Title: Hot Blooded

Rating: T

Genre: Humor/hurt-comfort/romance

Characters: Sherwood Hawke, Fenris, Carver, Varric

Pairing: Hawke/Fenris

Disclaimer: Still don't own it, though I suppose in the most technical of ways Sherwood is my creation. My game is not fixed, but was replaced by a shiny brand new copy, so I am happy. ^.^ I also got DA:O Ultimate the other day, and am steadily making my way through Origins and then Awakening. So yay!

A/N:Sherwood is another mage, yes. He's a loveable goofball who won't go out of his way to avoid a fight or be tactful, unlike Aidyn, who really is diplomatic…sometimes. He's a little, um, insane. But in a good way!

If there was one thing Fenris was certain of, it was that Sherwood Hawke was mad. Utterly, absolutely mad, and if he hadn't had more faith in the man he'd be clawing at the of the Knight-Commander's boots to get her to drag the man into custody for the good of all the non explosion inclined members of society.

Laughing, wild strawberry blonde hair flying as he whirled and blasted half a dozen coterie back with a blast of pure, unfiltered power, calling out a playful taunt to Carver- playful, in the middle of all this mess- he finally caught Fenris watching.

"Dance isn't over yet, elf!" He laughed out. "Watch your back, or I may have to save it with magic!"

And those eyes. Eerie on a good day, eyes so pale a silver-gray they seemed clear. Perhaps it was Fenris who was called little wolf, but those were predator's eyes if he had ever seen them, piercing and wild.

He whirled, blade slicing through armor and flesh and blood soaking into the wooden floor as the last of His their attackers fell. He sheathed the blade, made his way to Sherwood's side.

He had hated this man, for so very long. Hated his extreme support of the abomination, his refusal to listen to reason. Hated that he had been showed, forcefully and painfully, that he did not like being spoken to as bluntly as he spoke, hated that Sherwood was not frightened of him, hated those strange eyes that seemed to look through him to his very core. He was careless, flirtatious, irreverent, flippant. He seemed to live to crawl under Fenris's skin, to annoy him and irritate him and turn his blood to fire in so many ways. And had hated, hated, hated how badly he'd wanted to put that sharp tongue to better use, to shut the blonde up, for once- wanted to see how hard it would be to pin him submissively below and keep him there, hated how badly he wanted.

Even now, he and Sherwood slammed together like two run away carriages, violent and often painful. But there was no place he would be found but beside Hawke- for good or ill, he would stand beside his infuriating, stubborn, foolish, insane mage.

Sherwood's touch startled him out of memory, wrapping around his waist. He rolled his eyes but tolerated the tug that pulled him into a rough embrace, the blonde's chin on his shoulder. "Mm. Aren't you supposed to be the big, bad protector?"

"Oh- get a room." Carver gripped, and that was enough for Fenris to push his blonde away rather forcefully. Sherwood danced back, laughing.

"Well, there's plenty here, but I think Fenris might protest to getting down and dirty down here. Even I'm a bit squeamish at that, to be honest."

"Sherwood!"

"Hawke, that is quite enough."

Varric approached, shaking his head with a little grin. "If we make camp here for the night, are we going to have to put you two in opposite corners of the camp? With a guard between you?"

"Like that could stop us." Hawke snorted. Fenris's hand met the back of his head in warning, and there was a whine in reply.

"Not nice. I'm beat up enough without you helping."

The potion nearly hit Hawke in the face, earning a satisfying yelp and a bark of laughter from Varric. Spook, for his part, tried to comfort his master by bumping into his legs. As if hit by a battering ram, Sherwood was down, and then the blonde was laughing, too, arms around the Mabari's neck.

That night, it was during Fenris's watch that he was aware of being watched; the hairs on the back of his neck didn't prickle, though, no cold alarm rolling through his belly, and he calmly turned to meet that pure-silver stare. Then his hair stood up- those pale eyes were the thing of every storybook mage, as if he was so touched by magic that the color had simply leeched away from them. Beautiful- stunningly beautiful, set in golden-tanned skin and contrasted by dark tattoos- but none the less hard to hold the gaze of. Sherwood didn't move, laying on his side with Spook pressed up along him and one arm pillowing his head.

