That night, he woke suddenly in the darkness and ranfor Hawke's room. No time for weapons, no time for armor; if he were too late, he would be fighting barehanded. He threw the latch and slammed the door open.

In her bed, Hawke screamed and pulled the sheet up to her chin. "What are you doing?"

His lyrium tattoos flared in the darkness. "A demon," he panted raggedly. "There was a demon." It was his duty, his calling, to defend sorcerers from demons, and his markings gave him the slightest warning when one was nearby.

"There was," Hawke agreed. "She offered me my freedom."

"Did you - " He approached, hand alight. If she were possessed, she would be overfull of mana.

"Of course not!" she snapped, voice dripping scorn. She snarled as he brushed her shoulder, peeking out from under the sheet, but was too proud to flinch away. "Losing my mind to free my body seemed a poor trade."

It was the truth - there was only a small reserve of mana there, only as much as he'd expect from half a night's rest. The lyrium pulled it hungrily from her, the burn changing to...

He willed himself to ignore the sensation. It wasn't appropriate to enjoy the situation. Unlike somepeople in the house, he had self-control.

"Still," Hawke continued, once he was done, rubbing her shoulder with reproach, "she gave me some things to think about."

"I don't like the sound of that," he rumbled.

"Stay up and worry if you like," she invited, rolling onto her side, back to him. "I'll tell you about it in the morning."

He frowned. This seemed off. A trick or ploy? He crossed the room to one of the two chairs in it and dropped into one to stand vigil.

Hawke did not ask him to go; neither did she sleep, not for some time. Thinking about... whatever the demon had given her to ponder, he imagined. But she did slip back to the Fade eventually.

And, as the first rays of dawn were lightening the cracks in the covered windows, so did he.

He only realized he'd been dozing when the world changed between one blink and the next. A second ago, all had been still and dark; now, there was a dim light and the distant sounds of Orana's father preparing the morning meal. Much more startlingly, there was a nude human woman sitting back on her haunches in front of him, arms crossed in his lap, head resting on her arms.

"Good morning," Hawke purred.

He sat very, very still in the chair. "What. Is this." His voice was so flat, dwarves would have clamored to build something on it.

She sat up, bringing her forearms up so she could rest her chin on her hands. "I thought about it, and I decided. I have no magic, I have no weapons. But I do have this lovely body," she sat back farther, and he was pleased that his eyes never once left her face. "The spirits of temptation offer all manner of delights to get what they want. I'll give you what you want, until the day comes that in your wanting and taking, you become careless and slip. And then I'll be free."

"Don't you think," he asked dryly, "that you're... sabotaging yourself by telling me this?"

"No." She rolled back further and stood, pacing. "You're not stupid, Fenris, just willfully blind. If I just came to you, eyes aflutter, you would suspect, and if you suspected, you would not act. Well, now you know. And you can take whatever measures you think will help. I'm just willing to bet that one day, you'll be careless with them."

Dark and unruly thoughts scrabbled behind the walls in his mind. They weren't running loose yet, but he was uncomfortably aware of them again. "You don't think I'll take you up on this, do you?"

She stopped and tilted her head at him. "Do you not like women? Or humans?" She palmed her two generous breasts. "I thought our 'exaggerated' characteristics were supposed to appeal?"

"It's entirely... no," he said, as much to himself as to her, finally rising from the chair. "I am, as you enjoy reminding me, your jailer. Given that..."

"Don't take this from me!" Hawke spun on him, pointing, voice suddenly raw with equal parts anger and desperation.

"It's a false hope," he said quietly.

"You don't know that." She gestured to herself. "I am willing to take the chance." Eyes narrowing, she advanced on him, broad hips swaying. "Are you?"

Something behind a wall leapt up and scrabbled to get over at the challenge in her voice, her steps. He held up a hand, palm out; she walked into it, til it was pressed against her breastbone. "I told you before," he said, voice still unusually quiet, "that you do not know what I require in a lover." The lyrium flashed to life, burning almost gently, and thatgave her pause. The wolf-thought jumped down from atop the wall and scented the air.

Looking uneasily at his arm, beautiful defiance softening with the barest touch of fear, like feather-light blades, then back up at him, she asked warily, "You don't... put your hand through people, do you?"

"Only if I'm feeling particularly demented," he answered, voice low rather than quiet now. "I could easily forbear." Recognition flickered in Hawke's face at the word she'd used to describe Varania yesterday, followed quickly by doubt. The wolf-thought howled at that, but he had enough discipline to mentally kick it back over the wall. "So you rethink your plan," he said, dropping his hand with the smallest smirk. "That is the wisest course, surely."

Hawke glanced away momentarily, then looked back, jaw set. "No. I see your raise," she used the language of their long-ago card nights at the Hanged Man, "and call."

