"So you're just going to leave?" Fenris had taken a first step towards the door, but now a hand closed around his arm. His markings came to life before he had even truly felt the fingers on his skin. A strange heat spread along the lyrium lines from where the hand touched him. The sensation startled him. He had never felt something exactly like this in his markings before. As in a reflex he twisted the wrist of the hand that was holding him. No one should grab him like that anymore! He was not someone's property! Without granting himself any time to think, he pushed the man who had dared to touch him like that against the wall.

Hawke let out a muffled "Ouch!" as the back of his head hit the bricks of the wall. Surprised and startled, he stared at Fenris, who looked disturbingly much like he was about to rip his heart out. He felt his pulse quicken, but it was not out of fear. He did not believe Fenris would actually hurt him. Well, at least not more than it had hurt to be smacked with his head against the wall... He stood as motionless as he could, trying to keep his breathing calm, and waited for what would happen. "Fenris..." softly, not more than a whisper, the name escaped along with one of his breaths.

Fenris, realizing his mistake and who he had just knocked against the wall, looked away. What was wrong with him? Why did it upset him so much that someone simply touched his arm? Why had it caused such a strange feeling in the lyrium? Because it's not just someone, it shot through him. This was Hawke...

When he heard his name, he looked Hawke in the eye again. It shocked him to find no fear in those bright blue eyes. Instead he saw something else entirely. Want. Desire. As the seconds went by, he became more and more aware of the tension that had built up between them, while he was still pushing Hawke against the wall. He felt Hawke's heart beating under his right hand, which he had already placed on his chest. He had been so close to... He closed his eyes. His markings had calmed again. The blind rage disappeared as quickly as it had filled him. He felt Hawke's warm breath against his face and heard him swallow. He should get out of here. This apology turned out to be an even bigger failure than the last time. He turned his gaze to Hawke once again, to see the last bit of surprise being replaced by a look of grim determination he had already seen a few times before, usually when Hawke was about to do something stupid, like attacking an entire Qunari karataam to give a sarebaas the freedom he did not even desire, or lying to the templars to help a bunch of apostates - and most likely blood mages - escape. Before Fenris got the chance to wonder what stupid thing Hawke was about to do this time, Hawke bowed his head forward. And then their lips touched.

As if Hawke had just cast an ice spell on him, Fenris' body froze. What is happening? What is he doing? he thought foolishly. He felt Hawke pressing his mouth firmer against his own, his beard and mustache prickling the skin of his chin and upper lip. I just came here to apologize for yelling at him. Hawke's lips parted, just a little, enough to let his tongue slip out and follow the curves of Fenris' mouth, ever so lightly. When the touch became firmer, Fenris obediently let his own mouth slide open, still too utterly stunned to do anything but cooperate.

This seemed all the encouragement Hawke needed. He forced the opening Fenris had given him wider and let his tongue enter. I have no idea what I'm doing. Despite his mind being clueless, his lips, his tongue, his mouth responded to Hawke's movements with increasing intensity. The feeling that he should not be doing this got vaguer and vaguer until all that mattered was the kiss. Breathing Hawke's breath, feeling him so close, tasting him like this... it awakened a hunger in him he had not known existed.
Hands grabbed both his arms and once again the lyrium was activated, spreading a burning feeling through the lines across his skin. Fenris gasped, more out of surprise of this unexpected activity in his markings than of the odd discomfort it caused, while Hawke whirled him around and suddenly he was the one being pressed against the wall.
"Everything alright?" Hawke mumbled, his mouth only inches away.
Fenris could only let out a moan. He was not sure himself whether that was supposed to be a "yes" or a "no". Grateful for the extra support, he leaned with his back against the cool stones. His knees had grown weak and he feared he might collapse at Hawke's feet right there. Probably because of the long walk and all the pacing he had done, in combination with the wine.
"Maker, I've been wanting to do this for a long time now," Hawke whispered in his neck, before planting his lips on the soft, smooth skin; there, too, leading to an almost unbearable heat that travelled from where his markings were affected to lines further away. What kind of strange reaction is this? He had grown used to a certain degree of discomfort the lyrium caused, with peaks of pain in battle, when he willingly activated them for use. Now Hawke seemed to unknowingly trigger them somehow.

