What was that?
Disclaimer: Dragon Age II and its characters don't belong to me!
Autor's note: AU - in which Fenris rescued Hawke from Danarius, when he was locking her up because of her powers, since she was a kid. And as it happens, the elf can't resist her innocence. One-shot. A long one, that is. (Listen to Ships by Umbrellas while you read this if you want. I wrote listening to it, and it made it so perfect...)
Warning: This fanfiction is rated M for steamy bits between F!Mage Hawke and Fenris in the forest in the end. The rest is all fluffiness and fairies.
Hawke cannot get enough of hummingbirds, fireflies and mushrooms. They are all so small, unique, and magical. She feels a kinship with them. She never saw them like this. Of course she had her books, but this was... So different. So real.
She chases hummingbirds from flower to flower, trying to see if they ever stop beating those tiny wings and talking to them as if they could really hear her. She catches fireflies and wonders if they glow like her magic when she casts a spell. She collects every mushroom she finds because she never knew things could be so similiar and different at the same time.
Living all her life locked up in a room was the reason for such curiosity. Her "father" Danarius would claim that her powers were too dangerous. She didn't understand. She never did. She saw him using her same powers once, and yet, he would say she was dangerous, as if she was some kind of monster.
She never left that place. She never felt the muddy floor under her bare feet, nor she had ever felt how the sun could be hot. This was new for her. Brilliant. Unique. The first thing she did after she left the mansion was to sink her feet into the grass and smile. It felt good. It felt like freedom. She cried. She never cried once. But she cried, because even if she liked Danarius rare company, she now understood why she felt like leaving sometimes. She needed this. Needed the sun to warm her pale skin, needed the wind to fill her lungs.
So when she wanders through the forest, trying to catch birds and fireflies, Fenris lets her. He knows deep inside what she is feeling. He tasted it himself. When you are a slave, you never think of freedom. But when you taste it after so long... It can be put to words. It's too much to be described, too much.
He helped Hawke escape from the mansion after the Qunari invasion. He helped other slave too, gave them freedom. What he didn't know was that the girl would follow him. A mage of all things. He hated mages, and yet, he couldn't bring himself to hate her. He even carries some of the mushrooms for her. He lets her go and run because, truth be told, he likes watching her. He likes the way her nose scrunches when she thinks and how her eyes widen in pretty surprise when her bare feet squish in mud. He likes that she seems to see each leaf on every tree when he barely registered that they were in a forest.
Everything held her in such rapture and that, in turn, enraptures him.
Her curiosity and innocence are harmless. They are questions about how many kinds of flowers there are or how many trees he climbed. They are theories about clouds and why rabbits have such big paws. Aside from her endearing inquisition into his backstory - everything had been normal. That is, until tonight.
Tonight her curiosity gets the best of him.
For the millionth time, Fenris goes hunt. He didn't need to, because they have food in plenty, but he needs a moment to remind himself why he is in the middle of the woods with her. It's hard to remember by the fire because she is cold and presses her body against his side. Her robes are damp from the rain they catch earlier that day, and there was nowhere they could hide, and the night brought a chill. So she sits too close for comfort and pulls his warmth into her body. Too close because she doesn't know what it means when he looks up at him with her shocking blue eyes from under thick, fluttering lashes. Too close because when he grins or lets a small smile escape at something she says, she gets flustered and bits her lower lip in a way that makes his throat and his leather breeches tighten.
So he goes hunting. Again. Everyday. Always.
It is either that or count the freckles on Hawke's cheeks and nose again to keep from staring at her mouth and she's starting to catch onto that trick.
He isn't gone long, but when he comes back she is nowhere to be seen. Her small body and her staff aren't there. The fire is still there,burning, and the trees, and her robes lays out carefully on the large branch near the flames, but not her.
Wait... Her robes?
Worst case scenarios flood his mind. All of them involve hunters, Danarius himself and maybe or her being gone forever, magic and all. Both possibilities made him numb.
His first response is to turn, run, and forget this babysitting thing. If the hunters were here, he had leave. He would not risk his freedom.
His second response is to stay, to find her and fight off whatever danger presented itself. He will swoop in, save the day and get her back to camp or maybe out of here while he still had the chance.
