Disclaimer: Bioware owns all characters and places. I just make them dance for me
Tequila Is Your Friend
Fenris became aware of several things as he regained consciousness. The first was that he had an incredible hangover. The second was that he was not lying in his cot in his mansion, but on hard polished wood. Considering he had spent the previous evening at the Hanged Man, it was quite likely he had fallen asleep on Varric's dining table. The third was that he was clad only in his trousers. Vague recollections of a game of strip-diamondback could most likely account for that. And yet, despite his state of undress, and the late autumn chill, he was strangely warm. That was probably because of the person nestled against his chest. That was the fourth thing. Cautiously, he opened his eyes crack. The small amount of light in the room told him it was pre-dawn. Looking down, all he could see was raven hair. Since his hand was resting on what felt like a corset, he came to the conclusion that it was Isabella curled up against him. It wouldn't be the first time they'd passed out together after drinking. No doubt they had gotten close for the warmth. Sighing, he closed his eyes and hoped he'd have slept off his hangover once he woke again.
Merrill had never been hung over before. She was finding it both unpleasant and fascinating. After a time, she realised she was only wearing her underclothes. She'd been lucky. Of their merry band of misfits, Bethany was the only one who worse at cards than she was, and thus Hawke had called an end to the game before it went too far. I love you all, he'd said, but I'd have to kill you if you got a look at Beth's naughty bits. Merrill wondered how Hawke had failed to notice Isabella getting a handful of Bethany's 'naughty bits' whenever she could. Bethany didn't seem to mind. Of course, once the card game was over, then Isabella suggested a game of spin the bottle. Most of the group probably wouldn't have agreed, if not for the copious amounts of that strange alcohol of Isabella's they'd had. Tekla? Tequila? Something like that. Apparently, she'd imported it from Rivain, and had been nice enough to make Merrill a delicious drink called a Margarita with it. Fenris had been drinking the stuff straight from the bottle. He'd been surprisingly animated after a few bottles, smiling and joking, hardly scowling at all. Maybe it was because they'd killed Hadriana a week ago. Merrill supposed this was his first chance to celebrate, since they'd only just returned from their trip to the Vimmark Mountains. Varric's tale of what happened there had been rather spectacular, and the celebration had begun before he'd even finished.
Merrill felt her cheeks warm as she remembered the game. With the exception of Isabella, most of the kisses had been rather chaste. And then her spin had landed on Fenris. They were seated next to each other, and when she'd moved to give him a peck on the lips, he had grabbed the back of her head, deepening the kiss. When she'd felt his tongue questing against her lips, she'd let him in. He'd tasted of tequila and some kind of spice. The touch of his lyrium against her skin had made her whole body tingle…much like it was now.
She opened her eyes slightly, to discover the sight of a dusky chest laced with white. She was suddenly very aware of the warm body pressed up against her, of her leg straddling his hip, and of the hard length pressed against her stomach. She swallowed hard. The whole thing felt wonderful. She didn't want to move, didn't want to wake him, knowing that the spell would be broken, and he would hate her once more. Unfortunately, her body chose that moment to inform her she rather desperately needed to use the privy. Very carefully, she unhooked her knee from his hip. The figure beside her groaned at the movement, pulling her closer and placing his leg over hers, effectively pining her in place. Now there was no way to get away without waking him.
"Fenris" she whispered. There was no response.
"Fenris" she repeated, louder this time. He grunted, but did not wake. She cleared her throat.
"Fenris" she said loudly. He opened his eyes blearily and looked down at her. "As wonderful as it is for you to be so nice, I really need to use the privy. Would you mind letting go?" Fenris just stared at her for a moment, and then his eyes widened as his brain finally processed the situation. He leapt away from her like she'd struck him with a lightning bolt, tumbling over the side of the table, narrowly avoiding hitting a passed out Aveline.
"Do you two mind? Some of us are trying to die here." Grumbled the lump in Varric's bed.
Merrill chose that moment to escape, hurriedly grapping her clothes before running to find the privy. Fenris' reaction had hurt. She knew what he was like, knew why he hated mages, but it still hurt every time he insulted her, or treated her like a monster. And then to have a taste of what could have been, being held in those strong arms, feeling protected and accepted. Fenris was the only person who had ever actually made her feel ashamed of her magic, if only because he might have looked at her differently if she'd been born without it. Merrill managed to hold back the tears until she got home. Then they came in a flood.