Flowers.
When Hawke walks in, she is carrying flowers. The girls of the class fawn over them and bombard her with questions immediately, before Fenris can open his mouth.
"Who was it?"
"Are you going to prom now Hawke?"
"Who asked you?"
"What color is your dress!"
"Who asked you!?"
"Are you going to come in our limo?"
"You said yes right!"
"By the Maker everyone shut up!" Isabela's voice quiets the gaggle. "Now, Hawke. By Andraste's knickerweasels who asked you?"
"I did."
All the eyes in the class, Fenris' included, snap to the back of the room.
Where Anders sits.
He regards them all with infuriating calm, locking eyes with Fenris when he says, "And she said that she would consider."
The reactions to that were mixed. Lily and Merrill excitedly encourage her to accept his offer, while Isabela nods with that sly smile and takes her seat. Strange.
Zev chuckles and takes Lily by the arm, whispering to her in French before she giggles and he pinches her playfully. When they sit Fenris notices that Sebastian's congratulatory smile does not quite reach his eyes. Happy for Hawke and Anders he may claim to be, but Fenris sees that the lad would rather have Hawke accompany him to the ball. And perhaps more. Fenris wonders briefly how compelling the vows and promise of heaven must have been to convince a young man to abstain from the pleasures of the flesh. Especially considering the company he keeps. Hellfire burns hot, but desire hotter.
When he looks again, Hawke is blushing; it never fails to make Fenris' stomach tighten. Her hair is longer now and it brushes across her cheek, over the fading bruise courtesy of her uncle. Over the mark on her neck that claimed her as his.
Fenris still feels the heat of her as if it were yesterday. Rosy lips and tentative fingers skimming over skin untouched for so long, a stranger to the ways of consensual affection. His tattoos had not hurt then.
They had sung.
Her grey eyes travel shyly across the room and Anders smiles at her, charming and brimming with charisma. When Hawke smiles bashfully back Fenris digs his pen so hard into the paper he's grading that it rips and leaves a gouge in the desk. Hawke sits down.
She looks at him them.
The smile vanishes and her face twists in wry sadness.
She knows how it makes him feel. She knows he would take her if he could, if she wished it. Possess her. Make her his- make her happy.
The marks on her neck would never need be hidden again.
No other man would dare touch her then.
She touches the secret bruise on her throat then and something wild within him growls with deep contentment.
Mine.
He moves to stand before the board and writes out, Qui tacet consentire.
"Who is silent gives consent."
He looks to Hawke, gaze like fire, and she cannot meet his eyes.
The class files out.
Hawke remains in her seat as is custom on Friday evenings. Anders smiles gently at her, as one would to a frightened bird, before shooting him a final triumphant glare.
He walks towards her, and Hawke sits with her ankles crossed before her, unmoving and calm.
Fenris traces a finger over the flowers. Red roses. Cliché and not at all Hawke. They are neither her favorite flowers nor indicative of her relationship with Anders; of this, Fenris is sure.
Anders is in love with what Hawke stands for. Sebastian is in love with what he projects onto her.
But Fenris wants all of her.
"You accepted his offer."
"No, I told him I would consider."
"You understood he would take that as a yes."
"What else was I to do Fenris?" She is angry- he can see it in the set of her lips and the way she shifts.
"Refuse."
"It's not that easy."
"You know to whom you belong," he snaps.
The words hang in the air. Never had such a statement left the recesses of his mind. It is not something that should be said aloud, not after what the two of them had seen.
But Hawke merely stares.
And then, faint as freedom, she whispers, "You."
In a whirl of motion, he has her out of her desk, flipped about, and pressed against his large oak desk.
Her breasts press into him, and for a moment, she struggles. Fenris growls into her ear, knowing how sensitive she is there, how sensitive they both are.
"Say it again," he pleaded, he demanded.
She shudders, he can feel it and see it.
"I am yours."
When Hawke arches into him, Fenris feels lust alight like wildfire within him.
Their fingers dance at the buttons of clothing, neither can tell where one stops and the other begins.
He throws her shirt across the room and ripped away her cheap bra. Her nipples are hard and pink, her skin lit orange with the setting sun.
Fenris had wanted to taste her for so long, and so he does. She cries out his name and squirms beneath him. He pinches the bud left unattended and the sound she makes is high and keening and wonderful.
He has to have her.
It was as if one of his darkest fantasies had been laid out before him. He turns Hawke around and lays her stomach down over his large wooden desk. Her pale skin contrasts sharply with the ebony the desk. In only her small clothes, Hawke looks like a depraved man's dream, legs parted and begging for him.
When she wriggled her ass he grips her wrists and forces them over her head.
"Mine."
It is not a statement; it is a promise. His mouth finds the side of her neck, and his nips there, leaving a twin bruise to the one fading on the other side of her throat.
"You will only ever be mine."
Panting, Hawke nods.
Fenris rolls her panties down and slips a finger between her lower lips and finds her wet. His approval is a low rumble from the basest part of him, the part that wished to see her likes this all the time.
Fenris runs teasingly around her clit, but when Hawke bucks up to seek friction, his hands still.
"You will wait, or you will face consequences."
She shivers but nods.
His finger plunges inside of her and crooks, immediately finding the spot he knows will make her scream for him. Again, she rises up.
This time, he pulls his hand back completely and slaps her ass, hard.
Hawke whimpers at his action, and it is all he can do not to end this game and take himself into her.
But a savage part of him relishes in the control, the power over her and the power of himself it takes.
"Fenris," she whines.
"Impertinent brat."
He spanks her again, eyes black with desire, and watches in fascination when she jolts and whimpers before vainly seeking friction again.
The slick wood provides no outlet for her to rub against, and Hawke parts her legs further and arches her back, giving him a view he had only dreamed about.
He can stand it no longer.
Wrenching her thighs open and holding her hip stead, he plunges into her.
She calls his name again, breathless, high, loud.
Fenris begins to thrust into her in earnest, rutting like a mere animal.
He pulls her hips up sharply, throwing her tail in the air like a sparrow. She keens and goes limp, body spasming around him as he hits that spot within her over and over again.
With a few more strokes, Fenris feels his own completion coming.
He thrusts savagely, pulling her back to meet each pump.
When he spills his seed within her, he calls her name.
Flowers.
He doesn't mind them so much anymore.
As their sweat cools he turns her over so that he may see her eyes.
They are as beautiful as he imagined. Clouded over with pleasure and hazy with contentment, Hawke mewls softly and beckons him to her.
Instead, he carries her off of his desk and pulls her into his lap in his office chair.
Her body is warm against his, and when she curls up against him, into him, he strokes her till he hears her breathing come soft and even.
Fenris' eyes catch the roses one last time, all but forgotten on Hawke's desk.
Hawke was his in this moment. And she would be again.
A/N: Another one of Fenris' fantasies :) This was a lovely idea suggested to me by a friend- it practically wrote itself! Any prompts/suggestions/ideas are always welcome so please don't hesitate if you have plot bunnies that need to be released! I promise I will work on plot again soon but these are just so much fun!