Running.
It was ironic that the most enjoyable parts of his life featured running. His time in Kirkwall was one extended period of running, even though he stayed in the same place. He had been running from slavery, running from his master, and he had just so happened to run into the cause of all his current running.
She kept wearing elegant cloth and had her hair down all the time now. It was effective at keeping people from thinking she was The Champion of Kirkwall, but it was not effective at preventing people from thinking she was either rich or a mage. It often resulted in her sighing and pulling a dagger from her boots and throwing it at someone's face.
He knew it was for him that she didn't use magic.
They were out of breath in the forest now. Hours ago they had run into a small party of people who had accused Hawke of being a mage. Unfortunately, they were not only correct, but one party member swore she looked just like Dehlian Hawke. Damn her charity, he thought, as it turned out to be someone she had done a job for in Kirkwall. Another fight later and they had been on the run since, wanting to be long gone from a location where Dehlian Hawke might have been sighted.
"I think this is good," she said as she stared up at the sky. They had ran when the sun was high in the sky, and now it was pitch black. "Good luck finding us in the dark!" she muttered a sarcastic cheer to their would be pursuers.
Varric, Merill, Aveline, Isabela, and even Anders, who she had strangled with her magic to the point of near death, had followed her. Her sister had as well, but she had run off around the same time as Anders in order to track the bastard down, or so she had said. Fenris wasn't sure if she was legitimate, or felt sympathy for him. Now they were all gone, and only he remained by her side. He wouldn't leave it even if she offered to let him run away in the night guilt free. No one had seen her use magic on Anders, so the rumors she might secretly be a mage were quashed under heavy witness statements saying she killed an abomination with only a dagger and poisons.
Peh, only, he thought. The woman could work a different sort of magic with daggers and poisons, the kind Isabela had been all too happy to admit she admired. They never spoke of her magic anymore, but it almost felt like it wasn't true. The memory burned into his mind of her dropping Anders to the ground, watching him suffocate and scratch at the ice. She freed him of his icy prison just in time for him to live, and he looked at her with horror.
Fenris shook his head, what did it matter? Mage or no, she was the happiest piece of his life.
Or she was his life.
He looked at her to find she had began to set up camp, only to lie down and breath heavily.
"Are you alright?" he asked as he sat down on the tarp next to her. He had a mix of worry and relief, knowing that for now everything would be fine. She looked at him with a smirk.
"Of course I'm alright, I'm tired is what I am. This dress does no favors for running!" he laughed at her. Then he stopped. When did he laugh? He chuckled, was bemused, but he didn't laugh. Her eyes were wide looking at him. Her grin widened.
"My influence is finally paying off," she murmured as she shut her eyes. His smile gone, not out of agitation but habit, he put his hand on hers.
"It is," he was watching her breath. Her chest rising and falling, he couldn't help but feel ease as she breathed. It felt. . . right. He felt something else as well, though. "Now, what were you saying about that dress not doing you any favors?" she sat up.
"If it makes you look, it's doing it's job," she remarked straightforwardly.
"Have I ever told you how becoming it is for you to say exactly what's on your mind?" he said as he lowered his face near to hers. Suddenly, she withdrew her face from his. She looked away from him.
"Dehlian?" had he offended her?
"Then allow me to say it, is shepherding over me a burden to you?" she looked at him with a face he hadn't seen in a long time. The empty look she had held while thinking over her mother- but even then she'd said nothing. "I implore you, if this is the case, then allow me to defend myself. You did not wish to defend the mages, so it is my task to bare."
Was The Great Champion of Kirkwall, Hawke, really doubting herself so much? He supposed he had been angry with her at first – for about 15 seconds. He was a man with principles, and she had steadily made his first principle to be with her.
"If you're worried I am any more taxed than I have ever been, I am not. Defending a woman as powerful as you is rarely difficult," she shook her head.
"That is not what I meant and you know it," she countered angrily. He put his hand on her cheek.
"Staying by your side is the only path I have- or that I want. Are you suggesting I go off and start a farm somewhere? Find a life when I have never known how? Being with you is the only form of life that I know- the only living I have ever truly done," he watched her eyes soften and her lips curve upward.