He is two heartbeats away from deciding when he hears her. She is laughing - again. The sound runs over him like a cold waterfall of relief. He tells himself that the feeling is just because if she is safe, then he is safe as well. He tells himself that he is just glad he still has the chance to live as a free man. It has nothing to do with her safety or wellbeing. No. Absolutely not. She was a mage. And he hated mages. Right? No. Not her.
Her pealing laugh is the bell that could bring all sorts of unwanted company. He needs to find her before someone else does. So he follows the sound. It isn't difficult, because it comes again, and again. Each laugh is a surprise, a revelation, because she no doubt found some common thing amazing.
He doesn't know how she isn't exhausted.
He cuts through the dense forest, hoping no one else is close enough to hear Hawke. Hoping to find her first, hopefully not naked, or maybe gloriously naked. No. Not naked. Why had she taken off her robes? He does not neet these images.
While he tries his best to push inappropriate thoughts of the girl out of his mind, Fenris stumbles into a grove. It isn't a large clearing. The forest chose to not give up too much of its precious ground. It is large enough that when he spots Hawke excited, but not naked, frame in the middle of the clearing - she doesn't see him right away. Or it may be that she is way too busy running in circle, punctuated with her giggling to check the shadows for intruders like him. She needed to be more careful.
While he is relieved that she isn't naked, she may as well be. She is clad only in her black corset and panties that were too small to be effective. With her body out of the heavy mage robes, she looks older. His brain registered the tiny waist and the perfect curve of her hips, and - cleavage. How did she have cleavage and he never noticed? He blames the night's shadows.
It's dark and the full moon is the only light they are granted. The sharp contrast of her long black hair and her pale skin makes her look like she is made out of light an air. Her movements are graceful in her excitement and the reason he needs to hunt is coming back again. But she laughs, this time throwing her head back and spreading her arms to the sky, and he is reminded that he cannot just leave her to her own, rather loud, laughing. He pulls it together and tamps down his desire.
When he steps out of the shadows at the edge of the forest the movement catches her eye. A flame danced on her palm as she was readying for atack, but when she sees him, a smile splits her face and the flame is gone.
"Fenris!"
She runs to him, hair whipping behind her, and he feels a secret warmth at the use of his name. Hever liked it, even less the way it sounded. My little wolf. He never, never liked it. Until she said it. That realization both comforts and chills him at the same time.
"Sshh, Hawke. You'll atract unwanted visitors." He catches her by the shoulders to keep her from ramming into him. A hug from her dressed that way, or rather undressed, is a challenge he wasn't ready to perform. He settles for holding her very bare, very silky shoulders. That was manageable enough, but he releases her the moment he knows she isn't going to pounce on him. He rubs his palms down the front of his armor, trying to get the feel of her off his skin. It doesn't work.
"I've been looking for you." He says and laments that it is too dark to count her freckles. Where in the Maker's name is he supposed to look now?
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to be gone long. It's just I was so cold after you left and my robes were still wet... So I took them off to dry when the biggest moth I've ever seen flew by. I had to follow it and I'm so glad I did, because look at what I've found!"
Fenris was about to make a snarky reply, but he doesn't have time. She grabs his hand and pulls him back to where she was. He flinches, because he hates to be touched. It brought back memories he didn't want, memories of a past life full of pain and whips and cries and hunger. But he doesn't pull away. He doesn't, because this is Hawke, and she is innocence in person. He finds out she is surprisingly strong for a mage, too.
"See? Isn't it just breathtaking?" The first he noticed was that Hawke didn't let go of his hand. He pretends not to notice. Then he sees; there, encircling a large stump, he saw the lumpy circle of glowing mushrooms hidden in the tall grass.
"It's a circle of mushrooms and they glow! Have you ever seen anything like it?"
She looks up at him, breathless and reverent under the moonlight, and he feels his throat work to swallow mouthfuls of nothing. Fenris has a hunch that she is flustered with excitement, because even though he has only spent three days with her, he knows her better tha any other person he's ever met. He looks at her and she is... Beautiful. Her pitch black hair turned almost blue with the moonlight and her skin turned glass. Her wide eyes catch the stars and he's never cared about constallations until now. No. He's never seen anything like her before, but that wasn't the question.
"Uh... No." he asnwers after a few seconds.
"What do you call it?" she asks like she expects him to know.
