Fenris was not prepared for the kiss that captured his mouth.
He flailed around a little, then realized he was covered in sheets. Silky red sheets. And not only that, but also a large body. Panic filled him. Danarius. He's caught up to me. I was foolish to think this would last-
His hands flinched, and he prepared to drive a fist into the offending man's chest, but something about the chuckle that emptied into his mouth stopped him.
"It's New Year's Eve, Fenris," the voice breathed against his face.
Garrett. Hawke. Not Danarius. Danarius was dead. Not Danarius.
Fenris opened his eyes and stared up at the man, his thoughts confirmed by big brown eyes and a grin so stupid it could only belong to the man he'd given his heart to.
"Mnnghggm," he told Hawke, blinking blurrily, his bout of adrenaline gone as quickly as it had come and leaving him sleepy-headed. Hawke's nose scrunched in a grin and Fenris realized what he'd said. "Garrett," he corrected himself, though it did nothing to make the glow of amusement leave his lover's eyes, "that was not a wise way to wake me up."
Hawke leaned back and crossed his arms, still straddling Fenris's waist and his grin morphing into a smirk. "On the contrary," he said, "I rather like kissing you awake. Seems like you'll have to get used to it, Fenris."
"I almost ripped your heart out," the elf replied seriously, though he felt an amused smirk tick up one side of his face.
"Oh, you've done that already," replied the bearded man dramatically, lifting a hand and pressing it against the spot where Fenris's own heart beat. "It's yours." Hawke's eyes softened and his smirk turned into a more meaningful smile, warming Fenris down to his toes and sending his stomach into fluttery circles.
It was a feeling he was still getting used to, and it brought a blush reluctantly to his face.
Hawke's eyes turned mischievous again and he leaned back down low over Fenris's body. "You're blushing," he stated simply, and Fenris scowled, hoping it forced the color from his face. Hawke's hand came up to brush some hair away from his face, and he tilted his head to one side. "The only thing that would make the expression better was if you bit your lip." Hawke's eyebrow quirked and he said, "But I guess that face is something reserved for… other things." A suggestive grin lit up his lover's face.
"Hawke!" Fenris complained, looking aside and forcibly scooting himself into a sitting position, forcing Hawke to back up. Garrett, still grinning, obediently rolled off of Fenris and plopped gracelessly on the other side of his bed. Fenris eyed him and pretended to scowl. "Why did you wake me at this unholy hour, anyway?"
The other warrior rolled his neck and scratched his beard, getting into a cross-legged position and facing the elf, who had just noticed Hawke had nothing but breeches on and was desperately wishing he hadn't. "Because, you have to help me get ready for the New Year's Eve party," Hawke explained easily, and just like that was off the bed and over at his wardrobe.
Fenris sighed and fell forward on the sheets, feeling like an angry child and not caring. "Hawke, please tell me you didn't invite a lot of people." He tilted his head sideways so he could look at the human. "Please tell me I won't have to dress up."
Hawke took a breath in through his teeth and shot Fenris a sheepish look. "Heh."
Fenris groaned and shifted his head the other way, pressing his face into the comforter. "Haaaawke."
"Well, I'm sorry, Fenris," the bearded man sighed, running a hand through his hair and yanking out a tunic and holding it against his chest. "I couldn't really help it. All this bullshit about mages and templars and Meredith and Orsino… people just want to kind of have a party and let loose some tension. Varric made the idea seem very appealing," he added weakly, and Fenris felt a pleading look hit him in the back.
He sighed heavily and didn't respond, merely rising to look for his clothes. Tunic, leggings, both neatly thrown into a pile in the corner of the room. Fenris frowned and bent to grab his leggings first, leaning against the dresser and shoving one foot in.
"Good morning," Hawke tried again, cheerfully, and Fenris turned and gave him a glare, still shimmying into his pants. Hawke's eye twitched and he smiled. "You're really sexy."
With an exasperated sigh, Fenris slid the tunic over his head and marched from the room with a tossed "Hurry up" over his shoulder. He ignored the sigh Hawke let out as he closed the door behind him.
….
The day went like this;
Isabela and Anders were already downstairs in the living room. The pirate was in the middle of a sentence when Fenris stalked in.
"… I know it's not much, but I do have a room if things get – hellooo, gorgeous." Isabela's tone turned from serious to playful so quickly Anders still appeared very deep in conversation even though the temptress had turned away from him.
"Is that big, hairy scruff of a man almost getting ready?" Isabela looked around the elf as if expecting to find Hawke hidden behind him.
"I believe so, " Fenris responded curtly, and seated himself in Hawke's desk chair.
"Oooh, grouchy. Guess the sex didn't happen last night?" Isabela leaned forward, ample bosom spilling from her shirt. Fenris noticed Anders snap to attention and rolled his eyes.