"I suppose I just feel unnecesary guilt, this is all. . . incredibly stressful," that was an understatement if there ever was one. "I turn out to be a mage and then make you hightail it with me across the globe? Hardly fair. Hardly righteous. More or less, I guess I was suggesting that if you had grown bored of me I would not hold it against you if you would prefer to leave."
It might have been one of the most stupid, yet compassionate, things she had ever said to him. He shoved her down against the tarp and kissed her. They were never the type to reason with words, eventually they had to do something, and it was usually terribly perverse.
"Does the dress work?" she moaned out as he pressed his lips to her neck.
"Forget the miserable dress," he growled as he tugged up the hem of said dress. He wasn't tired of running, he was tired of watching her run. What a miserable feeling it was to need her and not have her. A feeling he had known too well for too many years. The thought made him tear off her shabby undergarment.
"You just tore off my – what in the world are you thinking? I only have so many!" That was when he responded by ripping the front of her dress. "That I definitely only had one of!" but she stopped complaining as soon as he nipped at the tender flesh of her breast. "I'm going back to armor," she moaned weakly. He ripped more of her dress until her entire chest was clearly in sight.
"Keep complaining, I don't mind reducing this tease of a dress to scraps," rather than continue complaining Hawke simply kissed him. She always did complain about something whenever she liked it. He had to remove at least some of the armor or it would not be pleasant, but it was frustrating to wait even a moment. The creamy white of her skin pressed against the brown texture of his – only her hands showed the same texture as he did. Only her hands were rough and abused, but they too felt right when interlocked with him.
It was something about the contrast that resonated how she was his. Only he touched her, only he held her. Only he fucked her. He strangled out a groan as he pressed his cock against her heat, tracing lightly over her clit and sending a shiver down her back. He moved against her until she squirmed. He pulled teasingly at her nipples just to make it worse. Her dark eyes glittered in anticipation. It was so black around them, the waning moonlight barely casting light upon them. He pressed himself into her. She let out a cry.
Her legs wrapped around him in ecstacy as he grabbed onto her hips. Soft and fleshy, it felt just right to take control of her body. He pulled out only to pull her hips down on him with extra fervor. She cried out, and why not make her? When no one was around to hear he just wanted her to scream out for him louder.
"Fenris," she cried out as she kissed him furiously. Sloppy and wet, her kisses met his lip with enhanced desire. He could feel the soft flesh of her breasts against his chest as he took her more furiously, his cock throbbing furiously inside of her. "More!" she moaned out in total submission to him. It was not always that she wished for him to have her so deeply, and so he embraced the pleasure.
"As you wish," he muttered as turned her to her side and lifted her leg, taking her from the side and filling her deeper. He could see her mouth open in ecstasy. The moonlight came and went, and he could see the shape of her breasts moving with his rhythm. His name starts to echo from her mouth in repetition and he can hear the sounds of her pussy as he moves inside of her. Her face contorts as he holds the soft flesh of her leg up and hits the spot he knows drives her wild- if his time as a slave was worth anything beyond meeting her, he is happy it can at least please her.
Because her pleasure greatly enthralls him.
He feels her body tense up around him and her breath sharpen, but he is not yet done. He pulls her into his lap and looks her in the eye. Softly he kisses the tender flesh of her neck and holds her close. He closes his eyes as she wraps her arms around his shoulders. The movements are subdued now, because he wants to feel her just a little longer. He'd run forever as long he could be near her like this at the end.
"Dehlian," he whispers tenderly as she lets out gasps as soft as her sleek black hair. He runs his fingers through it as he holds her close. She kisses the marks on his chin, and then his neck. Her fingers follow her lips to all of his marks. Her flesh on his feels like it's melding together, the thick scent of sweat and fluids melting his senses. He pulls her close and releases himself inside of her. The tarp under them, he simply lies back. She looks down at him with tenderness in her eyes, and the moon passes through the clouds and branches for a moment.
"I love you," she says as she touches his cheeks. He touches hers in return.
"And I you," he states simply. She lies on him and breathes slowly, his hands return to her hair. He can't even call this running, because she is is home, and all he is doing is following her.
Because she is the only thing that has ever been his.