so Fenris should have expected to see the burly man on the device whenever he and Fenris weren't doing anything of importance for the day.
But today, something gets under Fenris' skin as he watches Hawke kick his legs up on his desk and place that headset upon his head. Fenris can't put his finger on it, but he feels as if he has spiders crawling all over him. "Are you really going to play that game again? All night, again?"
Hawke doesn't turn his head from the screen. "Are you really going to read that book again? All night, again?"
Fenris blinks. "Those are two totally different things, Hawke."
"Is it?" Hawke types on his keyboard. "I play this game, because I like it, and you read those books, because you like it. How many books have you read since I've known you?"
"I don't see any point to this."
"I think it's about six, yes? And, you see, I've gained about six levels since I've known you."
Fenris sighs, getting on his stomach, cracking open book number seven. Dog sleeps next to him, snoring. "Apples and oranges, Hawke."
"Tomato, tomato."
"You just said 'tomato' twice, exactly the same, Hawke." Fenris finds where he had stopped last, propping his head with a fist.
Hawke laughs at something, but Fenris doesn't think it's something he's said.
One night, as Fenris is trying to sleep, Hawke rips the keyboard from its station and throws it out the window.
Fenris has woken by the time Hawke has detached the keyboard, and he is now watching Hawke stuff the keyboard under his arm and stomp toward the window, shoving it open and tossing the keyboard into the snow. Hawke stands there, staring at the window, then at his computer, then at Fenris. "A dragon killed my whole party… and me," he mumbles, as if it would explain what he had done.
"I take it the dragon didn't like when you tried to fist her?" Fenris jokes, wanting to prod a smile from Hawke, but Hawke doesn't take it lightly. This is the most serious Fenris has ever seen him, and because it's late in the night, Fenris decides he doesn't have to put up with this right now. So, he hides his head under a pillow and only departs from his little hole when he is positive it's morning. By then, Hawke is sitting at his desk, on his computer with the keyboard reattached. He's eating a bowl of cereal, spoon hanging from his mouth. "Good morning," Fenris says.
Both sides of the bedcovers are disturbed, so Hawke has joined Fenris sometime during the night. Because Hawke's side is cold, Fenris is unable to decipher when exactly it is Hawke had slept. Since he is eating cereal and has disheveled hair, Fenris can only assume he has been up a short time. Hawke's side of the bed is cold, though, so Fenris is unsure of his assumptions. When Hawke looks at him, spoon still hanging from his mouth, Fenris sees red rims around those tepid eyes. Fenris begins to wonder if it was he who has messed with the bedcovers. Hawke looks as if he hasn't slept.
Hawke offers a small wave, then pulls the spoon from his mouth. "Good morning. I have Cheerios, Froot Loops, and Frosted Flakes in the cabinet. I suppose you could have toast, but… I like my cereal."
Fenris knows that. He slowly sits up, stretching. "I'll get some later. What are you doing?"
"Fenris," Hawke says, dipping the spoon into the bowl and taking a bite. He's eating Froot Loops. "I'm eating breakfast."
"You know what I mean." Fenris scratches his stomach.
Hawke slowly turns his head, gazing at the computer monitor. He's on a webpage, something totally alien for Fenris to see on the screen. Hawke runs his fingers through his hair. "It's, uh, well, um." Hawke shovels another bite of cereal into his mouth—a convenient pause. Fenris patiently waits, drawing a leg to his chest. Then, Hawke, skin very pale against his dark hair, looks at Fenris. He looks terrified, about to be sick. "I, uh, was doing… research…"
Fenris pushes the covers from his body, swings his legs over the edge of the bed. "Research." Seems unlikely, but there has to be a reason that would make the impervious Hawke so piteous.
"Yes," Hawke says, voice low. He has abandoned eating, the cereal bowl now set on the desk among the clutter. "About you. I mean, not you specifically, but… about you…"
This is a disaster. Fenris sits on Hawke's lap, who welcomes Fenris with open arms. His palm is warm against the span of skin on Fenris' back that isn't covered by his crop top, the other securing them to the desk, as the chair they are sharing has wheels. Fenris leans forward, on his elbows, scanning the words on the screen. It doesn't take Fenris long to understand why Hawke had looked so terrified. "Have you reached any conclusions?" Fenris asks, pushing himself from the desk and back into Hawke's chest. He wraps an arm around Hawke's shoulders, leveling them. Eye contact is good.