"What makes you say that?" he drolled, sending the pirate an irritable look.
"Usually you're all smirky and pleased with yourself, or whatever." Isabela waved a hand around and leaned back in the chair she'd apparently dragged out from the library.
Fenris scowled and didn't reply.
They waited awkwardly for Hawke to finish getting ready, with Anders staring at Isabela, Isabela gazing at Fenris, and Fenris fiddling with the red ribbon on his wrist, sans the gauntlets and rest of his armor.
Varric arrived with Merrill in tow just as Hawke descended the stairs in a comfortable looking blue tunic and the pants he'd slept it.
"Lookin' sloppy, Hawke," Varric commented, looking up from a scratch in Bianca's woodwork.
"Lookin' short, Varric," the warrior shot back, running a hand through his messy hair again and giving Fenris a soft look which wasn't returned.
The plan of action was explained and everyone split into pairs.
Isabela and Varric were sent to find and purchase clothing for the big event. Varric had already informed Aveline that she'd be taking care of getting the word about the party known and handling invitations. Anders and Merrill were reluctantly put together to find decorations and party favors, which left Hawke and Fenris to make the food and get the drinks.
The two awkwardly made way for the kitchen, Hawke quiet and Fenris brooding. Orana waited in the room, her big green eyes running down Fenris's frame and a gentle smile flowing over her face. Though no doubt Orana was much younger than Fenris, she had taken to treating him like he'd imagined Leandra might have treated him.
"Hello, Fenris, Hawke," Orana said kindly, and the bearded man smiled despite himself. Fenris knew he'd had to work hard to get Orana to stop calling him 'master'. Some of the elf warrior's annoyance towards his lover faded as the human tousled Orana's hair, which was out of its bun and instead in a loose ponytail. Fenris thought she looked prettily carefree, and wondered what she might have been like without slavery. Or if she'd been enslaved under Danarius.
He stopped that train of thought forcefully and turned towards Hawke.
Reluctantly, still a little pissed, he said, "Where are the dwarves?"
"Gave them the day off," Hawke said, and began burrowing through the cabinets. "Orana, too, actually, but she offered to help us cook." Hawke's black-bearded face popped over the side of the counter and he gave Fenris pleading eyes that begged forgiveness.
Sighing, Fenris gave the other man a small smile, and Hawke's eyes crinkled as he bent back down to burrow some more.
The cooking went well, though Fenris burned the cake – twice – and a misplaced dash of flour had somehow ended up coating all three of them. At one point, Hawke's mabari tumbled into the kitchen, barking and hoping to get a treat, and sent Fenris tumbling across the floor, causing him to drop the third cake.
Somehow, everything was prepared by the end of the afternoon – even the cake. They were all happily tired and dirty – Fenris had brown sugar in his hair and honey glaze was all up one side of Hawke's bearded face. Orana had remained spotless, minus the flour, and was giggling as she sent the two of them to go get washed up. As the two men walked up the stairs, Merrill and Anders walked in with two hired boys, all of them with full hands of bags. Merrill joyously began calling out everything she'd purchased, and Hawke stopped to listen, but Fenris pushed him into the bathroom, where they cleaned their faces.
As if on cue, as soon as they left the bathroom, Isabela swept in, the trusty dwarf by her side. Both were adorned with hangers of clothing and light coinpurses.
Fenris sighed at the sight, and turned to Hawke, who was beaming hesitantly.
"I'm still not happy about this," the elf muttered, using his thumb to rub away a bit of flour Garrett had missed.
Garrett's face fell a little, and Fenris sighed, guilt twisting up his stomach.
"I'll make it up to you, Fenris," the human promised, eyes earnest.
Fenris sighed and quietly agreed. "Damn right you will."
….
Fenris leaned his head back against the door and sighed, listening to the people already mingling outside in Hawke's foyer. A distinct pounding wracked the back of his head, and he made an annoyed groan before pushing off his perch and going to inspect himself in the mirror.
It was a strapping suit, he agreed. Isabela had chosen well. He looked nothing like a prickly, formerly enslaved bodyguard swordsmen with a physical touch problem. Instead, he looked almost like he belonged in Hightown, and if you squinted and tilted your head, he could be distinguished.
The fabric was soft, elegant. Fenris felt utterly uncomfortable in it. He felt much too exposed, and unprotected. Worse still, he wasn't allowed to bring his sword into the party. If anyone tried anything, his only choice would be to use his lyrium.
The elven warrior frowned at himself in the mirror and used a hand to sweep his hair to one side. It fell hopelessly back into place.
He saw Garrett emerge from behind the screen in the reflection, and felt his mouth dry a little.