"The mushrooms?"
"Yes! Do mushrooms grow in circles like this normally? Do they all glow? What do you think happened to the tree in the middle?"
Botanist, Fenris is not. Maker's balls if he knows, but he'll give it a shot. She is never happy until her mind has some idea chew on.
"Not all mushrooms glow. I don't really know why these do. The tree probably got chopped down to build something. And I think when mushrooms grow in a circle like this it is called a fairy ring."
"A fairy ring." She sighs like it's the most perfect thing imaginable and looks down at her discovery again. He expects more questions, but she is quiet. She just stares at the ring while he stares at her profile. He wonders if she is as painfully aware that she is still holding his hand as he is.
"Fenris?"
"Yes?"
"Can you break a fairy ring?" She looks at him. She is biting her lip again, this time with a concerned look, but it still has the same effect on him. Only now there is nothing to hunt, so he forces himself to focus.
"Break it?" he doesn't understand.
"Yes I don't see any fairies, and if this is their ring wouldn't they be here? If I were a fairy I'd never want to leave a place as beautiful as this. I think I did something to ruin it." Her brow furrows, her guilt palpable.
How would he know? Did he even look the kind of guy who would know about fairies?
"I think fairies hide from people when they are around."
"Where do they hide?"
"In the mushrooms." He didn't even think twice before answerin her. But at least it sounded plausible. Right?
It must have, because the words were barely out of his mouth when she lets go of his hand and drops to the ground. She lays flat on her stomach and peers as close to the neares fungus as she can.
"That's why they glow." She breathes. "There is a fairy inside." The deduction is so automatic his head spins.
He chastises himself for mourning the loss of contact. Who cares if they aren't holding hands anymore? Not him. More interesting is that when she bends to investigate the mushrooms he can see every curve of her rear. Oh, yes, he can. He needs to get her back to the fire and into the robes. Now.
He takes a compensating step to the side at the contact before he can catch himself. Is he retreating from this girl? Yes, he is. But not just any girl. A beautiful, surprisingly strong, half-naked, mage girl. Retreat was not only okay - it was necessary.
Then, without preamble, she bursts into sobs.
Now Fenris was many things. Ex-slave, elf, odd man with the white markings, bitter and with a dry sense of humor. None of this things prepared him for the unstoppable hurricane of emotions of this girl. She is a summer storm in a teacup and if he had been worried about them hearing her laughter, he is doubly worried about them hearing her sobs.
How does she produce so many tears anyway? He frowns, slightly uncomfortable.
"Oh, Fenris." Hawke sits back on her heels and looks up at him with a cumpled face. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"What?"
Tell her what? What was he supposed to tell her? He cannot keep track anymore.
"About fairy homes! I've been picking them all day!"
She can barely get to words out when a new track of hot tears run down her face. Every sob shakes her all the way through. She is all throbbing pain and hurt so genuine it made Fenris flinch even if it was the sixth time it happened today. Her anguish is so earnest anyone in a mile would pick up on it, and quite frankly, the idea of company sounds horrible.
"Shh..." he pushed the quaking girl on the ground, palms facing down like he can push the volume of her cries into the ground. "It's okay. There are a lot of mushrooms around here, they can find new homes."
He kneels next to her, slowly, not touching, trying not to spook her. She keeps crying. She gasps for air and his eyes draw to the way her breasts strain against her restrictive corset. This girl is hysterical over mushrooms and he is trying his best to ignore just how sexy she looks. He is a bad elf. A bad, bad horrible man.
"What if some big terrible giant took my home? Where would I live?"
He has no answer. Partially because her question is bizarre, even for her. Partially because he lacks the fundamental concept of home being safe, permanent, or invinting place. Mostly because the moonlight makes him forget how young she is. Her cheeks are shining with tears. Her eyes shimmering pools. Her lips quiver. Her bosom heaves. All he can think is how beautiful she looks.
"I am a great big terrible giant!" She says when he doesn't reply, and he cannot help but mentally note that it is really the other way around.
He never saw her coming.
Without warning, she lauches herself into his arms. Both os her arms twist around his neck like a vice and he topples back onto the ground, but manages to catch himself on one arm before crashing all the way. His other arm comes up behind her back to steady her against him, mindful of the sharp claws adorning his hands in his gauntlets. The weight of her sends his legs out straight in front of him and she settles down on his lap with her face buried in his shoulder and legs around his waist.
