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“Hawke.” Fenris' entire body was tense as he stood in her doorway, staring at his clenched fist and not meeting her eyes. He'd stormed into her room with purpose, but now he was just standing there.
She scooted to the foot of the bed and smoothed her robe over her knees. “What is it?”
“I want this to be easy.” He opened his hand, turning it so that his markings caught the firelight. “I want to be able to...” Fist again. “You deserve someone who can give you everything. Be with you. Make you happy. And I can't... I can't even touch you without...” He turned his face to the side, jaw working.
“Hey.” She stood, stepping across the room until she stood before him. “You sound like you're trying to talk yourself into walking out on me again.”
“No.” His eyes flicked to hers, then, and she saw pain on his face. “I want to be... I want this to be simpler.”
“Do you know what I want?” Hawke tipped her face to the side, catching his eyes with hers. “I want you. I want to be with you, Fenris. Because I love you.”
He hissed a breath at that, ears dropping the smallest fraction.
She continued. “Whatever form that takes, whatever being with you means, that's what I want.” Hawke slipped her hand around his fist and he jerked it back. His lips parted and he squeezed his eyes shut, then held his hand out to her, palm open. She placed her hand in it, gently, and he folded his fingers around hers.
They stood there, their hands joined, before she spoke again. “Is that what you want?”
Eyes still closed, he nodded.
“We can do, or not do, whatever you need, Fenris. Whatever helps you, just... I want to understand, and I want to make you happy.”
He laughed, a startled sound. “You already do, Hawke.”
She lifted his hand and kissed his knuckles. “We can figure it out together. Think about what you need, and we can work something out. A way to be together.”
He moved their joined hands nearer to her face, drawing a finger through the hair framing her face. “It shouldn't have to be this difficult.”
With a shrug, she said, “I don't mind.”
He met her eyes and the look on his face was asking.
She repeated herself, emphasis on every word. “I don't mind.”
Fenris pulled her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles where she had kissed his. He still didn't entirely believe her.
---
Days later, he had a list. He hedged, avoided telling her what conclusions he'd reached, but it was clear he'd thought hard about it. He'd gone over every detail and had a plan for each.
“I don't like it being surprised – when you touch me without warning.”
“Okay.”
“Even with warning, I don't... sometimes I hate it.” He winced at his own words. “Especially full-body contact. It's nothing you're doing. And it's not always that way. It changes.”
Hawke tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I could just ask before I touch you.”
“What, every time?”
“Sure.”
He furrowed his brow. “That's... awkward, isn't it?”
She was on her knees beside him on the bed, and she shuffled closer to him. “Can I touch your hair?”
“Yes.”
Hawke ran her fingers through his hair, trailing her nails over his scalp. “Can I put my arms around you?”
“Yes.”
She nestled into his back, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, and spoke quietly in his ear, “Is this awkward?”
He leaned his face against her arm. “No, but-”
“What else is on your list?”
“I don't have a list.”
She smirked. “Well, what else have you thought of, then?”
They worked the details out together.
---
They were in the Hanged Man with the others, Fenris sitting at the table with cards in his hand.
“Shoulder?” She said, low, so only he could hear.
“Yes.”
She draped a casual arm around his chair, traced light patterns over the leather at his shoulder. “Are you winning?”
He tipped his cards so she could see, and raised an eyebrow at her.
“Hmmm.”
The game went on, and she joined the second round, losing badly, as she always did.
They left late, walking together in the cold night.
“Hand?” She asked, and he responded by slipping his palm against hers.
---
They kissed hard, urgent, her hands trailing up his temples and into his hair. His roamed her body but she never let go of his face. There were no markings on his face. She pressed their foreheads together, breathing hard as she bent over him.
“Goodnight, Fenris.” She whispered against his lips.
“Goodnight.”
She kissed him once more before pulling away, leaning against the door to her bedroom.
“The things you do to me,” she breathed, shaking her head.
His brow furrowed for a second, eyes dropping. “I could-”
“Fenris.” She raised a brow at him, and he gave a curt nod.
“Goodnight, Hawke.”
“Goodnight.”
---
He stood at the table, buttering toast while she made coffee.
