Author's Note: My first attempt at writing fluff! And mild smut. I apologise in advance for what you're about to read.
A few days into Artur's entirely unplanned however-many-days stay at his mansion, which neither of them knows when it will end and wishes to end anytime soon, Fenris awakens to find him sitting up in his—their?—bed, hunched over, head bowed, fists pressed to his forehead. His mouth is twisted into a smile or the strange parody of a smile, and he seems to be trembling slightly.
The sight jolts him into full wakefulness, and he turns over, pressing his hand very gently to Artur's elbow. If his lover—a strange phrase, that, one that'll require longer than a few days to get used to, or so he suspects—notices, he gives no sign of it. Fenris pulls himself up onto his own elbow and quietly asks, "What's wrong?"
Artur looks at him, and his oversized grey eyes that Fenris is entirely too fond of seem to be shining. With tears? It's hard to say in the dim light. "What? No, nothing's wrong. Just for once," he says. But his voice sounds so odd, so strained, like he's trying to hold something back. It's not reassuring.
"Then why are you—"
Artur lets out a breathy laugh, and it sounds so different from normal, from the way he laughs when they're around their friends. It's hard for him to describe, but it seems more real, more genuine, less forced. Fenris has heard this sort of laugh a few times before, but he's never noticed the difference until now. His concern continues to rise until Artur says, "Because I woke up today, and I felt… how can I say it? This sort of buoyancy, a kind of glowing… so much of it that I felt I might burst from it. A rather foreign sensation, you have to understand."
Fenris blinks, then looks at him. "I think you're talking about happiness, Artur," he says.
"Yes, that," Artur says immediately, and Fenris decides that he'll ponder the implications of him not realising what he felt was happiness—or not being able to name it as such—later. Not that he's much better on that front, but all the same… "Happiness. For all the glib words that have ever dribbled from my mouth, all the cheer and sarcasm and unrelenting good humour, the last time I was happy like this was… was a long time ago."
Fenris shakes his head somewhat disbelievingly. "Your life is a catastrophe, you know that?"
"Trust me, I know that better than anyone," Artur says with a sudden grimace. The expression quickly fades, however, and something softer and warmer replaces it as he looks at Fenris. It's not tears that he's seeing in his lover's eyes, Fenris realises, but joy, and he can't help but share in it, especially as Artur lifts his hand to carefully stroke his cheek. "You make it… it all feels bearable now that we have this. Maybe even more than bearable. I didn't realise I could feel this. I hope… do you feel the same?"
Fenris sits up and leans in until they're pressing their foreheads together, the blankets tangled between them. He'd be lying if he said he didn't feel some of that same glowing and buoyancy that Artur talked about, and just like for Artur, it's a foreign sensation for him as well. Joy, togetherness, hope for a future, even peace—maybe this is what freedom means. He looks up at Artur from under his lashes and almost feels Artur's breath catching. "Absolutely," he says, almost growls. "And now that I know what it's like, I'm not letting it go."
Artur grins, and it's not like the fake, plastered-on smiles that never even light up his eyes. Instead, his whole face seems to glow from it: colour fills his cheeks, and his eyes crinkle and take on the appearance of silver. It's beautiful, and Fenris feels his own breath catching at the sight of it. Part of him thinks that Merrill should see what Artur's eyes can do before accusing him of having puppy eyes. "You speak for me," his lover says. "Maybe it won't last. Story of my life. But it's something to fight for, isn't it? Something to live for?"
"To fight for as hard as I fought for my freedom. To live for when I didn't know until now what to live for," he says, like he's making a vow, and Artur's face turns even brighter red as he lets out another breathy laugh. Fenris brings his hand up his chest, around his neck, and tangles it in his not-so-neat-as-usual black hair, but he doesn't pull him forward. Yet.
"You sap," Artur teases, and Fenris chuckles unapologetically. "Have I mentioned that I love you yet?"
"Once or twice," Fenris teases back. He knows he should say the words as well, or at least some equivalent thereof, but he can't quite get them out, and above all, he doesn't want to force them out. Instead, as ever, he acts, tightening his grip on the back of Artur's head and pulling him in until their lips—and noses, and teeth—meet.
Artur is inexperienced and clumsy still, and their noses and teeth keep bumping as their lips move against each other, but his enthusiasm and gentleness and the carefulness of his touch and the way he holds onto Fenris' waist with his slight, smooth hands make up for all the rest. He knows his lover thinks of himself as too smooth, being slimly built and possessing no calluses, only extensive and rather hideous scarring all over his body, but Fenris would be lying if he said that he didn't enjoy his softness and the way it contrasts with all his sharp edges and angles. But that is a conversation for later.
He begins to twist himself around Artur, rising up and almost sitting in his lap as he curls his arm around him, and Artur lets out a noise that's somewhere between a groan and a sigh. "You are insatiable," he mutters, but there's no sign of displeasure in his voice—quite the opposite, actually.