The man was still pulling his own suit on, fiddling with the collar and tugging in the ends. He looked up, caught Fenris's stare, and smiled, pinkening shyly.
Fenris resolutely turned away, hating the blush he could already feel on his cheeks.
"All ready?" Luckily, Hawke didn't comment on the color of Fenris's face this time, instead walking over to him and inspecting his outfit.
"Yes," Fenris replied quietly, reluctantly, and Hawke's brown eyes caught his.
His lover's pupils were blown wide, head lowered so he looked at Fenris almost through his eyelashes. "I like this better than your armor," Hawke murmured lowly, and Fenris felt a boost of self-confidence and a smirk flicker over him.
"I don't," he replied, but kept his tone carefully balanced between teasing and serious. He reached forward and fixed Garrett's hair, tucking a piece behind his ear. Fenris smirked more deeply as he watched the other man shudder.
"Maker, Fenris," was all he said, but Fenris recognized his tone, and pulled away, piquing a brow. "We're expected at your own party, Hawke," he commented, and slid easily around the slightly larger man towards the door.
With another sigh, though this one more dissatisfied than sad, Hawke followed after him.
…
The party went as expected. Golden stars and ribbons adorned the Hawke home, sparkling gaily and setting a magical feel to the event. Nobles showed up, predictably, women in skin-tight robes and dresses and men in dapper suits. Fenris watched all of them from the banister outside of Hawke's room, watching the people mingle and all the while keeping an eye on Hawke. At present, he was talking with Aveline, who looked very womanly in her guard armor. She'd ditched the headband, though, and wore a pair of stud earrings. Fenris smirked, supposing that was as feminine as she was ever going to get.
Varric stood near the table of food, a glass of wine in his hand as he told a group of nobles the story of Hawke and the Arishok. Varric looked very handsome as well, though his red tunic looked suspiciously like it had been ripped down the front purely for the purpose of exposing his chest hair. Merrill stood near him, all thinness and grace in a long green gown and silver elven jewelry. A pair of diamonds dangled from her ears, and Fenris thought he would have found her attractive had he not known she was a blood mage.
Anders stood awkwardly in the corner, looking terrified every time a templar – or even Aveline – passed by. At some point during the evening, he retreated into the kitchen and did not return. Fenris was almost suspicious enough to follow; Anders had been acting very strangely recently, remaining holed up in his clinic at all times unless Hawke forcibly dragged him out on mission that required healing. Fenris didn't follow, though, deciding he did not want to ruin Hawke's night.
Isabela, classy as always, had worn the thinnest, blackest, tightest and shortest dress he'd ever imagined he could ever see. He kept averting his eyes as he feared she'd simply pop from her dress and stand before them in her smallclothes – if that. Her golden jewelry remained though she lost the bandana. Her hair hung low and dark across her back and around her face – a beautiful raven in a flock of doves.
Fenris ducked his head and listened to the music the band in the corner was playing. It was a haunting slow song, and drew him into almost drowsing.
He was snapped awake, though, when Hawke spoke up from the foyer.
"Hey, everyone! Five minutes to 9:37 Dragon Age!"
A bout of cheers rose from the crowd, and Fenris felt excitement flicker in his chest, despite himself.
He rose the glass he was holding, still half-filled with wine, and took a sip. Hawke's eyes found him on the banister and the man smiled, holding up a wine bottle and piquing a brow in question.
Fenris grinned and nodded, waving the other man up.
Hawke was beside him in seconds, weaving through the crowd like a snake through stones. Hawke wrapped his arms around Fenris's neck, and the elf naturally rested his hands at the other man's waist.
The two stared quietly at each other for a moment before Hawke released him and filled up his glass, producing one of his own and filling it too.
Isabela cried out from below. "Thirty seconds!" Fenris distantly heard Merrill squeal, but remained eye to eye with Hawke, taking a tiny sip of the drink he'd never really intended on drinking.
Hawke grinned, pulling Fenris closer, and the elf didn't resist, a smirk flickering over his own face.
"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven!..."
"Our first new year together," Hawke murmured.
"And not our last," Fenris replied quietly, bumping noses with the other man.
"Three! Two! One!"
Fenris kissed Hawke as screams flew up around them, cheers and whoops and cries. His beard scruffed against Fenris's face but he didn't care, tasting the wine on Hawke's lips and feeling like his head was spinning.
They broke apart as the cheers continued, and Hawke pinked again as Fenris continued kissing him, his neck, his cheek, his forehead.
"Happy… New Year, Fenris," The warrior choked out, hand tight on the wine glass and bottle he held.
Fenris paused and pulled back, fixing his lover with a soft green stare. "Happy New Year, Hawke. May I walk into many more at your side."