In one effortless motion, he had her pinned against the wall of her own bedchamber. Did he intend to hurt her? He wasn't sure anymore. Part of him wanted to, angry at her as always, but one look at that frightened face framed by those full, deep red locks made him pause.
Frightened? He tightened his grip on her arms. The claws on his gauntlets bit into the sleeves of her robe. Why should she be frightened of me? Hawke was strong-willed and a powerful mage – she could easily blast him aside without so much a lifting a finger. And yet there she was, seemingly powerless in his grasp.
He continued glowering at her, but she didn't return the glare. She simply gazed at him with those eyes again, those damned bright, silvery-blue eyes that reminded him of the lyrium that was burned into his flesh. She never looked at him with contempt or anger, even when they argued about their views on mages and magic. Was it pity that he saw reflected in those eyes? Sorrow? Or something else entirely?
She smiled at him, that faint, barely visible smile she seemed to reserve only for him. He turned away from her, unable to stand the strange mix of irritation and attraction that smile stirred within him.
In the next instant, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, her lips pressing against his. He instinctively jerked back, but she held on, her fingers tangled into his hair. Her lips parted, her warm tongue flicking against his closed lips gently, as though asking for permission to enter. He unintentionally let out a surprised gasp, but found himself allowing his lips to part.
His thoughts were blurred now, and he swore he could feel his knees buckling at this unexpected, intimate contact. As though noticing this opening, Hawke surprised him by swiftly reversing their positions, breaking off the kiss for an instant as she pinned him against the wall. He had opened his mouth to utter a word of protest, but she silenced him by pressing her lips against his once more. This kiss was more demanding now, as though she was silently telling him to just let this moment play out in peace.
"I might be able to help with your problems," he remembered her saying. "Or give you a few more."
Sighing in defeat and acceptance, Fenris wrapped his arms around her slender waist, pressing her against himself tightly. Her breath hitched, and he knew that if his breastplate were not between them, he would have felt her heart racing just as fast as his.
A mage, he thought furiously. Of all things, of all people, it had to be a mage. He moved his hand up to cradle her head, her curls soft against his bare palm. He had no memory of ever kissing anyone, but somehow his instincts were guiding him through it – successfully, based on the soft moans coming from Hawke.
When she placed her hands on his bare upper arms, however, he gripped her shoulders and pushed her away, a hiss escaping his clenched teeth.
"I-I'm sorry," she whispered. "I hurt you, didn't I?"
He turned away from her, tilting his head down to hide the pained expression on his face. It wasn't so much the pain that bothered him, but he thought it would be different…no, he wanted it to be different with her. Knowing that even her touch would sting him came as an unexpected disappointment.
"Hawke," he breathed. "I cannot-"
She drew her hands up to his face, letting her fingertips touch his unmarked cheeks and gently turning his face toward her. "Hush," she murmured gently as she pressed her forehead against his. She closed her eyes, her breath soft against his skin as she began uttering words that he could barely hear.
In an instant, soft, blue glow surrounded them – much like the glow of his lyrium markings, but less harsh. He felt the light ease the pain in his arms, its warmth like a blanket of comfort around them.
Fenris knew it was magic. He knew Hawke was a Spirit Healer, a type of mage that willingly cooperated with spirits to gain potent healing powers.
He also knew that "spirit" was merely a kinder, safer word for "demon".
His thoughts and his emotions seemed to riot for a brief moment. What makes her different from that bastard, Anders, and his "friend"? What makes her different from all those other mages that dealt with demons to bolster their magical powers, like Danarius and Hadriana?
He looked at her, seeking answers in those eyes the color of glowing lyrium. There was always sadness in her eyes when she looked at him. He often mistook that expression for pity, and had resented her for it.
No, he realized. This isn't sadness or pity. He reached up with one hand to cup her cheek, careful not to let the tips of his gauntlet graze her soft skin.
It's longing.
He felt all his doubts and questions fall away as he slid his arms around her once more, and let his lips brush against hers. Then he held her close, tightly, letting her warmth and her magic wash over him in a soothing wave.
The Hawke featured in this fic is based on my own Hawke, a Spirit Healer who usually opts to be nice and tactful when conversing or dealing with other people. She also has a demure, sweet kind of face with big puppy dog eyes that made one of my friends go "D'AWWWWWWWWWW" upon seeing her. She's in a Rivalry romance with Fenris, and this is just an extended/tweaked version of what happened between them after his personal quest in Act II.
In case anyone didn't get the reference, the spell Hawke cast to ease Fenris' pain was Healing Aura.
This fic was originally intended to go much further than this, but I felt that those last few lines had a sense of finality and rightness about them that I felt that I didn't need to elaborate further.