She is so close. Too close. Too complicated. He flinches a little with the slight pain on his markings, but doesn't complain and doesn't pull her away. The reason for hunting is back again, but there is no good way out of this.
Somehow he got Hawke thinking she is a fairy killer and now she is tangled onto his body in a way that is impossible to ignore. All because of his dumb mouth. He'd gotten himself into this.
"Hawke, fairies aren't like us. They don't have homes like we do. Fairies live where ever they want to."
His words fall onto the curve of ner neck. When he was a slave he would curse and whisper nothing coerent into the elfish sluts' necks at some stage of sex, not as comfort. With her though, it's different. With her it's always different.
She wiggles a bit, trying to get comfortable, and the friction makes him grit his teeth.
"They do?"
"Yes. Trees, rivers, flowers..."
She hiccups, something he learned is a good sign. Hiccups means that she'll stop crying soon. In fact, if he paid attention to all the places where her body presses against his, he would feel her trembling stop. He is, however, doing everything in his power to not pay attention to that. He is paying attention to anything but that. It is only kind of working.
"Fairies can live in our skin?" She turns her head and the bridge of her nose brushes the pulse point of his neck. He stiffs a little, not only by her touch, but mostly because of her question.
"W-Why are you asking that?" He tries to pull on some of his hate to shield himself from the effects of her touch and question. It doesn't work. Her touch goes deeper than his hatred.
"Your skin... It glows, right? Do you think that some fairies are living inside you as well, Fenris?"
Yes? No? What kind of question is that, anyway? She knew his markins were lyrium, he told her that. Why put it like that? And yet, which answer would get her off his lap quicker? Which would make her stay longer? No. He didn't want that. She shifts again, and then once more, trying to get comfortable. It is too much and he sucks in a breath through his teeth. His mind churns for escape routes.
"I don't think so, Hawke. I told what my markings are made from..."
She sniffles and it is adorable. Everything she does is adorable and disarming. Like believing that fairies are real and crying like the workd is ending because she thought she destroyed their home. He thinks a moment about her room at Danarius' mansion. Would she miss it? Was it her home? He supposes she would, but he doesn't understand. He's never had a home. He doesn't know what that feels like, but he imagines it feels an awful lot like holding Hawke in his arms.
Wait. What? No, he doesn't. When did that thought come from?
"If I were a fairy, I would want to live in your skin, Fenris." she breathes agains his neck saying that. And that startled him. He never felt that emotion before, but the way she made his odd markings, a deadly power, look beautiful and magical, sent another wave of warmth through his body.
She is quiet now and he can hear the whisper of her breath and nothing more. If not for the strangle hold around his neck, he might think she is asleep. This relaxation, this peace of hers only serves to wind him tighter. Every silent moment is more difficult than the last to ignor exactly how close she is, hos soft she is, and how she smells like spring water, sunshine and raspberries. Part of him hopes that she is thinking of more questions about fairies. He doens't know how much more he can fabricate about the stupid things, but anything would be better than thinking about how if he inched the hand on her back just a little higher he would reach the strings of her corset and... Venhedis.
Minutes tick by. The shoulder of his supporting arm burns. He presses away from the earth with all the strenght he can find, but his energy is flagging. It isn't long before his efforst focus mainly on keeping his arm's trembling to a minimun. She still clutches him like she will fall apart if she doesn't and he worries that if he takes his hand off her back she will crumble into hysterics again.
Maybe is he just bends his elbow a little and shifts so slightly to the side it wil...
She sneezes.
The high pitched noise, forward momentum on her body, and bend in his elbow all send him crashing to the ground with her on top of him. It's so quick he didn't stand a chance of catching himself. A woosh of air knocks from his lungs and a strangled meep echoes him.
Then there they are in the dark of the forest and the light of the moon. Her weight on top of him, so light, but crushing with implications. Her hips sink into the base os his stomach. Her face curves into the hollow of his neck. She is warm and supple and touching him everywhere. He holds his breath in hope that without his chest rising and pushing against her body it would lessen the tension shooting to his groin. Doesn't work. This is bad, bad, bad, bad, oh so bad.