Danarius could do something like this with them as well.

No! Do not think about that! he scolded himself. With all his might, he forced away a memory of Danarius sending a burning pain through his entire body to punish him, while Fenris gritted his teeth to keep himself from granting Danarius the pleasure of screaming in agony.

This feels different. It's not the same kind of pain. That was even true. With the remembrance of Danarius' torture, the heat he was feeling now was... well, different. It was not pleasant, but at the same time it had something... arousing. Sensing Hawke's mouth in his neck, his tongue following one of the lines towards his right ear... hearing his breathing getting louder, faster... Eventually he did not know if his ear felt so warm because of the lyrium that was etched there or if it was simply because of Hawke's hot breath and his tongue, which was now exploring the folds of his auricle. It did not matter; he only knew that it required a lot more to make him want this to stop. The last of his restraint dwindled as he raised his hands to pull Hawke even closer.
He let his hands follow the arc of Hawke's back; lower, feeling the hint of muscles through his robe; lower, the vertebrae of his spine; lower, until he reached the point his arms could not stretch any further. There, he let his hands rest, while his mouth sought to return to Hawke's. The longer the kiss continued, the more his arousal increased. Never had he experienced something like this before, at least as far as he remembered. He could not have imagined that just a kiss could feel so good. He caught himself thinking of what else they could do, and how that would feel... He wanted more. His body ached for it, ached for Hawke. Without thinking, he let his hands wander further, only not lower this time.

Now it was Hawke's turn to groan. Fenris' mouth curled in a slight smile of satisfaction, but then he heard a discrete cough "Ahem... Fenris..?"
He had not realized he had closed his eyes, but he must have, because he had to open them before he could see Hawke looking at him. "Yes?" he asked, suddenly worried he had done something wrong.

"Would you mind, perhaps... to... take those gauntlets of yours off?"

For a moment, Fenris stared at Hawke blankly, uncomprehending. Then, the meaning of Hawke's words came through. He opened his mouth in a wide, embarrassed "Oh." And then another, louder "Oh!"

Hawke smirked at him. "I really didn't mind what you were doing, you know, but I'd rather you do it without those steel claws of yours."

Despite his embarrassment, Fenris laughed with Hawke. "Right. Of course. Sorry."

"Not at all." While Fenris struggled to take his gauntlets off, Hawke moved closer to kiss him again, a cheerful twinkle in his light blue eyes. When he had finally freed one hand, Fenris dropped the steel glove to the floor. It produced a loud CLUNG as it hit the ground. Startled by the unexpected sound, he nervously looked around. The sudden noise made him remember where they were and that they were not alone in this house. "The dwarf..?" he whispered, and then, realizing something far worse: "Your mother?"

Hawke chuckled. "I think Bodahn is discrete enough to give us some privacy. For his own good night rest he will probably not want to disturb us anyway. My mother... well, there you say something..." Seeing Fenris' face and that he was opening his mouth to say something, Hawke quickly added: "But I believe she is somewhere else tonight. Visiting uncle Gamlen. Or was it the Rhineharts..? Either way, she is not here."

Fenris was not convinced. "Are you certain about that? You haven't been further into the house than the hall. And won't she be back soon? It's late."

Hawke rolled his eyes. "If she was here, you would not have been sitting here all by yourself, I can guarantee you. She would have dragged you inside the living room and forced a cup of tea on you. But yes, she could be back any minute now..."

"Don't you think you could have mentioned this earlier?"

With an innocent look on his face, Hawke spread his hands. "You can hardly blame me. You were kind of distracting. Don't look so disapproving, she is not here yet."

"Maybe we should..."

"... make a tactical retreat to the bedroom? My idea. Let's go, before your greatest fear comes true and you are standing face to face with my mother, which, considering your current... condition," Hawke glanced suggestively towards the bulge in Fenris' breeches. "I admit, might be a bit embarrassing."

More boldly than he felt, Fenris responded with a similar look at Hawke. "I don't see your condition differing so much from mine." Wait, did he just mention the bedroom? That's not what I intended to suggest.

