Chapter 8
Insideous
She'd said to forget, but he couldn't.
Couldn't forget the sight of her shapely legs, the soft purr of her voice, those dark eyes as she'd silently asked him to stay with her; Fenris could never forget her offer.
Because no offer had ever been so appealing to him in his life, and yet so terrifying.
He couldn't shake the want it'd inspired. Even though he'd known he had to say no, even though he knew Hawke was with Anders, even though he knew this lust was just a side-effect of the Curse, he'd wanted so desperately to say yes. His thoughts and emotions were left in shambles, thrown into chaos with a simple look, a quick glance to a plush bed, and ideas of what could have happened if he'd stayed kept him awake long after he left her, kept him pacing the small space of the guest room restlessly for hours.
As plush carpet gave beneath his quiet steps a dark understanding haunted him. Hawke was a sharp woman, and even though Halbert -damn that mage! - had said nothing outright, Fenris didn't believe for a second that she hadn't caught on. She'd understood who he was Cursed to love, that he would become a slave to that love. And that's exactly what her offer had been; an offer to a slave, one she'd known he couldn't refuse.
He'd hoped that she'd meant something with that offer; wanted her to reach for him with more than just physical lust. But there'd been no compassion behind her proposition; whatever her actions had hinted at in the past was erased now.
She'd never cared for him; she'd just found a use for him.
After all the trust he'd placed in her, after all the years of silent affection, she'd only ever thought of him as a slave?
The realization was devastating; it broke something that he hadn't realized had been there, left him hollow, eating away at the ache left in the wake of seeing her with Anders. Hawke had been the culmination of all his ideals, ones that he'd almost given up hope on finding in this world. She was so free, so kind and untainted by the magic and hate that festered in his skin and in his heart. To lose faith in her was like learning everything he'd ever believed in, everything he'd ever fought for was a lie. It set a festering sickness in his gut and eventually his steps slowed and grew heavy with weariness borne of more than just lack of sleep.
Maybe it would be better if he just left, went out on his own again as a wanderer and a fugitive. He could just leave her – and this disappointment - behind him. Forget about all of this.
But he was just so damn tired.
With a heavy sigh he sank down onto the plush couch facing the fire, his hopes plummeting as surely as he did. Leaning back he fixed his distant gaze on the fire, though he never really saw the flames. And as they danced eerily with shadows, writhing in some twisting of duel darkness and light a sinister thought crept in.
Would it be so bad to be used?
All his life he'd believed that there had to be something more than just the evil he'd witnessed, more than just slaves and masters. But that hope was a lie, everything he'd ever believed in was a lie. No matter how far he ran, or how hard he fought, he would never be free. Because people were all the same, they cared nothing for others unless they could get something they wanted. He'd thought Hawke was different, a rarity among the evil of this world, but he'd been wrong. She'd only cared because he was useful.
So why not get what he wanted in the process?
Normally the idea would appall him. As soon as he'd gotten free of Danarius he'd shunned touch, and he'd certainly never allowed anyone close enough to be intimate. But the thought of her soft skin beneath his fingers, her plush lips against his own, the pleasure he knew Hawke could give outweighed that fear.
And besides, she wanted him. Even if it was just for a night, couldn't that be glorious? When all he'd ever known was pain and desperation, wouldn't giving into the want of a beautiful woman for just one moment be excusable?
He certainly thought so.
It was a shocking realization and sitting a bit straighter, he tried to dismiss the idea as just a brief lapse of judgment. But as his thoughts continued to spiral, he couldn't shake the sentiment. He knew that his want was inspired by magic, but at the moment he didn't really care. A month of haunting dreams, of unsated desire did that to a person. But even if he were serious about this, he'd left her already, and a scorned woman would never accept an apology so readily.
Or would she?
He was only two doors away from finding out.