She moves first, untangling her arms from around his neck and placing her hands on his chest. She reaises her head, her body shifting until she can peer at his face. His hand on her back makes her movements more like wriggles against his body. The friction is as delicious as it is terrible. Even in the dim light he knows that if he lifts his head just slightly and looks down he has a perfect view of all of her straining cleavage which is exactly what he doesn't need right now. So he keeps his head on the ground and squeezes his eyes shut.
"Are you alright?" She asks. "You're making an ugly face."
He forced himself to look at her. It was better to do that than explain the grimace.
Her black hair falls around them like a veil. All of the sweetness trapped in its wafts to his nose. He can barely make out the features of her face. There is an occasional glint of her eyes or teeth, a glimmer of her cheekbone, but she is all he can see. All he can feel. All he can hear, smell, think and Andraste's arse, he needs to taste her.
But he won't. He can't.
He can't get involed with this mage. This girl... Not that way. She isn't one of the elven whores he used to satisfy himself as a slave. She isn't someone to be used and forgotten. She deserves more, deserves better than what he has to offer her. She is the kind of girl who gets attached. Fenris is the kind of guy who is allergic to attachment.
It concerns him that his first thought is for her well-being and not if he would ever escape Danarius. Both reasons are why he has the urge to roll her off of him and drag her back to camp, so they could rest and sleep and forget this. That is, until she bends in so close their noses touch.
"I can feel your heartbeat." She whispers like she is trying to hear it, too. Her hot breath dances over his face. This isn't a seduction. She doesn't even know what that is, living in that blighted room her entire life! But the sensation forces him to think of cold rivers. He can feel her heart too, against his palm on her back. The rabbit-fast pulse rhythm makes him feels better about his own hammering pulse, but not by much.
Did she even know what it meant to make a man's heart pound? He swallows and breathes and tries to ignore just how close she is.
"Fenris?"
She asks when he doesn't respond. He always has something to say, but not now. Every word she says is a reminder of how easy it is to kiss her right now. He breathes out through his nose and bites his tongue, focusing on the pain of his teeth sinking in the soft flesh. He-can't-do-this. But her nose grazes his again, just lightly, just enough to let him know that she is still hovering above his face, and something in him snaps. What she said about his markings that moment ago... So sweet. So innocent. So Hawke.
He trails his hand up her back. The feeling the soft fabric over rigid boning gives way to her even softer skin. His hand weaves into the finess of her hair before cupping the back of her head. He feels the change of her breathing at his touch. He senses the change in her mood. The muscles of her body tighten over him, pulling like the strings of a violin. He knows that if he could clearly see her face he would see that unbearable mix of courage, excitement and innocence that he's been denying the attractiveness all day.
She knows something is happening. She knows something is coming. And who is he to keep a lady waiting?
He tilts his chin over, then up, and there she is. He gives her the softest ghosting of a touch and then he pulls back. He gives her a chance to absorb the sensation and catalog it away with all of her new experiences. He gives the contact a chance to sink right to the burning pit building in his stomach, but that is all he gives. It's all he can give her. Just the slightest touch left him paralyzed with the intensity. He cannot breathe, cannot move, cannot think, because he doesn't trust what he may do.
He hopes she doesn't realize what just happened and that would be it. That way he won't have to find out if that electric current that shot through him was just a fluke or something more. That way he won't have to answer her numerous questions. Maybe she didn't understand the gesture. Maybe she didn't like it. Maybe she didn't even feel it. As far as kisses go it barely registered, even if he still feels it all the way down to his toes. He hopes and prays that she just dismisses it even as his entire body strains towards hers.
He is losing his mind.
He doesn't have time to decide what to do because there it is again, against his lips: butterfly wings, feather light and a punch to the gut all at the same time, because now she is kissing him. It is so soft it could have been an accident, a fumbling touch in the night with their faces so close. It could be, but it isn't. Her touch is a perfect copycat of his movement because she doesn't know more, doesn't know what comes next, but she enjoyes the way her stomach clenches on contact.
He should stop this now, not go further, and now answer any more of her unspeakable questions. He should, but he doesn't. He can't. Because she kissed him back with all that trust and innocence and she is so brilliant his chest aches. He never felt such feeling, but it was good. It was like her. Different.
His fingers curl into her hair, catching strands on calluses, and he holds her steady because she can't pull away now. Not after she kissed him. Not now that he needs her.
