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Chapter Text

"C'mon, c'mon, one more round."

Aveline sighed. "No, Varric. I've just about used up all of the free time I could spare of late. I have got to start catching up on reports tomorrow, and that starts by calling it an early night."

"She's just afraid to lose more sovereigns to us," Isabela joked to Varric. "Or maybe we've run the captain of the guard flat broke! Wouldn't that be a sight?"

Merrill chirped, "Broke what? I didn't see Aveline break anything." She turned to give her full attention to the guard captain. "Did you break something? It's a good thing we have Anders right here."

Aveline shook her head slightly, "No Merrill, I'm alright. Between all the sharks at this table, I'm suprised I'm walking away with as much as I am."

Merrill's face quirked at the mention of sharks, but got distracted as Anders cut in.

"Only because Hawke's 'wildcard' shtick didn't go his way, I think." He noted with amusement. "He certainly makes every game interesting. I can admire his boldness."

"You can admire a lot about him, from the eyes you make at him." Teased Isabela, continuing as Anders' reddened. Fenris gripped his cards tighter. "Not that I can blame you. He cuts quite the figure."

"He's an admirable man." Anders states simply. "I'd be a fool to not see it."

Aveline sidesteps that whole talk entirely. "Speaking of Hawke..." She passes behind his chair, coming to stand to the side of it. He had been slumped over onto his cards for the past hour or so after a few too many ales. "Someone should go with him to make sure he gets home safe. My guards can't be everywhere at once, and he's in no state to fight if he got jumped. I can do it myself, if no one thinks they can convince him with less fuss."

Fenris sees both Isabela and Anders open their mouths, but whatever they meant to says, Fenris beats them to it. In truth, his own mouth was running before he had the chance to catch it. "I'll do it. I should be able to convince him easily enough."

"Really?" She asks, part genuine surprise and part doubt, eyebrows slightly raised. Then her face smooths into something more contemplative. "I suppose he does tend to listen to you. Sometimes I feel like I'm fighting an uphill battle with him." She chuckles fondly regardless. "Says if I want to act like an older sister, he should get to play younger brother for a change. I certainly don't envy his position as an elder sibling if he's faced even half the trouble he's given me." Shaking her head, she gives Hawke a parting pat on the back, who only mumbles incoherently, and passes Fenris a kind smile. "I'm rambling. Take care when the two of you leave."

"I will."

He could feel Anders' glare and Isabela itching to use this new material presented to her as Aveline left the suite.

Let the mage glare. It was all he was good for.

"You sure you aren't going to pawn him off to the templars?" Anders spits at him, pest that he is.

"Were I willing to betray him in such a manner, you would have already found yourself in the Gallows." He growled. "It is by my respect for him that you are allowed to walk free. Do not further test my patience."

"Right, because I'm supposed to believ-"

"Ughhhhh." Isabela slumped dramatically over the table. "Either give us a show and fight already or pick your cards back up. I'll die of boredom if all you two do is peck at each other all night." She lifts her head up towards where Varric sits, mischief in her grin. "Wanna pool bets on who would win?"

Varric raised his eyebrow, amused. "What kinda fight are we talkin' about here, Rivaini?"

"The best kind." She purrs, "Shirtless and oiled. No weapons, just fists against supple skin. Slipping and sliding..."

"Why would they do that? I don't think I've ever seen Fenris without his sword- or his big pointy armor." Merrill pointed out.

"Imagination's part of the fun, kitten."

Anders rolled his eyes at Isabela's vivid imagination, distracting him from the grave he was digging himself. "Not a chance. I'll keep all of my clothes right where they are in his vicinity, thank you very much."

"You and your oil..." Fenris remarked dryly, shaking his head and standing. "Hawke and I will be leaving."

"Aw, and here I was, getting excited for the fist fight." She bemoaned.

"Don't worry, they have time yet." Varric consoled with a chuckle, patting her on the back. Then he turned his attention to his departing guests, "You two don't have too much fun, you hear? Or at least tell me about it afterwards, I could use the material."

Fenris hid the slight color to his cheeks with a flat look. "I haven't the foggiest what you mean." Then he grabbed Hawke's shoulder, jostling him gently. "We are leaving."

"Mm...?" Renard's head raised from off his cards with great effort, angling his head around owlishly until he caught sight of Fenris. He blinks for a moment before the words get through the thick fog of alcohol and sleep, then makes a small sound of comprehension as he wobbles to his feet. Fenris' arm shoots out to steady him before he has the chance to topple over, and Hawke takes it as an invitation to lean against him, dropping his head in the space between his pauldron and neck. This gets a variety of reactions from the room; Merril 'aw's, leaning forward with her chin propped up by her fists; Varric chuckles warmly; Isabela whistles; Anders looks to his cards sourly. Fenris, for his own part, scowls fiercely at the group, but refuses to push Hawke away, the fact that he would simply tumble over non-withstanding.

"You don't have to look so scary, you know." Merrill smiles as if they all aren't prying into business that is the farthest thing from their own. Though, Fenris supposes, when is that ever not the case? "I think it's cute. The two of you, I mean."