He was rewarded with Hawke's widest grin. His white teeth flickered in the dim light in the foyer. "Touché. So we both agree it's wisest not to delay this any longer."
Wisest? Probably not. Fenris made an attempt to pick up his gauntlet from the floor, but Hawke practically dragged him away before his fingers could touch it. "You don't need the stupid thing tonight anyway. Come."

After a moment of hesitation, Fenris followed Hawke without protest through the living room, up the stairs. The short interruption had left his head a bit clearer and made some of his initial doubts return, but Hawke chased them away before a solid argument was able to materialize in his mind when he released Fenris' other hand from the grip of cold steel, tossed the glove casually away and immediately started fumbling at his armor.

"Andraste's ass, man! How do you take this off? I swear, I may look like I'm wearing a dress, but at least these robes are a lot easier to get out off. How long do you need in the morning to get dressed? An hour?"

Fenris lifted one corner of his mouth. "Perhaps I just never take it off. I have to be prepared, in case Danarius decides to raid the mansion in the middle of the night."

Hawke shot him a long, puzzled glance. "It's very unnerving that I'm actually not sure whether you're serious or just fucking with me."

"Considering I am still wearing my armor, and you your... dress, I don't see how we could be fu..." He did not get the chance to finish his sentence. Hawke interrupted him with a low growl and silenced him by pressing his mouth against his lips. More prepared for what to do this time, Fenris let his tongue slide between Hawke's lips. He started the walk backwards into the bedroom, without losing contact with Hawke for one moment. By the time his calves hit the bed and he fell backwards on the mattress, his armor was gone. So were Hawke's robes. Hawke let himself fall on top of Fenris, still refusing to break the kiss. Hawke's weight crushed the air out of his lungs, but the feeling of Hawke's bare skin against his own sent a shiver through his spine. I still have no clue what I'm doing. I just don't want it to stop.

Hawke's scent surrounded him. With a deep breath, Fenris inhaled it. He did not smell that good, actually. There was more than a trace of sweat, after a long day of walking and fighting, the faint scent of smoke clung to his hair, indicating Hawke had been hurling fireballs again, and something else, something he could not place. He inhaled again. Some kind of herb or spice? There was nothing he could compare it with. It was simply the smell of Hawke, and it was definitely the most pleasant component of the aroma.

Finally, when they were both gasping for air, Hawke pulled his head back a little so that they could look at each other. His pupils were wide, leaving only a thin blue ring of his pale irises visible.

"I want you, Fenris," he whispered in a hoarse voice. "I want you so bad." He felt Hawke's hand burn on his thigh, his erection pressing against his belly. Semen dripped on the skin there, mingling with the sweat that - in vain - tried to cool his body.

He tried to form a response, but eventually all that escaped from his lips was a ragged "Hawke."

A chuckle. "That's my name." Hawke chose to interpret his name as permission for his fingers to explore Fenris' body further. He felt the hand on his thigh moving up. That feels good. Why does this feel so good? But wherever Hawke's touch travelled, it was always accompanied by a flaming heat. His touch was fire and ice at the same time. Once Fenris shot a quick glance at one of Hawke's hands to see whether he was willingly setting him on fire. No flames were to be seen at his fingertips however. Only the faint blue glow of the markings he affected. He grabbed Hawke's hair, tucking the braid that held it in check loose, half planning to make him stop what he was doing. He only ended up pressing him closer. No matter how the lyrium burned, Hawke's strokes and kisses also made him quiver with pleasure. Perhaps, when this is all over, there will be nothing left of me but ashes. And I wouldn't even mind.

Hawke would not let him burn on purpose. Hawke might be capable of letting fire rain down from the sky, but he was also a healer. Often Fenris had felt the heat of the fire around him, smelled the stench of burning flesh, heard the agonized screams of enemies, but the worst thing that happened to him was that he grew more hot and started to sweat. When Hawke's magic touched him in battle, it was always to grand him the strength to carry on, to make the pain of the cuts and bruises fade, the bleeding come to a halt. It was magic he had barely believed to exist, or at least that no mage existed who would devote his practices to it. No Tevinter magister would bother to close wounds and make pain go away. They preferred to specialize in inflicting it, using the blood of others to fuel their destructive powers. That abomination Anders claimed to be a healer as well, but Fenris would rather bleed dry than allow his magic to affect him. Hawke was the only mage he would trust.

