Some Lovers

A 100 prompts challenge on Fenris/LadyHawke by Marianne Bennet

018: Push

"He is delicious."

"Who's 'he'?" asked Merrill in her usual chirpy voice, obviously oblivious to the seductive growl that marked Isabela being on the prowl. Hawke, being more aware of such things, pressed the back of her hand to her mouth, hiding a smile at the young Dalish elf's naiveté.

"Take your pick, Kitten," replied the pirate, licking her lips as she gazed across the Hanged Man's din. It was New Year's Eve and the pub's usual occupants seemed determined to celebrate, regardless of the growing tensions between Kirkwall and the resident qunari that had marked the past three years since Hawke's expedition into the Deep Roads. Varric had coin to spend and he intended to spend it lavishly on a celebration, inviting his many friends down to the bar to celebrate the year's final hours. There were drinks and dancing but Isabela seemed to have other kinds of revelry on her mind.

Isabela gazed across the room at her targets, idly stirring her drink with her little finger. In dreamy voice, she began her list: "There's Anders, with his soft hands and those amber eyes…"

"And that spirit of Justice living in his head," Hawke interrupted with a laugh. "You can't forget that."

"Then there's that prince we met ages ago. He's a real reason to go to the Chantry," she continued, ignoring her friend, "what with those piercing blue eyes and a true archer's muscles…"

"That only the Maker's bride herself will ever be permitted to admire, let alone touch," Hawke rejoined ruefully.

"But there's always Varric…"

"Try again, 'Bela."

"But the chest hair," the pirate swooned.

"You'll never get between him and Bianca," Hawke chuckled, raising her glass to her lips and savoring the scorch of whiskey.

"Fine," conceded Isabela, shooting Hawke a look of pure irritation. "It's Bianca I really want anyway. But even you have to admit that Fenris is yummy."

"'Yummy' is how I would describe a pastry or… or dessert, not a person."

"Well, put some whipped cream on him, Hawke. You have no imagination. Besides," Isabela smiled wickedly, nudging Merrill with her elbow, "I've seen the way you look at him. You think he's yummy too; admit it."

Hawke felt a telltale blush creep up onto her face as her gaze skirted across the Hanged Man's floor to linger on the elf in question. Fenris was playing diamondback with the other subjects of their conversation and she had to admit –to herself and only to herself –that she barely looked at Anders, Sebastian, or Varric when there was that strip of exposed skin running down the back of Fenris's armor claiming her total attention…

"Oh," Isabela's deliberate sigh broke into Hawke's growing fantasy, "you like him more than I thought."

"No," Hawke dragged her gaze back to her female companions. "No, he hates mages."

"We're not talking politics, sweet thing; we're talking about a man, a woman, and one night of no worries…" A grin spread across Isabela's face, chocolate brown eyes twinkling. "I dare you to get him to dance with you."

"I dare you to kiss him," interjected Merrill with a giggle.

"I dare you to screw him–"

"No, no, and no!" said Hawke, her mouth in the firm, stubborn line that her mother and brother knew so well. "I couldn't… Not with him, Anders maybe, but not with… Really, Isabela?"

"Here's the deal, sweet thing," Isabela began, leaning forward and planting her elbows on the tabletop. "Either you go over there and dance with him or I'm going to go over there and try and guess what color his underclothes are again. Or," she waggled her eyebrows suggestively, "you could find out for the both of us."

"Fine," said Hawke, slamming her hand down on the table in defeat as she stood up. Merrill jumped a little at the sound. "But if he starts glowing," she told Isabela, "I want a clear path to that door."

"And you'll get it," she confirmed gaily, raising her cup in a toast. "Go get him, tiger."

"Fenris doesn't like tigers," Hawke heard Merrill say to Isabela as the newly noble mage started across the room. "He's always comparing his old master to one."

"Some tigers are great. In the sack, I mean."

"Have I missed something, 'Bela?"

Hawke shook her head at Merrill's inane cluelessness but kept moving forward, gray eyes determined on her target. Was she really going to do this? Dance with Fenris, she meant; she refused to even entertain the notion of doing any of the other things her friends had suggested. New Year's Eve or not, Hawke was determined to keep her panties on.

