Chapter Text
She was the one who brought it up. He never would have thought about it. Touching was a fact of life with Hawke and her friends. She touched as if everyone was drowning and she was the life line. Hugs from behind for the abomination, holding hands with the dwarf, an arm around the waist of the pirate as they sang off key at the Hanged Man. The blood mage got hugs for pointing out the color of the sky and when her brother had been around, it was impossible to get Hawke off of him. Only Sebastian got less touches and that was because the holy prince requested it “for the ease of my vows.” Hawke had laughed, and reduced herself to sisterly noogies, or rough grapples.
Fenris had not been exempt. Trailing fingertips up the arm, dancing over his markings so she touched only skin and never lyrium. A brush of lips against his ear when she leaned in close to whisper something he could have heard from a distance. Arms—so much stronger than a mage’s arms should be—holding him tight as they eased around the cliffs at the Wounded Coast. Her laugh surrounding him, a ringing, rolling sound that felt like it could block out the whole world.
Then the first night. Hands, rough from her staff, didn’t skip over lyrium then. They ran over him, hard and possessive, eager to touch every inch. Lips trailed down his neck, his shoulders, his chest, and lower. A tongue followed the trail of lyrium and made him groan. He shuddered and sank unarmored fingers into her hair. He had been helpless and giving and she grinned up at him, a wicked demon. And he heard his voice.
That was very good, Fenris. You have pleased me.
When she cried out, her voice was so much higher, sweeter, but she clutched at him like she could own him if she just got him deep enough. When he fell back, he’d already resolved to run, before his memories returned for just that moment.
She hadn’t stopped him.
It was a week after the miracle, after Hawke took him back and the world might have some goodness after all. She invited him over for a reading lesson, but her eyes held concern. They watched as he ran a finger under the line in the book, words swarming in front of his eyes. Hawke only had books in the common tongue, and he couldn’t read Tevene anyway, but it was another step in reading. Hawke leaned over, her scent in his nose, body warm near his. They wore their armor, and it made it easier, metal touching metal rather than flesh.
“Fenris?” Her breath warmed his ear, but she didn’t touch.
“Yes, Hawke?”
“Do you like this?” Hesitation never sounded right on Hawke. Doubt and shyness fell like rain over a wildfire on her face. Her arm snaked around his waist and she pulled him across his chair. His body hit hers and he didn’t know what hurt more, the pressure against his markings or the slap of memories.
He jerked back without a thought, and Hawke didn’t fight it.
“No.” The word was a battle to get out, but he owed Hawke the truth. He owed Hawke everything.
“Okay.” She leaned over the book like it was a casual thing to hate being touched by your lover. “What do you like?” she asked the book.
“It’s...never come up.”
She glanced up now, eyes sharp and piercing. Hawke touched everyone. But she stopped touching him after that night. He’d see her hesitate. Her pale hand reaching out then stopping before contact was made. Fingers twitching and falling back to her side. Smiles that didn’t reach her eyes.
“It’s going to come up now.” She reached now and fingers halted a breath from his hair. “You decide.” And she smiled, like it was that easy. “I’ll reach for you, and you decide what happens next, okay?”
Fenris looked at her. Hawke who smiled. Hawke who laughed. Hawke who was always there. He leaned his head against her hand and her smile widened.
He didn’t deserve this.