“Arm?” She asked.
He nodded, and she slid a hand along his forearm.
“Cheek?” She asked.
He smiled, nodding again, and she kissed his cheek.
“Back?”
He swallowed. “No.”
She kissed his cheek again.
---
They lay beside each other on her bed, inches of space between them, and he ran his hand over her bare skin. She gasped at his touch, fingertips warm against her ribs, her hips, and dipping lower.
“Fenris-”
“Mm?” He kissed her ear.
“How far is this going? Are you... are we going to... ”
“You are.” A kiss at her neck.
“Ah.” She moaned softly. “Good.”
He slid his hand between her legs and she threw her head back.
She wiggled an arm beneath the pillow. “Can I hold you?”
He hesitated, hand stilling. “No.”
“Okay.” When it seemed he was going to pull his hand away, she bucked her hips to meet his hand. “Don't stop.”
He smiled. “You like this?”
Hawke gave a full-throated groan. “Yes.”
---
Hawke had gone out on a raid with the others, leaving Fenris behind.
“I don't like you going out without me,” he had protested.
“I'm taking Merrill and Anders,” she had said, and he'd rolled his eyes.
“Nevermind.”
But she didn't come home for hours, and he had spent much of that time pacing before the hearth, the dog's eyes on him.
“She'll be back soon,” he told the Mabari for the fifth time that evening. “Soon.”
He heard the door open and his heart jumped into his throat.
“Honey, I'm home!” She called, pulling off her gloves as she entered the estate.
Fenris crossed the distance in three strides and pulled her against him.
She gasped. “Fenris.”
He held the back of her head with one hand and pressed his face into her collarbone.
Her arms remained at her sides, not holding him in return. He let go of her long enough to tug her hands around him.
“What about-”
“It's alright,” he whispered. “Hold me.”
She did.
---
She watched him as he sounded out the letters, his brow furrowed and his finger following the line of text. When he didn't hesitate over a word that had caused him trouble for weeks, she beamed.
He does nothing by halves, she thought, loving the look of triumph in his eyes when he turned the page.
“Arms?” She asked.
“Yes.” He didn't look up, continued reading aloud.
She was sitting on the floor beside his chair and she sat up on her knees, sliding her arms against his.
“And after,” he read slowly. “They walked through Hightown, their boot heels clicking on the-” He hissed, body jerking back.
Hawke pulled away. “What is it?”
Fenris gripped the book and breathed hard through his nose. “It's nothing. You just... It's alright.”
She replayed the last few seconds in her mind. Her hands had idly toyed with the fabric at his elbows. Had she brushed his side? “I'm sorry.”
He shook his head. “You didn't mean to.”
Hesitantly, she moved her hands toward his arms again, but he shrank back.
“Do you... Is there anything I can-”
Fenris shook his head again and consciously relaxed his shoulders. “Let's continue.”
He kept reading and she settled back on the ground, arms around her knees. A few pages later and her muscles were relaxed again, the light smile on her lips as he rolled his eyes at one of Varric's more colorful metaphors.
“Don't you have any better books?” He grumbled.
“We could find more. Maybe tomorrow we can stop by the bookshop by the Chantry? You can pick out your own books.”
He closed the book in his hands. “I wouldn't know what to get.”
“Well, then we'll get an assortment. See what you like.”
She stood up, taking the book from his hands and placing it on the bookshelf.
“I already know what I like.”
His voice was low and it set lightning up her spine. She turned to find him smirking at her.
“I want to kiss you,” she breathed.
He hesitated, but stood, joining her at the bookshelf.
“You don't have to,” she shook her head. “You never have to.”
“I know.” He tilted his face up to hers. “Just don't touch me right now, alright?”
She gripped the bookshelf behind her back as he leaned up on his toes and kissed her, barely brushing his lips against hers, then opening slowly, pulling her bottom lip into his mouth with his tongue.
Hawke whimpered.
He smiled against her mouth and kissed her again.
---
Hawke reclined on the couch with her feet in his lap as he redid the wrappings on her twisted ankle, his touch feather light to keep from hurting her.
“I love you,” she said.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“And I love you.”