"You're perfectly beautiful, did you know?" He spoke without so much as twitching, voice low but not whispered. "You look like some sort of- ancient guardian spirit, or something."

Fenris chuckled. "You have an odd opinion of beauty."

"I have odd opinions on everything, but I think just about everyone would agree with this one."

"Flattery won't help you."

"I don't need flattery." At last the man moved, sitting up. "I have to beat you off with a bloody stick. If I were inclined to do so. Which I'm, you know, not. Ever. Well. Unless you decide you're into that sort of-"

"Hawke."

A low, rumbling laugh. There was movement in the dark, and Sherwood was behind him. At his back. He stiffened out of reflex, but didn't protest when a powerful, callused hand settled on his shoulders, rubbing the back of his neck gently. He relaxed slowly, trusting the mage in a way he didn't imagine he ever would any of them- of course,that same mage spent hours underneath or on top of him, a vulnerable and exposed as they would ever be.

Somehow, this felt more intimate.

"Thank you. For coming here with me."

"Threats were made on your life." He smirked. "I'm the only one who gets that honor. I would not stand for it."

Another laugh. "Maker forbid." He purred. "Still. Thanks."

"As much as I may often wish to put you through a wall," He drawled, "I do care about you." He smirked, started to turn to face Sherwood- but the grip on the back of his neck stopped him.

"I know. I'm- pretty bad at showing it, but I do, too, you know? I'm just a-"

"Tactless uncouth nug?"

"I was going to say 'a little thoughtless sometimes', but yes, that. Thank you."

"We are a perfect pair, then." He didn't fight the hand on his neck. Sherwood was rarely serious, though the mage's moods could fluctuate as wildly as the adomination's. When he was like this, Fenris had learned to approach the situation like one might a wounded animal- cautiously, quietly, confidently, and most of all carefully.

"He never once let on, you know. That he didn't want us- Bethany and me-to have magic." A little laugh. "He was always proud. Or acted proud. I remember one time, Bethany lit his hair on fire. Once he doused himself, he called her his little firebug for weeks. He was nearly bald." The laughter, soft and chuffing, warmed the back of Fenris's neck with halting exhales. "He was never surprised, though, about me."

"About you?"

"That I was better at blowing things up then putting them back together. " Another faint laugh. "I've always been bad at fixing things. I don't have the patience. Or the temper."

He reached back, found one of Sherwood's hands with his own and drew it around to trace whorls on the back lightly. Touch calmed his lover; a point, like so many others, where they differed. Fenris couldn't stand to be touched when he was upset- could barely handle touch when he was calm and relaxed. Only Sherwood could do this, drape over him like a blanket, and even then there were days that was done with utmost caution.

"What, no, 'Sherwood, please refrain from telling tales about setting your mother's arse on fire?' Which did happen, by the way. A lot of things accidentally ignited around Bethany and I. Luckily, no one ever got hurt. Well, mother couldn't sit right for a while-"

"Hush, please. And I don't sound like that."

"You do, too. You sound like you ate a fistful of gravel. You could recite numbers at me and it would go straight to my cock."

"Sherwood, please refrain from verbally molesting me in front of your brother."

"He's asleep. Carver sleeps like a sodding log, Templar or no. But really. I would think you'd want me to shut up about- mage things. Magic."

Fenris shrugged. "You're talking about your family. I like hearing you talk about them."

"…do you wish-" A pause, an awkward little shrug. "I mean, with your sister."

"That was very eloquent, Hawke, now put the two together and maybe you'll get a whole thought."

"Ass. You know what I mean."

"Must we discuss this? Done is done, Sherwood, whatever I do or do not wish changes nothing."

"Might make me feel better." The comment was light and airy, but Fenris knew how to read his lover well enough to hear the ache under it.