He can feel her anticipation to see where this goes next, what this could mean, this new thing he showed her. He pretends it doesn't mirror his own. He's not sure is there is a Black City, but if there is, then he is going to go in style.
It starts the way a real first kiss should; soft and lingering. His free hand comes up and presses against the small of her back. She is so soft he fears he will break her skin. She doesn't resist his touch. Instead, she sinks into him and makes a little contented sigh that he feels more than hears. The control he keeps locked just beneath his skin writhes at the noise, trying to break free, but he doesn't dare let it go. He knows exactly what will happen if it does.
He gives her all he can, closed mouth and chaste, but these schoolchildren kisses aren't enough for her. Instinct tells her there is more. Fenris tries his best to keep things easy, keep them simple, but she fights against it. Hawke presses hardes, wriggles closer, needing more of something. She is too invasive and eager for gentle chivarlry and he is too wrapped up in her to resist.
He tilts his head, hand twisting in her hair to give him the proper leverage to show her just exactly what he needs her to do. Each little gasp or breath she makes is an electric jolt through his body. He opens his mouth and pulls her lower lip between his. His tongue slicks out and runs along her captured lip, hot and damp. She tastes like peach and wine and ginger; warm on his tongue, sweet on his lips, and he wants more, more, more.
She gives a small yelp of surprise at the contact and pulls back a fraction. The loss of her lips against his is like ice all over his body, and he asks himself if she had cast some kind of frost spell on him. And yet, the fire building up on his stomach doesn't die. He didn't know it was possible to be that aroused by just kissing a girl, but this isn't just some girl. This is Hawke. And sex with a thousand women never even came close to feeling like what kissing Hawke feels like. It is like his whole world is reduced to just kissing Hawke and all that means, and all it could mean. Someone to love. Someone to take care. Someone to live for. Nothing more, nothing less, just heat and hunger and her.
The hands on her back and in her hair stay firm, holding her close. He swears that he'll let her go if that's what she want. Luckily, he doesn't have long to worry.
Hawke opens her mouth and presses it against his waiting lips in invitation to show her more, to try it again. With her touch he inhales sharply and he realizes he had been holding his breath ever since she pulled back. It is like he forgot how to breathe without her showing him how. The revelation shocks him almost as much as how she welcomes his tongue in her mouth.
It is far from the most elegant kiss. It could be considered sloppy, actually. But he needs to taste every corner of her mouth. He has his tongue halfway down her throat and he is still not deep enough. Hawke's velvety tongue brushes against his own and he forgets everything, groaning in her mouth.
His body begging her to never stop what she is doing and to never let him stop, either. Every last thread of his reason and resolve to keep this from going too far unravels and snaps because she takes an experimental suck on his tongue. Now there's no turning back. Innocence and virtue are a curse that plagues too many young women and he is not about to spread that disease to her. Not while she is so yielding and magnificent in his arms. He is goingo to give her exactly what she wants - even if she doesn't know what she is asking for.
The hand on her back shifts lower. His fingers trail to the top curve of her rer. When they meet no resistance, they slip lower until he holds a handful of her ripe flesh in his palm. He squeezes. He squeezes because groping Hawke was his new mission in life. All he can think now is touching her everywhere. There is no room for pretense when he is so full of dreadful need he can barely breathe. He needs to be on top of her. He needs to be on top of Hawke like nothing he's ever known. He needs to pin her down and teach her exactly what all those half moan, half sighs she is making really mean.
It isn't difficult to roll them over, because she weights less than he feels like she should. She squeaks in surprise at the shift. The weight over her body is new, confining and comforting all at the same time. She feels safe, warm and she wonders why anyone would ever want to be anywhere but right here. Her hands are free to roam now, and they do. She is curious about his body, what it looks ike, feels like, taste like, but there is so many armor in the way. Nimble fingers start working on the buckles of his armor, and within seconds, his breastplate is place aside. He tries to focus, knowing she isn't only taking off his armor, but taking off the walls that protect him of the world. His pointy paldrons are off next and before he knows, her long, delicate fingers are already working on the clasps of his leather vest and he arches to accommodate her searching fingers with a conflicted groan.