Hawke is still pale. Fenris runs his fingertips along the nape of Hawke's neck. "I think I'm non-binary," Hawke says, a small grin breaking through as the word easily rolls off his tongue. "I feel… relieved, I guess. Everything makes sense… to me, at least." Hawke chews on his lip. "Yeah?"
Fenris reaches back over, grabbing the cereal bowl this time. Hawke still has ample amount to eat. Fenris steals a few bites, rather enjoying perching on Hawke's lap like this. "I felt relieved, too," he says, "when I found a word that matched what I felt."
Hawke traces shapes into Fenris' back. "I want to try out 'they' pronouns."
Spoon sticking out of his mouth, Fenris gives Hawke a thumbs-up. "Anything else?" he says around the utensil.
"Hawke," Hawke says. "You can still call me that, but… maybe you can call me 'Garrett' sometimes, too."
Milk dribbles from the corner of Fenris' mouth. He wipes it away with a hand, but the damage is done. Hawke wraps his arms around Fenris and hugs him, and Fenris hugs him back, not as tight as Hawke, but as tight as he can.
It happens as they are lying in Fenris' bed, still out of breath from their orgasms—it being Garrett's first and Fenris' third. It's quiet, the only sound is them panting, catching their breaths, and then, Garrett, faintly, "I made you an account on that game."
It takes a moment for Fenris to process what they had said, but in no time at all, he is jumping from the bed, finding his laptop, and booting it up. "What?"
Garrett laughs, peeling off the condom. "Why are you so angry?" They disappear into the bathroom, leaving Fenris with his slow laptop.
"I'm not angry," Fenris says, as he angrily loads up the game. "What's my username? My password?"
Garrett drops onto the bed, sighing, a smile on their face. "Your username is 'Broody the Elf', one word, capital B, capital E. And your password is 'Marry me, Fenris', one word, all lowercase. You can change it to something you'll be able to remember. I don't care."
Fenris isn't paying attention—well, he is, but he's paying attention to all the wrong things. "I'm not broody," he broods. Then, he blinks, fingers stilling on his keyboard. "Wait… what?" Garrett lights a cigarette. Fenris stares at them. "You have to be joking, right? You… you can't honestly expect me to…" Fenris doesn't know what he's saying, but Garrett is gazing at him with all the love in the world in their eyes.
"Expect you to what?" they ask, holding out the cigarette they have lit. They place it between Fenris' lips. "It doesn't have to be taken seriously. It's just your password. I thought it would be funny."
Fenris puffs on the cigarette for a moment. "So, you don't want to get married?"
Garrett chuckles. "Well, since you put it that way, if I rejected, it'd make me the asshole." They roll onto their stomach, pressing their cheek to Fenris' thigh. "We can get married, if you want."
After another inhale, Fenris lowers his hand, setting the cigarette between Garrett's lips. "Maybe later." Garrett grins. Fenris clicks around the game. Garrett had made him an elf—that much obvious from the username. Fenris' character resembles him as closely as a video game character could. Although, the large sword Fenris' character is carrying on his back does throw him off. "Do you honestly expect me to swing that around? Have you seen my arms?" Garrett is still smiling. They and Fenris pass the cigarette back and forth. Fenris has friend requests already—from DragonFister101, ChildoftheStone, waffles103, MageRightsActivist, and SeekerCAPCFP.
Garrett names them, one by one, pointing. "Me, Varric, Marian, Anders, and Cassandra. You haven't met Cassandra—granted, I haven't either, but Varric says she's absolutely charming."
On their one-year anniversary, Garrett buys Fenris his own cock. It's smaller than Garrett's, a little thinner, but Fenris is in love. He wears it more often outside the bedroom than in it. Fenris has never been one to suffer from bottom dsyphoria; he has always liked his vagina. Now, with a cock he can easily slide on and slip off, he still doesn't experience dsyphoria, but sees this as an added bonus. Plus, Fenris has found out Garrett is able to orgasm more than once with enough stimulation to their prostate.