He sat there for a moment longer, at war with himself and full of indecision. But his choice seemed inevitable. She wanted him, he wanted her. There was no valid reason why they shouldn't be together. And so with a speed born of his desperate desire he rushed out of the guest room, and back down the hall.
Silently he slipped through her door, not bothering to knock, shutting it behind him with a quiet click of wood as he leaned against it. And there she was, sitting on a plush ottoman before the fire, her hair down and catching the warm light, long legs left bare by the infuriatingly short robe.
She was exactly as he'd left her; she'd known he'd come back. She'd known she would win.
With a frustrated growl he shoved off from the door and rushed her as she met him halfway. He was not gentle as they embraced, not this time. There was no need for tenderness or care or love. There was only need and the terrible want that had been haunting him with this Curse. As her hands gripped his shoulders he forcefully took dominance of their kiss, nipping her lips possessively as she gasped against him.
With no false pretense he pushed the robe off her shoulders, sliding his hands along the smooth planes of her slender back as he pulled her more closely against him. The press of her curves against him lit an ache that was at once all too familiar, yet strange in its intensity, and he wanted more; more touch, more skin, more Hawke. But she caught the thin fabric before it fell away, and drew back from him with a coy smile.
He glared at her openly as he moved to kiss her again, determined to make things go his way in this encounter but froze when he felt her suddenly wandering hand move lower. Taking advantage of his pause she pushed him back with her free hand, guiding him to bump unceremoniously into a desk.
As the furniture shook, she started working at the fastens of his shirt, nimbly undoing them, unlocking the barrier between her and his skin. Fenris inhaled sharply as she leaned in and kissed him again. Spurred by his anger he wanted to pull away from her, to reinstate himself but her lips were languid as she kissed him slowly, deeply, before moving to his neck, sending shivers of pleasure rippling through his quickly scattering thoughts, reminding him that she knew far more about this kind of thing than he. Sluggishly he wound his fingers into her thick hair, enjoying the silky tickle as she continued her ministrations, drugging him into compliance.
Finally she pulled the last of the fastens free and pushed the offending garment away from him, boldly exploring his exposed skin, sliding her hands over a hard chest, a chiseled stomach, raw lyrium. He hissed sharply at the tinge of remembered pains, trying to flex away from her. She moaned delightedly as his muscles tightened at her audacious touch, and the sound ignited something deep within the recesses of his instincts and passion shifted into something primitive, more commanding, more controlling.
Wandering hands weren't satisfied however, and as they hit the band of his too tight trousers they hurriedly set to work undoing buttons. She was quick, his self restraint fraying button by button, and he was unable stop the soft wine that escaped him when she brushed against his straining want. Soft tendrils of silky hair slid through his fingers as she pulled back to look at him and her smile widened devilishly.
She knew she had the upper hand. Knew she always would.
Mesmerized he watched her as dark eyes held his captive, gleaming through lightly tussled hair, and another button came loose.
Breathing deeply he tried to regain some semblance of control as she continued her exploration. He didn't know what to do with his hands, didn't know how to react to this situation so he gripped the edges of the desk, feeling the hard wood in sharp contrast to the memory of her soft hair, her supple skin.
The fourth button undone and he followed the path of her tongue as it swept across kiss bruised lips leaving them wet and inviting. She was watching him expectantly, fire banking in her hungry eyes, but he didn't know what she wanted him to do, didn't know what he wanted to do, couldn't hold on to a thought long enough to care. All he knew was that he wanted her. Desperately. She was too beautiful, too wonderful, too…
"Hawke…" he began to moan softly, but his soft endearment became a sharp hiss as the last button was released and the young woman slipped her hungry fingers around him, taking his entire existence in hand.
Fire shot through him, all encompassing as his head fell back and he gasped, gripping the table as his hips pitched in an uncontrollable jerk. It was an intense sensation, so far from the pain he'd known, so far beyond anything he'd ever imagined. Her hands left him breathless and struggling for some semblance of control.