"A dangerous game, Hawke," he murmured, finally letting his gaze roam freely over her body. "If the stakes become too high, you must tell me if you wish to fold. I am not my sister."

"Just show me your damn cards. Unless you're bluffing."

And all the walls came down.

He had not deactivated his brands; the familiar pain was low, unpleasant but not intolerable. The blue-white light shone through the nightshirt and loose pants he'd arrived here in, offering more illumination than the weak morning sun, mostly blocked by the shutters that could not open. He circled her, slowly, watching the play of light and shadow on her skin, admiring its smooth softness.

She turned as he circled, her attitude of defiance slowly shifting to puzzlement edged with unease. "What are you doing? I said, show me your - "

He lunged, with all the unnatural speed his lyrium brands granted. Hawke's head thudded none too lightly against the wall as he pinned her, body to body, one fist around her wrist and a forearm across her throat. She tried to twist away on sheer instinct; he let her try. It wasn't a proper hunt if the prey didn't at least tryto flee.

"First mistake I don't make," he growled in her ear. "Forget that you are a sorcerer." He opened the brands to drain her mana - all of them, and slowly. Rather than the intense icy-hot tingling rush down his arm that he had felt all the mornings before, when he'd drained her with a single touch, and quickly, this was a gentler wave across the entire front of his body, everywhere he touched her, energizing and invigorating and so very pleasurable. Hawke stiffened under him, her back trying to arch, and he chuckled darkly. "Be careful, Hawke, or you'll forget how much you hate that."

He slid the arm at her throat to the side, until his hand found her jaw. He pushed up and over, baring her neck, and bit. Not hard enough to break the skin, but more than hard enough to mark. Hawke jerked and trembled, so he moved his mouth a little lower and did it again. And a third time, because it amused him.

He removed his face from the bend of her neck to look at her. Her head was tipped back and away, but he could see that her eyes were closed and her breath was coming short and fast. Fear, he wondered, or desire? The wolf-thoughts did not care, but the allan'isa did. He let go of the wrist he held; it hovered against the wall for a moment, uncertain what to do with its newfound liberty. He ran his hand down her side and was rewarded with a small noise in the back of her throat; when he paused by her hip-bone, he felt her buck slightly beneath him.

He thought that answered the question satisfactorily enough. "Well, you weren't lying about being willing," he chuckled again. When she didn't say anything, he ran his free hand along the seam of their bodies again. "No retorts? No witty comebacks?"

Her eyes snapped open. "I haven't had a man in half a year. Still waiting to see if I'll have one in the next half year."

"Impatient, are we? Good." He stepped back, bent slightly down and grabbed those marvelously full hips, lifting Hawke up and over his shoulder. She squawked at the sudden indignity, and her breath puffed out again when he slung her down onto her bed. He jumped lightly after, landing with his hands pressing her shoulders down into the mattress.

He paused again, just long enough for her to wonder why, then lowered his face very close to hers. He was certain she could feel the heat of his breath when he said, "And the second mistake I don't make is playing when you deal." Abruptly, he sat back, got up, and went for the door.

"Wh-what?" Hawke sat up in the bed, eyes wide in the weird white-blue light. "I thought... aren't you...?"

"In my own good time. Not yours," he replied, with considerably more carelessness than he felt. "You'll have to wait a bit longer yet, Hawke." He opened the door and left without a backward glance. He fitted the latch into place with particular satisfaction...

...and then practically collapsed onto one of the plush benches here in the hallway. A quick glance left and right assured him that no one was about. Loosening the drawstring at his waist, he drew himself out. In a moment, he came hard, to thoughts he had been so careful not to think since Hawke had regained her spirits. The hallway was still empty as he used the hem of the nightshirt to clean up before securing his waistband and heading for his room.

There would only be one first night. He intended to make the most of it.

He had to tell Orana what was going on - not in lurid detail, of course, but she was an intelligent woman and could fill in the missing bits on her own. If he was needed for an emergency - an abomination on the loose, a sudden critical ritual being performed at the Aerie, any call from his commander - he would be in Hawke's room. For anything less, he was not to be disturbed. She noted it blandly, as if it were another night at the Hanged Man or a social function elsewhere in Hightown. It was not her job to have opinions, after all.

He spent most of the day trying out thoughts for the evening. It must be planned. It would keep her from tempting him to... whatever folly she hoped to provoke. And it would keep the wolf-thoughts in check. He could easily hurt her, badly, and that would be unforgivable.

That is, he had a responsibility toward her, and the abrogation of that responsibility would be unforgivable. Yes. That was what he meant.


Author's Note:

This chapter was lightly edited to better comply with 's posting requirements. The original section can be found at dragonage-kink .livejournal .com/ ?thread= 11377328# t11377328