For Garrett's gift, Fenris offers his home. As he is telling Garrett this, Garrett has their arms protectively wrapped around Dog's neck. "I know you don't like it here," Fenris says, staring at the floor. "It's small, and yes, you have your friends nearby, but I've heard you complain about living here more times than I can count." Garrett normally complains about his internet speed, but Fenris doesn't bring this up. "I just thought… you'd be happier someplace a bit larger and… in the company of me." At this, Fenris raises his head, timidly smiling. He expects rejection. He doesn't know what he would do if he was proven right.
Garrett's grip has not wavered. They narrow their eyes at Fenris, as if questioning what he had said. "What about animals?"
Dog blinks at Fenris.
Fenris blinks right back. "When Anders lived with me, I told him my landlord would never permit it. But that was so he wouldn't adopt twenty or so stray cats."
Fenris and Garrett stare at each other. "So, Dog can come, too."
Dog tilts her head, wags her tail.
Fenris reaches over and gives Dog's ears a scratch. "Of course she can come, too. The invitation to live with me was not only for you, Garrett." Dog licks Fenris' nose. He scowls. After wiping the saliva from his face, Garrett leans in and gives Fenris' nose a lick of their own. Fenris glares. Garrett laughs.
"Have I told you how much I loved you lately?"
Fenris continues glaring. "Not lately, no. You did rub my feet last night, so I took that as a token of your uttermost love for me."
Dog leaves them, tail still wagging, more invested in something neither of them can see at the moment. Garrett leans in, giving Fenris a wet kiss. Fenris scrunches his nose. "Good," Garrett says, and leans in for another kiss. This time, it's drier, sweeter, and Fenris pulls Garrett on top of him. The bed creaks. Garrett rolls his eyes. "Your bed doesn't make these noises. I think I'll quite like living with you, Fenris."
Fenris threads his fingers through Garrett's hair. "Shut up and fuck me." Garrett does.
The world ends when Garrett discovers Fenris is a higher level than them on the game.
"Does it really matter?" Fenris asks, popping a shoulder as he stretches.
Garrett's nostrils flare. Apparently, it does matter. Fenris suppresses a laugh. "Look, I won't play today, tomorrow, nor the rest of the week, okay? You can catch up, get ahead of me again."
Garrett gives Fenris a look before slowly turning back to their laptop, headset on and fingers racing across the keyboard. Fenris watches them get together a team of themself, Marian, Anders, and Varric to take down a dragon. "Where did Varric get that crossbow anyway?" Fenris wonders if Garrett will even answer. They look pretty serious, almost exactly the same as that night when they had thrown their keyboard out the window.
But Garrett does answer. "I think he said it was a mod. He won't tell us where he found it."
"Only Varric." Fenris picks at his toenails. Garrett and he watch as one cracks in two, half of it flying across the room.
Shaking their head, Garrett sticks a thumb in their mouth, chewing on their cuticle. "You and your unappealing feet."
It gets disgustingly hotter later in the summer. Garrett has even decided to regularly shave, saying the lack of facial hair on their face does wonders to keep them cool, but Fenris doesn't like it. "You look like a small child."
Garrett has an electronic razor in their hand. "Thank you. I'm going to attempt to trim the sides of my head. Will you stand by in case I shave off my ear?"
Garrett suggests something tremendously stupid. "Let's go on a road trip."
Fenris is sweating and groaning. "It's hot, Garrett."
It must be the heat, but Garrett beams. "I know."
They end up going on a road trip.
When Fenris meets Solas and Ellana, he's pumping gas. It's not as hot as it had been the previous days, so Fenris deems it acceptable to wear a knit cap. Plus, his hair is dirty, and Garrett had thought it was a good idea to push Fenris out of bed early in the morning without showering nor breakfast. To make matters worse, Garrett is currently napping in the backseat of Fenris' car, with the air running on high, while he is going through the torture of talking to Solas and Ellana. Ellana is chatty, and Solas keeps shooting Fenris apologetic looks.