There was the sound of a door opening and closing somewhere in the house.

"Hmm, you were right. Sounds like Mother's home. We retreated right on time."

"Glad to know you're at least capable of admitting I'm right sometimes," Fenris grumbled.

Hawke chuckled softly against his hip. "I wouldn't get used to it."

Their bodies were entangled in a way he could not explain or even comprehend. It was almost like Hawke himself got under his skin. Hawke moved. Fenris felt his breath on him. His beard. Lips. Teeth. Tongue. And then it was impossible to stay quiet. With a growl he tightened the grip on Hawke's hair and let his head fall back on the soft pillows. He closed his eyes, but instead of plain, black darkness, a new wave of pleasure crashed into his mind, creating images. He saw an elven girl with bright orange red hair. She smiled at him and raised her hand, palm upward.

"Leto, look!" A tiny, bright pink butterfly appeared. It moved its wings, then dissolved into thin air. Automatically the connection sister appeared in his mind.

An elven woman, with the same bright hair as the girl. Her face might have been beautiful once, but now lines of worry and tiredness were etched in the pale skin. Her dark green eyes looked at him in a sad way. Mother?

"Do not do this, Leto," she said with a soft voice. "What good would freedom do us? We have nowhere to go, no coin to spend. Where should we live? We can't even afford a room in an alienage."

"You'll get by, mother. You'll see. Imagine being free! Go where you want to go, not worrying about what your master wants. You and Varania can live your own life. Varania could train her magic, maybe even become a magister herself. Imagine how amazing that would be!"

"You don't understand, my boy. When we are 'free', we'll be just two more poor elves. Things will not get better, only worse. It's not worth you risking yourself in battles against fellow slaves. You could get hurt, even killed!"

He shook his head and turned on his heels. "I'm sure master Danarius believes in me for a reason. I will prove myself to him, and I will win for you, mother. I will win your freedom."

"Leto, please... Think this through."

He walked out of the room without looking back.

Danarius. Only he looked a bit younger than he remembered. To his astonishment, he felt no hatred for this Danarius, but... admiration, some degree of affection even. He saw how a young version of himself bowed and begged to be given a chance to prove his worth. Danarius smiled faintly and told him to fight. It wasn't until then that he became aware of the other boys around him. Most were elves, some were human. They were all armed. He was armed. And then they fought. He felt bone splintering, saw blood spattering, heard cries of pain. He swung his blade around until his arms felt like they would fall off. This was the first time he was fighting to kill. The adrenaline rushed through his veins, allowing no other thought than that he had to keep on fighting. So that was what he did, until suddenly it was over. He fought until he was the only one standing. He looked around, panting, his arms aching of wielding his sword, and saw the remains of the others lying around him. Not one of them lived. The stench of death, a mixture of blood, feces and sweat, filled his nostrils and made him nauseous. At the sound of a slow, almost mocking applause he quickly raised his head to see his master. "Such a wild wolf. Congratulations, boy. It seems you have proven yourself. You won the last challenge. The boon is yours. And you... are mine." His master rose from the seat from which he had been watching the fight. "I hope you are able to endure pain well."

He fell to his knees and emptied what little his stomach contained on the remains of the boys he had just killed.

The constant waves of pleasure abruptly turned into a wild maelstrom that surged through his entire being, filling him with a feeling so amazing there was no room for any other thought or feeling within him. His body grew tense, he arched his back and let out a loud moan. Then, for a single moment, everything fell into place. The wall in his mind that had kept a whole part of his life from him, collapsed. He knew who he was, knew his past. He remembered everything. The smell of his mother, the lullabies she sang to him before he fell to sleep, the tears in her eyes after he had won Danarius' fight, the last time he had seen her. It melted together with the parts he had always remembered: Danarius and Hadriana, the Fog Warriors, Hawke... For one perfect moment, he was whole again.