When her fingers hook into his belt and dip into the waistband of his pants to free his shirt, he knows he should stop her. He knows she has no idea what it means to undress a man lying on top of her, kissing her because he needs her to breathe. He knows she is just following an instinct as old and deep as any she had. He knows that her unbelievable thirst for the new and different made her difficult to resist, but that he should try anyway. He knows that he should be the voice of reason and explain propriety and how she is supposed to behave. He should disentangle himself from her arms and stop. She is too young and willing and he should stop her, but her fingers make the first brush over his stomach and she may as well have hit him with a lightning spell.
He breaks away from her mouth with a hiss. The feather light touch is too much for his brain to process. Her hands splay against the rippled expanse of his abs and run up his chest, rucking his shirt under his arms. Her greedy hands push at the fabric, wanting full access, and he denies her nothing. He pulls away the offending material, throwing it somewhere. The evening air hits his feverish skin an yet he doesn't feel it. Not when Hawke's hands are tracing every contour he gives her with the thorough curiosity she showed in every other exploration.
He crashes down against her and his lips find the column of her throat. His lips trail wet kisses along her neck, her jaw, her ear before working back down to the junction where her throat meets her shoulder. He enjoyes the way she trembles when he nibbles there. He also enjoyes the way her delicate fingers dig where the defined muscles of his shoulders meets his arms.
Caution be damned.
She has her hands in his white hair, scraping his back, clutching his rear, seeking purchase, climbing up the ever tightening rope they weave. There must be more to this tension than just adding more and more on top of it, so her legs come up alongside his body, bending up by his hips so he can settle closer to the ache she doesn't understand building at her center.
His tongue traces her collarbone and one hand grips her slender tigh. She squirms against him. Pressing, arching, bending, searching for some sort of friction. Needing more contact, more pressure, not knowing exactly why, but knowing that she would go crazy without it. He gives it to her, because he needs it, too. They rock in an inelegant fashion against each other, panting, working furiously through frustrating layers of clothing.
Hawke grabs Fenris's face and kisses him, deep and desperate, begging him to help her understand exactly what is happening to her body. She feels like she may explode and that is what he is aiming for. That is what he needs from her. So he kisses her the best way he knows how, all the heat and haste, trying to give her what she needs.
Deft fingers move to the latches on the busk of her corset and flick them open. Each release opens her to him that much more until is skin on skin, the swell of her breasts push against the lean wall of his chest, and is has never felt like this before. He clenches his jaw and drops his face in the crook of her neck, straining against the overwhelming needs to shatter in her arms. He can't bring her this far and then leave her unfinished.
In one more desperate attempt to bring her to completion, he bites the sweet junction where her neck meets her shoulder and then she is done.
"F-Fenris." She gasps into the night as bliss begins to wash over her in waves.
She claws at his back as he strains against her, his own release imminent. Her body feels like fireworks, like thousand of eruptions just under her skin. She writhes underneath him, the sensation of it all too much for her to stay still, and her abandon is the most sensual thing he has ever witnessed. She flowed in a series of wild gestures, her body tightening and expanding all at once, fighting itself in heated confusion.
Once he is certain she is taken care of, he doesn't hold back anymore. With her, there is no reason to hold back, no one to hold him back. It isn't so complicated with her - even if it's much more complicated. He is still half dressed, in the middle of some forsaken clearing, on top of a girl that he barely did more than kiss, but lights pure white burst behind his eyes. Liquid fire surges through every nerve. His body seizes and he just lets go. He captures her mouth in a blind gesture of need, finishing hot and boneless on top of her.
The pieces of reality start drifting back to his mind bit by bit, but he is still on top of Hawke. He is still kissing her. He is still strocking her hair, her cheek and murmuring against her mouth and is far too busy to be bothered with things like consequences for his actions, or slavers, or Danarius. When he draws back, he has no idea what to do next. He had never done this with no one he cared for. But looking at her, this, here, now - was different.
So he rests his forehead against hers and just breathes. They stay here for several long moments, unable to vocalize what they're thinking, feeling.
Finally: "Fenris, what was that?"
She is still breathless, eyes wide with wonder, and he wishes he knew. It was - it was - everything. But he can't tell her that. He also doesn't feel up to explaining the facts of life to Hawke tonight, so he says the only other thing that comes to his mind.
"Magic." He replies.