Fenris thinks this would have been the last time he would have seen the couple, but after Garrett twisting his ear and telling him they need lubricant and condoms, Fenris spots Solas again in the department store. Fenris isn't surprised. There are only so many places they could have went and run into each other. "Small world," he drawls.
After giving his personal recommendation for lubricant, Fenris leaves. He makes Garrett drive them someplace to get food. "I haven't eaten all day," Fenris says. "And we're going to rent a room at a motel. I'm exhausted."
Garrett smiles. "Only if you make me come about twice before we sleep."
This time, Fenris smiles. "Same goes for me."
Fenris meets Solas for a third time at the motel. Garrett is still asleep despite having that nap in the car earlier. Fenris sleeps for a few hours, too, curled up to Garrett and their plentiful dark body hair they refuse to get rid of, but the need for a cigarette has been chewing at him for far too long.
It may have been impolite to ask Solas what type of cancer he had. However, Fenris needs to know. It would have been even more impolite to smoke a cigarette around a lung cancer survivor. One look at Solas' face could tell anybody he had been sick with something life-threatening. The illness hadn't had time to reach his eyes, though; they are as lively as eyes could be. Sure, he has the remnants of dark circles, but the eyes themselves hadn't been touched. Solas' eyes are much like Cole's.
The skin on the heel of Fenris' foot is tough, calloused. It doesn't burn at the grind of a scorching cigarette. One good thing had come out of ignoring those podiatrist visits and pushing his feet and ankles to the point of permanent damage.
Solas won't stop staring at Fenris' feet. Fenris gives his shoulder a scratch. "I did ballet. As a child. I didn't like it. I like it now."
With toenails freshly clipped and his ankles and feet wrapped up, Garrett tells Fenris to dance for them. "I've only seen videos of you when you were young."
It's embarrassing, but Garrett has big, puppy-dog eyes, and their bottom lip is actually protruding in a pathetic little pout. Because of that, Fenris rolls his eyes and dances—reluctantly, of course.
Soon, though, he begins to enjoy it. He's missed this.
They have amazing sex after that.
Fenris is returning after walking Dog when Garrett tells him it's okay for him to log back into the game. It's been so long, Fenris has almost forgotten. "Why now? Have you just reached my level?"
Garrett still looks upset about the situation. "Yes."
His laptop is slow, so Garrett allows Fenris to use their computer. "I'll buy you a new laptop," they say, dropping to their knees and giving Dog's flank a rub. "It can be an early Christmas present."
Four friend requests greet Fenris—IAmHere, redjenny4, DalishKeeperL, and FenHarel. Fenris recognizes the first two as Cole and Sera respectively, but it takes a bit of digging to find the other two are Ellana and Solas. Fenris accepts them all.
Roses grow on the side of Fenris' house. After clipping them down and removing the thorns, he sticks them in Garrett's hair while they're dozing on the couch. He would have liked to put them in Garrett's beard, but it's only now beginning to grow back. The temperature is dwindling down to something tolerable, so Fenris will be able to put flowers in Garrett's beard soon enough.
Garrett wakes, discombobulated, but not irritable. "I hope you took pictures."
"I would be ashamed if you assumed I hadn't."
Fenris mentions Danarius when Garrett is sucking on his labia. Garrett freezes, blinks, and slowly sits up. It's an inopportune moment, but Garrett doesn't know. They need to know.
They lie next to Fenris and listen, and Fenris talks until the thought of arousal makes him nauseated. Garrett holds him. "You're safe here, Fenris." Fenris needs to know. He does.
Near the end of summer, Marian hosts a party at her estate. Garrett doesn't want to go. "Thinking about that house gives me constipation."
Fenris rolls his eyes. "We're going."
Garrett and Fenris aren't the first ones there. Garrett had said it would be funny if they arrived fashionably late, but Garrett's definition of fashionably late is "don't remind Fenris and let's hope he forgets". Needless to say, Fenris doesn't forget, and he has to bully Garrett into the car. "It won't be so bad," Fenris says. "Maybe she'll have alcohol."