"I doubt that." He turned at last, and got the full force of those pale eyes on his own. He didn't flinch away, but cupped one tatooed cheek and threaded his fingers in hair that was soft as silk and nearly as fine. Sherwood hesitated, then leaned into it, closing his eyes like a big cat being stroked. "You stayed my hand, Hawke. That I respect you is the only reason she's still alive. I don't- I can't- care for her. I don't even know her."

"You said- you remembered-"

"I have some memories, yes. They are….fuzzy, at best. Disjointed. Disconnected. And hardly detailed."

"Apperantly I wasn't that good. Ow!"

"Quiet. Do you want to bring every enemy in this blasted place to us?"

"Damn it, Fenris, you drew blood."

"Barely. It's no worse then a cat scratch, and if you hadn't yanked away it wouldn't have happened at all."

"You pinched me."

"You do not know when to stop talking."

"Kiss it and make it better."

"…you want me to what?"

"Kiss it and make it better! It's traditon."

"It most certainly is not."

"Is so! How would you know? What if it's Lothering tradition, then what?"

"Sherwood-"

"You cut me. Your own fault."

"I am not going to kiss your bleeding wound. That's- pointless, for one, kissing someone has no ability to heal them-"

"Maker, you need to talk to Anders more, he'd have something to say about that-"

"And two, Hawke, it's- wait, how do you know-?"

"Talk, just talk! Stop looking at me like Spook glaring me down over a hunk of meat, Fenris, you make me worry for my internal organs. We have some, um, interesting conversations. Especially if Isabella's around. Speaking of her-"

"No. I don't want to know."

"Well, okay. But that thing I did with the ribbon and the ice washeridea -"

"Venhedis, Hawke, shut up!"

"Now who's being loud? Aww, and blushing! Look, your ears go all pink!"

"If the both of you do not shut up and one of you go to sleep, I am going to take the sword and ram it up someone's ass." Carver's voice was a sleepy, irritated mumble from the pile of dark hair and limbs that was his sprawled form.

"Oh. Kinky."

Fenris growled and tugged a lock of blonde hair. Hard.

"Like a log, Hawke?"

"Well…usually." A sheepish grin. "I guess this has got us all a little high strung."

"Now!"

"Yes, ser, going to bed now, ser!" Sherwood snarked snappily, mocking a salute and the boot that flew from Carver's general direction didn't surprise Fenris in the least, though he did snort with laughter when it took Sherwood in the forehead.

"Ow. I can't get any respect around here. One day, it's going to get around that the Champion is mistreated by his closest companions- his own brother-"

"Hawke." Fenris stepped in smoothly before the owner of the eye that was glaring death at the elder brother from Carver's bedroll could do more then think about murder, "You need to sleep."

Something dark and shadowed flitted over that face, in those silvery eyes, and Fenris suddenly hit on what he should have realize all along. Sherwood didn't want to sleep because he either didn't want to dream, or he didn't want to let his guard down. Perhaps a bit of both. Fenris was familiar with that feeling; with the feeling of jolting from a dream in the middle of the night, panting and sweating and with half of him clinging to memory and the other half flinching away with eyes closed.

"Why don't you end your watch early?" Sherwood's smile was false, heavy. "I'll take over."

Fenris nodded, slowly. "Wake Varric for his watch earlier as well, then." He said, and knew he was being lied to when Hawke beamed at him and said 'of course, a man needs his beauty sleep.'

When Fenris woke, with only an instinctual, internal sense of what time it was- just after dawn- he was aware of a heavy, warm weight pressed against front and back. Something solid and also heavy rest on his ribs, and he could hear…

Soft laughter?

He opened his eyes, not moving another muscle, and got a face-full of fine blonde hair. He resisted the urdge to rear back in surprise, every muscle tensing as the laughter got a bit more obvious.

Sherwood was pressed against him, curled into a small, protective ball. His face was pressed against Fenris's chest, arms around him like a child with a beloved doll or as if Fenris was Spook. Said Mabari was on just his other side, heavy head resting on the elf's ribcage and snoring…rather loudly.

He lifted his head at last.

Carver crouched just on the other side of them, hand reached out as if he was going to shake one or the other- probably Hawke- away. He pulled back, still chuckling, ignoring Fenris's glare.