"I don't hear you complaining," Fenris says, and Artur chuckles breathlessly.
"True. I never knew I needed this, either. Or that I could want it so badly. I suppose this means my parents are vindicated now," he says, and Fenris snorts and kisses him again to keep him quiet. Shortly after, he shoves Artur back down onto the bed and positions himself above him, hands on either side of his shoulders, their legs tangled up together. Artur rubs his back and stares up at him with a grin on his face.
Then he hears a knock at the door.
Artur freezes, and a scowl twists Fenris' face. After a few moments, he shakes his head, decides to ignore it, and leans back in to press his lips to Artur's jaw. Artur doesn't object—if anything, the noise that's dragged from his mouth as Fenris kisses down his jaw and neck and sucks and bites in places seems to be one of encouragement. Which is rather unusual for him, considering Artur's generally conservative attitude towards sex and his terror of somebody invading his privacy, but Fenris isn't about to point that out.
He's in the process of sucking a bruise into the place where Artur's neck meets his shoulder and silently lamenting that nobody will ever get to see his efforts because of Artur's dress habits when there's another knock, and while Fenris is determined to ignore it again, Artur goes still underneath him.
"Wait," he says, and Fenris stops at once, lifting his head to meet his gaze. "You should go answer that, or they'll keep bugging you."
"They'll go away eventually," he says, but Artur shakes his head.
"You don't know that," he says. "Don't worry, I'll keep the bed warm while you're gone. In more ways than one."
Fenris laughs, and the idea of Artur jerking himself off—once again, unusual behaviour for a man who for various reasons remained a virgin until he was twenty-eight; Isabela would be proud, Sebastian horrified—is enough incentive for him to get up, find a loose and long enough tunic to conceal his half-hard cock, pull it on, and head downstairs.
At the door, he meets Varric. "Varric," he says with more politeness and patience than he feels. He doesn't want to be reminded that a world exists outside of his bedroom at the minute. "What do you need?"
"Hello to you as well, elf," Varric says. "I was wondering if you'd seen Hawke at all these past few days. He seems to have disappeared."
Fenris bites his lip to keep himself from smirking and thus giving the game away. He quickly concocts a lie to cover for Artur. "I saw him when he came here three days ago," he says. "When he left, he said that he would be going out of the city for a few days."
"Huh. Bodahn didn't say anything about that when I went to the estate," Varric says, raising his eyebrow.
Fenris shrugs. Another lie springs to his lips, this one distinctly unpalatable but useful for his purposes. "As I recall, he was concussed in the fight in the Hanged Man," he says, and he feels a stirring of rage and panic as he recalls the bottle that Danarius had magically thrown striking Artur in the head, knocking him unconscious and opening up a wound that Danarius had used to fuel his blood magic. "While it's mostly healed, I'm sure he's still feeling the aftereffects. He might have forgotten to tell Bodahn—or anyone else apart from myself."
"And you didn't tell anyone?"
"I was busy drinking through the wine cellar," Fenris deadpans, and Varric snorts. "He said he wouldn't be far, but he needed a break after what happened. He'll be back within the next day or so."
Varric looks as if he doesn't entirely believe him, but he thankfully doesn't press the issue. "Well, when you see him, tell him that Daisy is getting a bit restless and wants to head up to Sundermount as soon as possible," he says.
He nods. "Of course."
"Then I'll see you at the Hanged Man for the game in a few days?"
"Assuming all the damage has been repaired, yes," Fenris says. The fight damn near destroyed the pub, and Fenris neither knows nor particularly cares who's repairing it or who's paying for the repairs—probably Varric, when he comes to think of it. So long as all the blood comes out, that's all that matters to him.
"Great. Catch you then, elf." With that, Varric leaves, and Fenris waits until he's out of sight before he goes back inside, shuts the door again, and quickly heads back up the stairs into his room, stripping off his tunic all the while.
As promised, Artur has been keeping the bed warm, and Fenris smirks as he watches him palm himself with inexpert hands. His face is heavily flushed, and his chest rises and falls unevenly. When he sees Fenris, he instantly lets go. "Who was it?" he asks, casually, like he's not in Fenris' bed and he wasn't just masturbating.
"Varric," he says. "He was asking where you were. I gave you a cover story, but I'm not sure he believed me."
Artur lets out a sigh. "Right, Kirkwall still exists, Maker preserve me," he moans, and Fenris chuckles. "I suppose I will have to leave sooner or later."
"You will," Fenris says, tossing the tunic aside, returning to the bed, and climbing back on top of his lover. "But I intend to keep you detained for just a little longer."
Artur grins and helps him adjust his position. "I'm holding you to that."
Fenris decides to make good on his words immediately and lets Artur pull him back down for their lips to meet again.