Marian does. Garrett downs shots with Varric in the kitchen. Fenris sits on the arm of the sofa, his own glass of wine in hand. There are faces Fenris recognizes, like Cole, Merrill—in the corner discussing the upcoming school year—Bethany, Carver, Marian—standing in the doorway of the kitchen, cheering on Garrett and Varric—and Anders, who is standing in front of Fenris, arms crossed over his chest. Fenris blinks. Anders opens his mouth. "I heard you gave up my room."
Fenris tilts his head. "Nope, you heard wrong."
Anders furrows his brow. "But aren't you and Garrett living together now?"
Fenris sips at his wine. "Yes, but they certainly aren't sleeping in your bed." Anders narrows his eyes. Fenris swings his feet. "Why does it matter? Are you moving back?"
"Well, no." Anders begins to smile, standing proudly now. "I moved in with Marian."
"What about your job? You relocated, because you got a better job offer."
Anders shrugs. "I came back. Going to start up my own clinic. Plus, Marian said she'll let me have all the cats I want. Ser Pounce-A-Lot needs more friends."
And then, there are people Fenris doesn't know here. Everybody rotates to watch the door open and people tumble inside—many of which are the ones Fenris doesn't know. Solas and Ellana are leading the pack, Sera trailing after them with a tall tan-skinned woman with short black hair. Behind them are a couple made up of a thin male identical to Ellana and a brown man with a Dalí-esque mustache. Fenris wonders who had invited them, but that is made known by Varric exiting the kitchen and greeting them all. Garrett and Marian are standing side-by-side, both wearing expressions of monotony when it comes to Varric and his many connections.
The woman standing by Sera, Fenris discovers, is Cassandra Pentaghast, and the two behind them are Mahanon—Ellana's twin brother—and Dorian Pavus. Introductions are tossed around, and the party continues. Varric drags Cassandra, Dorian, and Mahanon into the kitchen, where Garrett is waiting. Sera drops into the corner with Merrill and Cole—Bethany having joined them by then. Carver and Marian go back to hanging in the kitchen doorway, unable to convince themselves to join in on the evening's festivities. Ellana drifts toward Anders, eyes bright and already giggling. Fenris finds himself sitting on the arm of the sofa with his wine glass in hand and Solas to his right. Neither of them wants to be the first to acknowledge the other. Fenris caves in. "Small world."
"Yes," Solas says.
"You're growing out your hair."
At this, Solas raises his hand to pet at his hair—a habit out of disbelief. "Yes," Solas repeats. The hair on Solas' head is short, black, and already growing thick. "I am definitely not getting my dreadlocks again anytime soon. Ellana is satisfied with this."
"Oh, so she wanted you to have hair." Fenris studies Solas, the freckles covering his face, having no doubt at all Solas is well enough to return to teaching in the fall. Solas drops his hand to his side, fingers curling, uncurling. Fenris stares at his hand, then, at those fingers. "I take it she didn't want you to be hairless for the wedding pictures?"
Instead of raising his hand to touch his hair again, Solas raises his hand to absently fiddle with the ring on his finger. He twirls it around. "There was no wedding, so there were no wedding pictures to be had."
"Eloped?" Fenris swirls the wine in his glass.
"No." Solas sighs. He appears annoyed. "Dorian became an ordained minister so he himself could marry us. He told me he would have accepted it no other way."
Fenris snorts. "Simply amazing. Did she take your last name?"
Solas smiles, a faint blush daring to break through his dark skin. "No, I took hers. Lavellan. I thought it was beautiful. It still is, even now." He looks at Ellana as he says this, continuing to smile. Ellana is still chatting with Anders, eyes as big as her smile. Fenris doesn't know what they're saying, but Anders has raised a hand to feel the star tattoos along her temples. He shivers, and Ellana laughs.
Snorting again, Fenris causes Solas to step from his moment to give Fenris a quizzical stare. His eyebrows furrow, trying to decide what exactly is going on in Fenris' head as he drinks the rest of his wine. "It's nothing," Fenris says, but Solas' brow furrows even more, because it clearly isn't nothing. "It's just…" Fenris has to pause in order to laugh. "Solas Lavellan."
Solas' lips press together, subduing his own laughter. "Yes, Solas Lavellan."
Fenris wipes an eye. "What a tit."