"Cute little love bugs, time to wake up."

"Carver, I'll turn you into a frog." Sherwood, sounding muffled and exhausted.

"You can't."

"Fine. But I can freeze your armor to your skin, and so help me-"

He stretched, and Fenris expected him to pull away. Instead, though, he snuggled closer, arms tightening around Fenris's waist. Fenris reached out to carefully stroke the soft hair, uncertain, but earned a soft, content murmur in reply. They didn't do this, even when they slept together; the most Sherwood tended to do was throw an arm over Fenris lightly. It was, typically, gone by morning, his lover's back pressed to his own.

"Hawke." He tried, and Sherwood let out a soft, disappointed sigh. He lifted his head, and this time, the silver eyes avoided his.

"I know, I know. No touchy the elf."

"No. It's alright." He said mildly, still surprised, but the hurt tone of Sherwood's voice took him aback. "Simply…unexpected."

A little shrug. "Maybe this whole thing just has me off my stride." Softly, still looking down. "Fenris…I want- I need-"

A soft cough interrupted them. They both stopped, turning to see Varric watching them uncomfortably.

"Carver, maybe we should let our snuggle-kittens wake up some. Come on, we'll check ahead a little, make sure it's clear."

Carver frowned, running a hand over his hair. "Should we split up?"

"If you don't think you and I- or your brother and the elf- can handle ourselves, Little Hawke, then I think we're in the wrong place."

"I seem to remember asking you not to call me that." There was significantly less heat in the words then there had been the first time, so many years ago. He sounded resigned, a little amused, and so much like his brother he probably would have been horrified. The two moved away, now bickering fully in low voices.

"Sherwood?" He hadn't even looked up through all that, which was so out-of-character for the antagonistic Hawke- particularly when it came to his brother- that it was enough to worry.

Sherwood met his eyes at last. "I don't know." Muttered. "Don't ask, because I don't know."

He stroked back the soft, blonde hair. He didn't always know what to do when Sherwood got like this, and he didn't get like this often enough to make it easy to figure out. Though he was hardly surprised that it happened now, particularly after Carver's rather clumsy response to the echoes of their father.

"Come on." Hawke murmured. "We can't just lay-"

Fenris tugged him back down, gently. "Tell me about him." He said, mildly, and Sherwood blinked in surprise.

"Fenris, he was a mage, you don't want-"

"He was your father." Softly. "I do not remember mine- if I have memories of him at all, somewhere. Tell me about him."

Sherwood put his head, carefully, on Fenris's shoulder. "I don't remember him perfectly, myself." He murmured. "Some things are clear, like they happened yesterday, but-"

"So speak of those."

"We can't just lay here and talk, Fenris-"

"Nothing will happen without you or Carver to speed it along." He pointed out. "We are in a rather secure area, as far as it goes. I'm curious."

A soft laugh. "Well- alright." He breathed, and he started to talk. Fenris listened, quietly, as Sherwood spoke of a man who he'd had all too little time with, a man who, Fenris thought, was quite a lot like his eldest son. He seemed like he'd had the same strength, the same determination, the same sharp tounge and slight insanity.

"He sounds," He said, at last, "like a good man."

"You think so?" Sherwood sat up, slowly, pushing soft hair out of his face. "Really?"

"Truly." He gave a small smile, and Sherwood's entire face lit up. Like the sun- like a beacon. He was beautiful, when he smile like that- an honest smile, not the snide little smirk or arrogant and empty tilt of his lips, meant to charm.

And then, like a cloud rolling over, it was gone.

"That's a hell of a concession, from you."

Fenris sighed. "Sherwood-"

"I mean, he was an apostate and everything."

"Do not start this." He gritted, feeling empathy and affection turn into a desire to remove a valuable part of Sherwood's anatomy, as it so often did.

"Like me."

"Sherwood. Now is, perhaps, not the time to get into yet another argument as to the merits or lack thereof of magic."

There was a pause, then his blonde let out a soft breath. "No you're- no. I'm just- looking for someone to bite, I guess. I've got about four hundered things running through my mind and my heart is going to come up through my nose and you're right. I'm sorry. I'm just…I duno."