Not dignifying her with a response, he grabbed Hawke's shoulder to steady his weight, before leading them out into The Hanged Man proper. A grip on the man's waist would have given more balance in their current arrangement, but he stubbornly refused to further fan the flames of their audience. The chatter of Hawke's companions faded into the clamor of the main floor, which then faded into the relatively quiet ambiance of Lowtown after dark. The cold, damp air made Hawke nuzzle half-asleep against Fenris' neck, catching just a bit of his skin that peeked out above his collar. He grit his teeth, repressing a shiver. Then he felt foolish for having reacted like that in the first place. Hawke was hardly in his right state of mind, even if he knew the other man, for whatever reason, held interest in him.

He focused on getting them up into Hightown, finally having to adjust his grip on Hawke to brave the stairs ahead, of which there were many. Fenris was not completely sober himself, meaning it took more care and time than he would like to admit.

Eventually, they ascend into the Hightown market, quiet and empty. A few steps are taken before something falls to the ground behind them. Still alert enough to fight, Fenris whirls around, dislodging Hawke (who makes a sound of surprise) and supporting his weight with one arm, free hand flying to the handle of his sword as his eyes flick to take in his surroundings. He eyes each and every shadow, rooftop, and nook warily. When moments pass and nothing jumps out at them, no figures catch his eye, confusion settles in. His stance loosens, and he casts his gaze around more thoroughly for what made the noise.

His eyes land on some kind of nondescript sack laying innocently in their steps. It's more on Hawke's side than his. He puzzles briefly if it's a coin purse, but he would've easily recognized the sound. It seemed decently full of something, but without inspection he couldn't tell what.

Regardless, he straightened Hawke in his grip, still mostly boneless if not a tad more lucid. He called his name until the man looked at him, bleary. "Something of yours, I take it?" He asked, pointing to the object.

Hawke squinted at him. Then at his held out finger. Then searchingly, trying to follow it's trajectory. His eyes lit up with recognition as he took in the mystery object. "Ah." Hawke decoupled himself from Fenris, who had to catch him by the back of his collar before he immediately face-planted against the stone. After that, he got his feet under him properly, picking up the sack as if he were holding a fish and stumbling back to Fenris's side. Seeing Fenris' questioning gaze, what he mumbled next could not have been farther from an explanation. "Dick fell out."

Then, he tucked the item into his doublet and patted it. Fenris stared. Hawke had uttered it like it was the simplest thing in the world. He knew the man was prone to inane rambling, but Fenris could not make heads or tails of what that could possibly mean. "What?" He asked, sounding completely baffled even to his own ears.

Hawke, maddeningly, just patted him clumsily on the back, taking a few tries to reclaim his place against Fenris and a few pokes to the face in the process. "How long until we're home?" He rumbled, words running together, completely ignoring any of what just occurred. Or, perhaps, having already forgotten it.

Fenris sighed. Deeply. He knows he'll be turning that exchange around in his head for at least the next few nights, and a drunken Hawke is not as good of a source of information as a sober one. He prided himself on winning battles, but blood cannot be drawn from concrete. "Almost there." He grunted as he supported Hawke's weight once more.

Chapter Text

A week or so later found Hawke and Fenris in his estate, passing around a bottle of wine, as they had made the tradition of doing when they had time to spare. "You know," Fenris mused, half-empty bottle in hand, leaning back against his chair as Hawke lounged across from him in his own. "You said the damndest thing to me a few nights ago."

"Oh?" Hawke leaned forward, interest caught. "I say a lot of damned things, I'd have never thought there'd be a chief among them." Wine seemed kinder on the man's constitution than other alcohols, though even two years ago that wouldn't have mattered with the sheer amount they both threw back. The stock they had to drink themselves to oblivion with was dwindling by the week now, and it would seem they were savoring what was left, enjoying the excuse of company before it ran away from them. Drawing it out. "I didn't run my mouth about Isabela's ultra-secret Darktown fighting ring, did I? Or perhaps Varric's double-life as a real estate agent? They'll have my head if those ever get out. I like to think Isabela would tie me to the bow of her next ship, dressed up in frills like a mermaid as punishment. I think I'd make a pretty figurehead." He joked.

Fenris chuckled, offering the bottle in his hand, fingers brushing as Hawke took it from him. "Well, you certainly have now."

"Drats." He snapped the fingers of his free hand for theatrics, grinning all the while. "I better make peace with becoming a boat decoration, then. Maybe train by standing arms aloft in the tide in stormy weather." He took a draught from the bottle, tongue flicking out to chase the remnants on the rim, Fenris' eyes tracing the movement. When his gaze returned to Hawke's, his eyes crinkled in satisfaction. "Now I'm really curious, though. What did I say?"

"You had dropped some pouch. When I pointed it out to you and after you retrieved it, you referred to it as 'your dick'. Whatever that was supposed to mean." He air quoted with his hands, head tipped back against his chair. "I still can't make heads or tails of it. Figured it must've been drunken gibberish." His tone was warm, amused, even fond. Hawke's ridiculousness had grown on him in the years they'd known each other.

