Have to start off the new year with a visit to my favorite two people. Takes place after their first night together. My best wishes to all of you for a very happy 2015 filled with all the things you like best!

Fenris sank into his favorite chair, the one that had long ago formed dents and curves that conformed to his body, and uncorked one of the bottles of wine that sat next to it. He was bringing the bottles up from the cellars by the armload now, a fact that gave him pause for several reasons. First, because at this rate he would run out much faster, and second, because even though he had a high tolerance for the fermented grape, he felt he was nearing the threshold between over-indulgence and reliance.

Still, he thought, raising the bottle and taking the first long swallow, without it he wasn't certain he would be able to endure these long, sleepless nights. In the months since he had fled Hawke's bedroom, his sleep had been fitful at best. The memories of her mouth and hands on his skin, of her cries of pleasure as he touched her, haunted his dreams, and he would awaken aching with a longing that the touch of his own hands could never entirely slake.

And so, he drank. Because after a day of "following Hawke", as the blood mage put it, the memories were so strong they tormented his waking thoughts as thoroughly as they saturated his unconscious.

The sensible thing to do would be to avoid her, to stay far from Hawke's side, but he could not do that. He was too weak to remove himself from her presence entirely—there was no question of it. And he had promised, he reminded himself. As he all but ran from her bedroom, he had promised to remain at her side, and he would keep that promise, no matter how the sight and scent of her taunted him. He had been right to leave her that night; right to break off any further romantic contact between them. Fenris clung to that knowledge.

The bottle in his hand was almost half empty now. He stared at it in surprise, not having been aware he had drunk so much. Taking another long swallow, Fenris tried to direct his thoughts elsewhere. He used to be able to while away many a long hour with dark thoughts of his life with Danarius, or with plans for how he would deal with his former master when he came calling, as someday, inevitably, he would. But now, he could think of nothing but Hawke.

With her typical generosity, Hawke attempted to treat him as though nothing had occurred between them, but Fenris knew her well enough by now to be able to see through her feigned indifference and to glimpse the hurt and confusion that still lay within her.

He drained the last drops from the bottle, staring at it in irritation. It should have contained more. Uncorking another one seemed an onerous undertaking, but he wished for more. Closing his eyes, he could still see Hawke's blue eyes on him, with that soft, sad look she had when she thought he was not watching her, the one that caused him to rethink his decision to leave her over and over again.

Shifting deeper into the depths of the chair, Fenris could not help but let his thoughts wander to what might have occurred had he not fled her home the way he had. Without meaning to, he pictured himself drawing her into his arms as he had that night, holding her against him as she slid into sleep, but now, instead of remembering the way he had removed himself from the bed, desperate to recover the scraps of memories he had glimpsed, he imagined himself curling around her, surrendering himself to sleep alongside her, and waking in the morning as the birds began to chirp outside the window, opening his eyes to see her face in the early morning light.

Hawke stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering a few times before they came fully open. She smiled at him. "I thought you might have been a dream."

"If so, I would be sorry to wake."

"That was—" She made an appreciative noise in the back of her throat, stretching like a cat beneath the warm covers, her naked body pressing against his in many interesting and arousing ways.

Fenris moaned, shuddering at the contact. He had thought himself spent the previous night, but the silkiness of her skin touching him so intimately had him stirring to life. "Hawke." And then, still savoring the novelty of it, "Evelyn."

It was her turn to shudder, wriggling even closer to him. "Fenris."

It occurred to him that he did not know what came after a night spent together, what the permissions and expectations had become. As Evelyn's hand moved over his side, skimming his hip and then finding the evidence that her beauty was no less affecting in the light of day than it had been in last night's darkness, he determined that a repetition of last night's activity was clearly allowed, even encouraged, and he pressed himself against that seeking hand with a moan of approval. Or possibly of supplication, because her touch was so exquisite he never wanted it to cease.

Evelyn chuckled, her fingers seeking and finding sensitive places to stroke and press. She watched his face avidly, evidently enjoying his response to her actions. Fenris wished to respond in kind, but it was difficult to form an intention, much less carry one out, while she was rubbing and caressing so expertly. Before she could bring him to completion, he mustered what strength he had and caught her hand in his.

"Please."

"Is there something you need?" she asked teasingly, pressing small kisses to his jawline.

Fenris had no words for what he needed, at least, none that he felt comfortable using in front of her. What came to mind were urgent vulgarities, expressions of need that might not be foreign to her ears, but were not such as he had ever imagined himself saying to a woman of her class and quality. "Please," he said again, hoping that the desperation in his voice would convey his desires. He reached toward her, gripping her hip, trying to tug her body to his so that she would know how he wanted to feel her body around him, over him, above him.

"Ah." There was a satisfaction in her voice as she moved above him, and in her moan as she guided him inside her. Her heat enveloped him, her mouth coming down on his as she rocked slowly on top of him.

Lost in her, Fenris could see nothing of his memories in the back of his mind—all that existed for him was Hawke. Soon they were thrusting together, the tension building between them until it snapped, uncoiling with a pleasure Fenris had never imagined.

Still joined to him, Hawke collapsed on his chest, resting her head on his shoulder. "I never imagined it would be like this."

"Nor I. You are extraordinary." The words trembled hesitantly on his lips before spilling forth. "I love you."

Hawke blinked back the tears that stung her eyes, chiding herself for her foolish fantasies. Fenris knew so little of love, he would never have spoken so soon; nor would she have expected such a declaration, not then. Now, she longed to hear those words; now that she had learned to know her own heart as well as she had hoped to know his. But it was far too late. Whatever he felt for her now, it wasn't what she wanted from him, and it never would be. He'd made that clear.

She rolled over in bed—the bed, the one where he had touched her, and brought her to a fulfillment she had rarely experienced before. Sometimes she thought she could still smell his scent, the musk of leather and the sharp tang of lyrium, ridiculous though that was. Looking up at the canopy, Hawke thought she should sell this bed, buy something with fewer memories. The curtain hanging loose, which she had taken down to help him hide from the light and her scrutiny, was a constant reminder. But she couldn't bring herself to erase all the evidence of what they had done here together—doing so would make it feel even more as though she had imagined it.

The red band on his wrist was a reminder, too, but a taunting one. Some days she wanted to rip it off him; some days it touched her deeply. But she could never ignore it.

Taking a deep breath to banish the foolish fantasy, she tried to think of the Arishok; of Knight-Commander Meredith; of Merrill's quest to repair her mirror. Anything to draw her attention elsewhere. Every line of thought led her back to Fenris.

Eyes burning, she stared at the canopy until dawn broke, the light shining through the windows, and she could get up and pretend to be over him again. Maybe if she pretended long enough, it would be true.