"Fenris." He looked up at the sound of his name. It was Hawke. She was wearing the same orange dress she had had on that night when he had found her sitting on a bench in Hightown and they had spoken of… divine providence. He had told her that she looked like fire and light and she still did, framed by the Hanged Man's hazy interior, though her dress had had a couple of adjustments in the bodice department (Isabela's doing no doubt). The sight of her leaning one hand on the back of his chair made him catch his breath; that was new.

"Stop distracting Broody and Blondie over there with your cleavage," said Varric, rearranging his hand. "They need to keep their wits about them." The dwarf threw down a pair of cards. "I've trumped you, boys. You'd better kiss Broody for luck, Hawke. He's gonna need it tonight."

"A kiss means a lot of things on New Year's," said Anders. "You'd better be careful who you give it to, Hawke." He smiled at her and she smiled back, happy to see no trace of electric blue in his amber eyes. He was getting better at controlling Justice all of the time it seemed.

"I…" Maker, this was harder than she thought it would be. Suddenly she was fifteen and back at Lothering's romp for King Cailan's coronation, trying to catch the miller's son's eye. She swallowed. "Fenris, do you want to dance with me?"

The cards fell from his hand, landing face down on the table. The elf turned in his chair to look up at her, incredulous. "Dance?" he repeated.

"It could be fun," said Hawke. "And–"

"Isabela put you up to this, didn't she?" asked Anders, tossing a pair of cards toward the table's center with an uncharacteristic scowl.

"I am shocked and dismayed that you would believe such a thing of me, Anders," replied Hawke, laying a hand upon her very exposed chest. "How about it, Fenris?"

"I do not know how to dance–"

"Come now," Varric scoffed. "What about all of those grand fetes in Tevinter? Surely you hung around some of those with Danarius."

"I was his bodyguard," said Fenris in return, turning green eyes skyward, "not his dance partner. I haven't the slightest… No."

"It's alright, Fenris," said Hawke, feeling guilty that she had put him on the spot like this. "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen…"

Looking over his shoulder, Anders watched as Hawke wove her way back around the dancers and away from them. The moment the apostate had reached Isabela and Merrill, he turned back to his companions and said, "Well, one thing had been made clear: the elf is an idiot."

"Watch your tongue, mage, unless you would have me rip it out."

"That probably wasn't your most shining moment, Broody," said Varric, absentmindedly flicking a card across the table.

"I don't know why Hawke wastes her time on this–"

That was enough. Hawke had long since retreated all of the way back to her original table, standing with her back to the diamondback players, recounting the disaster to Isabela and Merrill. She was stalling before the part about Fenris outright saying no when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Before she could say anything, she found herself roughly turned around, pushed up onto the wooden table, and kissed. Hard.

And she liked it. She wound her arms around the back of his head, closing her gray eyes in appreciation, blissfully unaware of the spectacle they were putting on for the Hanged Man's occupants, and kissed him back, biting down lightly on his lower lip. And then Fenris drew back, breaking the contact. Hawke's arms dropped from his shoulders, her behind slipping from the table and her feet landing on the floor. She just stared at him, awed.

"New Year's luck, Hawke," he said to her and then turned and walked out the door into the night, leaving her both impressed and confused. She looked over her shoulder at her friends: Merrill, unsurprisingly, was wide eyed. Isabela (mark the date and time) had been struck speechless. Hawke didn't blame them; she found that she didn't have anything to say either.

Across the room, Varric was grinning from ear to ear. "Who knew he had it in him?" the dwarf said admiringly, probably already weaving plotlines for future romances in his head. "Sorry you missed your chance, Blondie, but I don't think anything could compete with that performance."

"Oh, he'll screw it up," replied Anders with sour confidence. "Look at her: she has no idea what he means by any of this. I doubt he even knows. He'll screw it up. Just you watch."

…

A/N: I realized just how depressing my last chapter was. Fenris drinking himself into oblivion is not exactly holiday cheer. So, suddenly that beginning bit of dialogue with Isabela jumps into my head and it all goes from there! It's a little longer than my other chapters but, hey, it's the holidays!

Anyhow, please review if you enjoyed it. And thank you to everyone who has put this story on Alert or listed it as a favorite. You all really keep me going. Happy holidays!