"Angry. Frightened. Conflicted." Fenris spoke softly. "Hunted, hunting, tired. I understand, Sherwood. Of anyone, I do."

Sherwood lifted his head with a small smile. "Yeah, I guess- you do."

"And I also know that if you do not lock it away and continue to behave erratically, you will get the very person you most want to protect killed." Sherwood's smile faded.

"I am not-"

"You are. You always do, when something touches you personally. When you speak of Bethany or your father, when that madman took your mother-"

"Don't, Fenris-"

"After the Deep Roads, when Carver left you and your mother for the Templars, and now, when he is in danger from an unknown threat. You behave like a sick wolf, unpredictable and dangerous to everyone. Including the people you care for, who want to help you- who you want to keep safe. Including yourself."

"You have no room to talk-"

"I, of everyone, am the only one that does." He snapped. "Or are you allowed to point out when my behavior is harmful, but I can't return it?"

Sherwood went silent, then pulled his knees up and leaned his forehead on them. "Fuck you for being right." He muttered, hugging his legs. "I just- Maker, Fenris, I've never been the most stable person, alright? I'm amazed you haven't turned me into the Templars on sheer principle, yet, because if anyone's easy prey, it's me. And everything keeps happening on top of everything, over and over, no matter how hard I try to make things right and okay and safe-" The sob that choked out of his throat surprised him as much as Fenris. He went stock-still, shoulders tensed and stiff, fighting it back.

Fenris reached out, touched a shoulder. "There is no shame in it." He whispered. Sherwood didn't fling himself towards Fenris, didn't break into a flood of tears or cling to him desperately like in some silly story. Not Sherwood; who held himself away with as much feirce pride as Fenris did. Not Sherwood, who hid behind so many layers of armor that it put the guard's metal and steel and plating to shame. But he curled up a little tighter, and his shoulders shook silently while Fenris stroked and petted, paitently waiting for him to be done. It didn't take long; a few moments, and he'd forced himself to calm, rubbing an arm subtly over his eyes.

"I'm done." He whispered. "Thanks, Fenris."

"Of course." There were times, days, where Fenris was not certain what kept him at Sherwood's side; the mage worked tirelessly at annoying him, angering him, dragging him to be involved in mage affairs and help apostates and tearing apart the sheild of anger and hate and hurt he had built for himself. Poking holes in his righteous fear and anger, forcing him to see things he would rather remain blind to.

Forcing him to see Sherwood as both mage and person, and, more frightening, a person he cared for, respected, even trusted.

And then there were times when he realize those, in part, were the reasons he stayed. The rest of it more rarely reminded him of it's existence. In times like now, however- the strength, the beauty and character and rarity that was Sherwood hit him like a punch to the stomach. The man was like a candle; he lit up to gladly warm and light the way for others, while casting a heavy, dark shadow that he tried to hide. Carver. His mother. Bethany. And now, this.

"Come." He said, rising and extending a hand. 'We've wasted too much time already, and Varric and your brother won't wait for us much longer."

"'Che. Carver's probably already wanting to come drag me along by the back of my shirt." He muttered. "Or go ahead and make us catch up."

"Shall I save him the trouble?" Fenris snagged the back of the soft material of Sherwood's robes- which masqueraded rather well as not being robes- and gave a soft tug. The blonde swatted at him, and Fenris caught the offending arm, tugging him into a soft, slow, heated kiss.

Sherwood pulled back, head tipped. "What was that for?" He asked, licking his lips softly, like an animal tasting remains of something new and not unpleasant.

"A reminder." Was all Fenris offered- Sherwood was not stupid, and they did not use words and terms of affection and endearment. Not often, in any case- it wasn't them, and it wasn't needed.

It earned him that beaming smile again, and this time, it didn't fade away, only grew as Carver's voice echoed towards them and the sounds of a fight began. He was grabbed by the hand- any one else, and he would have taken it off, but he let Sherwood tow him, the pair running to join the others. Into battle, as they would always do. Side by side, as they were always meant to be.