But he couldn't; couldn't keep in his sharp gasps as he spiraled down into the pleasure she offered. It was overwhelming, intense, the most wonderful thing he'd experienced in his entire life. And suddenly things made sense.
It was good to give into her.
He'd made the right choice.
He could have this pleasure, could give her this pleasure. If he just stayed with her. If he just let her use him. This was the only thing that mattered. She was the only thing that mattered.
But…
He needed to tell her, needed her to know, needed to see something beyond the dominant hunger that consumed her eyes. He sucked in a harsh breath as her hands moved over him and gritted his teeth against the pleasure, closing his eyes against the devastation. Needing to see her, to tell her, he forced himself to look back to her.
But Hawke wasn't there.
He wasn't in her room.
And he was completely dressed.
Sitting up quickly, the plush couch shifting with him, as he took in desperate gasps that did nothing to quench his shocked lungs, as he tried to figure out what was happening, where Hawke had gone, and why he was dressed. And then, colder than the shock of an early spring river, it hit him.
With a pained groan he ran his hands over his face, light sweat chilling with the realization.
Another dream.
This Curse had indeed damned him.
.oo:OO:oo.
Hours later, unable to cope with his desire and the fact that she was just two doors away, he made his decision. Slipping from the guest room window as silent as a shadow he raced off into the night, hoping that a few days away from everything – and Hawke - would help calm his frayed control.
"Dwarf!"
Varric woke with a start, reaching for Bianca, cocking the bolt and ready to fire, expertly locking onto the intruder just visible in the dark suite.
But he didn't pull the trigger.
Fenris was lucky he was so damn recognizable; anyone else besides the white haired lanky elf would've had a bolt between the eyes without a second thought. Lowering his weapon with a snort, Varric glared at the elf, stark hair gleaming in the low light of an almost deceased fire.
And then he noticed. The bags under red rimmed eyes, lips set into a deep scowl and a back as tight as a bow string. It was usual for Fenris to be tense, but Varric had never seen him like this before. The elf was completely strung out. "Andraste's Tits, Elf! What's happened to you?" the dwarf exclaimed. What the hell could happen over just two weeks to leave a man so ragged?
"It's time, Varric." Was all he said, but it was enough for the dwarf to realize the desperation behind those wild eyes.
"Right," he said quietly. Pausing a moment he tried to decide if bringing up the next question was wise with the elf looking so…feral. "Does Hawke know?" he asked finally.
A white head shook in the shadows, and steely eyes gleamed out at him. "She cannot. Hawke and her household will be Danarius's first target if he knows of any contact between us. I can't be with her." The elf paused, before continuing much more quietly. "At least not now." Varric raised an eyebrow at the softness in the elf's voice, and his particular choice of words. Wasn't often the stoic warrior let much on… "This is my fight; I'm not going to force her to risk those she cares for because of my past."
Varric eyed the shadowed man for a moment, before heaving a despairing sigh. For all his knowledge and skill, the elf was a complete idiot. He didn't understand a damn thing about women. He was already risking the one Hawke cared for most; he was just too blind to realize it.
And that blindness was going to piss Hawke off even more once she found out.
Of all the people in Kirkwall Varric did not want to piss off, Hawke was at the top of the list, and as the dwarf drew out the little rusted key from a bedside drawer he knew he was going to regret helping the crazy elf.
The dwarf grumbled a bit before throwing the key into the shadows. "Go towards the Bazzar and take the alley on your right. You'll find a shack that looks robbed. It's not, the lock's the best there is. The people are dark and the food will be shit, but no one will find you there."Varric watched as the elf nodded and turned away back into the darkness, and as silent as a shadow Fenris was gone. "And don't forget. 3 days. That's all!" he called after him, hoping the elf would honor their agreement, and praying he'd survive the next 3 days with a very angry Hawke.
Oh no! Fenris has everything wrong! Again!...will he ever overcome his trust issues? will he overcome this Curse!
Tune in next time to read: Insidious.