It didn't feel right when Hawke had no immediate quip for him. He wasn't the type to let air linger, especially not while tipsy.

When he lolled his head over to peer at him, Hawke looked like a halla caught in crosshairs. Easy smile frozen in place, eyes wide and surprised, body still. He could almost hear the cogs turning in his brain.

Whatever this was, Fenris realized, was a boundary he both hadn't known existed and never meant to overstep. Fenris sobered instantly, straightening in his seat. "I- hadn't realized it was a sore subject. I can forget I ever knew of it, if you would like." He stumbled in his phrasing. He didn't understand what 'it' was, only that it seemed to unnerve Hawke that Fenris now knew about it. He could not fathom risking what they had over this trivial tidbit he had brought up in jest.

This seemed to snap Hawke out of his startle, and he blinked. "Hm." His smile strained at the edges. He was still thinking. "No, no need." He offered the bottle to Fenris, who hesitated, worried that Hawke would get up and leave after freeing his hand. But coming to some kind of internal conclusion, Hawke's smile turned from awkward to warm again, reassuring even when his eyes still carried uncertainty. Fenris accepted it, and when their fingers brushed this time, Hawke's lingered on his for a moment longer. Fenris was too on edge to pull from it. Hawke's freed hand fiddled with his beard as he leaned back, mock-relaxed. "... So that's why it was in my doublet." He pondered, trying to lighten the atmosphere, to little success.

His gaze wandered around the room. "So, I expected that this would come up sooner or later. I suppose it's pretty funny that it happened the way it did, even if I can't remember it. If I had, I'd know better what to say right now. I'm beating around the bush and we both know it."

"Hawke." A reminder that Fenris would not ask him to divulge any more than what he was comfortable with. An out.

His eyes returned to Fenris', fond. "I know. But I mean it, it really would've come up eventually." He clapped his hands together, rallying himself. "So! Wanna hear a secret?" Fenris recognized it for what it was; Hawke's attempt to soften the impact of the conversation ahead on his nerves.

If it would help him, then Fenris would play along. "That doesn't revolve around Varric's real estate?" The humor wasn't quite there, but Hawke seemed relieved all the same.

"He's a versatile man, who's to say. But, no. Not even Varric's got a hold on this morsel of information yet." He leaned dramatically across the table, trying to channel a conspiratorial energy. He needn’t put so much effort into it; Fenris was pulled into his orbit as easily as he breathed. "The Renard Hawke..." He paused. For nerves or drama, only the slight twitch to his jaw told which. "Was not always a man."

Before Fenris could calculate a thought, the air was filled with nervous prattle, however well disguised Hawke thought, or hoped, it was. "I can understand if that is a deal breaker for... us. It is in your hands. I imagine you've been under a certain assumption-" As Hawke continued, Fenris' brows furrowed. He had never known Hawke to be an insecure man. Had he been burned for this before? Had he bared this truth like he bared his heart and had both ripped away because of it? It was hard to fathom something so minuscule mattering so much to someone, not when Hawke was so much more, but he knew the world's capacity for cruelty, felt it in lines seared through his skin.

"Hawke." He cut through the miasma of words spilling from the others mouth. Hawke looked at him. Carefully neutral, carefully open. His heart ached to see it. "It does not bother me. I am attracted to you, regardless of anything else. My only regret is that you felt the need to disclose it before you were ready."

Hawke looked at him as if he had hung the stars, as if he had never heard someone express this sentiment before. The intensity made Fenris want to squirm, heat rising under his collar, but he held Hawke's gaze with determination, however burning. His posture unwound, and a part of Fenris thrilled to see red creep on his cheeks; a rarity. A breath out, and then he was grinning, tender and saccharine. "You're much too good for me, Fenris." He pulled away to sit back in his chair, and Fenris silently mourned the distance it put between them. Confidence buoyed, Hawke drummed his fingers on the table, playful. "I didn't exactly explain what the sack was for, did I?"

Fenris shook his head, attempting to relax back into his own chair. "You do not need to if you do not want to."

"Oh, but I want to." He purred. "Considering I don't have the... equipment of my own, that handy little tool helps to emulate it. In appearance, at least." Hawke parts his legs teasingly wide, and Fenris' eyes flick to the movement. "I suppose it fell out of my pant leg that night. It's not even necessarily for my own comfort, I simply enjoy how it fills out the fabric." Hawke traces his eyes down to Fenris' own crotch, legs already more spread out from his earlier effort in relaxing. Fenris heats, and his leg twitches, but he wills it to stay put. When Hawke's eyes slide back upwards, Fenris' own meet them, electric. Hawke winks with a tilt of the head and a cheeky grin.

Their conversation was more standard from there out, the push and pull they've become accustomed to. Teasing, flirting, simmering back down, repeat until the bottle ran dry, and at times, after. Some days, of course, were spent in more quiet companionship, but Fenris found himself endeared to the excitement of their little game, even as his heart played funny tricks behind his rib cage.

He didn't know what he was doing, yet Hawke seemed content to let him find his feet. As if they had all the time in the world.

Perhaps, he had started to think, they did.