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Hawke was a tactile person.
Fenris hated it.
No... hate wasn't quite right. Perhaps loathe was better.
It started out almost immediately after they had met, immediately after Hawke had started to flirt with him. (Let them not talk about that. Fenris was unable to begin to think about having a relationship yet, and Hawke was a mage. He would entertain the idea, yes - later.)
They were taking down a band of slavers, and Hawke clapped his hand on Fenris's shoulder afterwards. It startled Fenris enough, the sudden touch against his skin, the pain lancing through his markings. He hadn't allowed himself to be touched in... weeks, months, even longer. Actually, he had never allowed himself to be touched, but it was only lately that he could say he did not wish it.
But this was so sudden that Hawke had squeezed his shoulder - meant to be a comforting gesture, no doubt - and had gone before Fenris could unfreeze long enough to open his mouth and say anything. All Fenris was left to do was unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth and pretend that he wasn't disgusted and hurting, and follow after the mage.
The second time, he had gotten his words out.
Hawke grabbed his hand to pull him from the mansion, and Fenris jerked away as though the electricity had zinged through his fingers. For a moment, nervous excitement fluttered through his stomach. If he wasn't reacting from pain and instinct, he might have gone warm from the way Hawke's touch made him feel. (He still wasn't there, yet. Not entirely, but he was feeling, and that was something.)
Hawke looked at him, and actually looked a little disappointed. His fingers curled into his palms for a lack of an elven hand to hold, and he looked primed to say something if only he could think of anything to say.
Fenris was struck with the urge to apologise - but no. He did not owe Hawke that. He did not know the man very well, flutters in his chest nonwithstanding. Even if he did, Fenris was struggling to remember that he owed no one, not anything. An explanation, however, he could do. "I do not like to be touched," he said, and scrubbed his palms against his trousers.
"Oh!" Hawke brightened. "Okay! But you're going to come play cards with us, right?" He jerked his thumb towards the door, looking at him expectantly. He seemed pleased with the explanation, and unperturbed now that he had it.
Fenris nodded slowly and joined Hawke as they strolled from the mansion. Hawke did not attempt to touch him again.
The third time was consensual.
To be honest, they had had too much to drink, but Hawke had enough presence of mind to ask, and Fenris had enough presence of mind to think for a moment to say yes.
And so, in a darkened corner of The Hanged Man, Hawke's heavy fingers traced along the line of lyrium beneath Fenris's ear. "I'm curious," Hawke had said. Fenris couldn't stop the shudder at the feeling of skin against his, the ghost of something painful jolting through his veins even if Hawke's touch was feather light, and didn't really hurt at all. But Fenris expected it to hurt, he was used to it hurting, and the shiver crawled through his body, anyway.
He would blame it on the cold.
Hawke didn't pull away. He didn't seem to notice the shiver, fingers brushing up and down the lyrium gently. Fingers stroked against his skin, a thumb tucking beneath the line of Fenris's jaw. Hawke prompted nothing else, but Fenris shook from the way his fingers felt against him. His breathing was embarrassingly loud in the already loud tavern. He wondered if Hawke noticed, or heard.
It did not hurt, but he was uncertain if it felt good. It wasn't... bad, that he knew for certain, but... good? It was... overwhelming. Yes.
He reached up and pressed his fingertips against Hawke's hand, pushing it away slightly.
"Er, did I hurt you?"
"No. It's... a lot," he explained, pathetically.
Hawke nodded, and dropped his hands to the tabletop.
The fourth time was...
it was...
it...
Fenris stared into the fireplace, mind and body alike aching.
"Was it the pain?" Hawke asked, propping himself up on his elbows.
Fenris shook his head.
"I wasn't paying too much attention," Hawke admitted. "I should have been... I don't know, I got caught up, I guess."
When Fenris had crossed the entrance of the estate and kissed Hawke for the first time, it had been an implosion of feeling. Hawke hadn't been touching his lyrium and yet it felt like his body was burning. He would not have been surprised if he had been glowing. (He hadn't been, at the time, but it had felt electric.) It felt like electric, but it felt good. By then, Fenris had discovered a stark difference between good and bad. Hawke pushing him back against the wall had jolted him back into reality, into a pair of lips against his and fingers digging into his skin and it did hurt, the way Hawke's hands pressed against the lyrium - but it was Hawke, and it was good. He had not asked for anything besides what was happening, and they had proceeded.
Fenris did not regret the sex. That was not it.
"Fenris, if I hurt you..."
Yes, it had hurt. Hawke had taken what precautions that he could to lessen any extent of pain for the event, but the way his fingers held against his arms, pressed against his chest, stroked with heavy palms along his leg... those were things that could not be fixed with precaution and preparation.
It was not the pain. Well, not the physical pain. Fenris could handle that, because the pleasure of being with Hawke made it worth it. The mental, however... he had not expected to remember. The lyrium, his biggest worry save being with a man again, ceased in being the biggest concern.
He left without fully explaining the kind of pain he was in.
The fifth time was when they made up, when Fenris had finally offered an explanation.
"You don't need to explain, Fenris," Hawke said, watching as Fenris swept his fingers along the mage's beard.
"It's a bit late for that," Fenris replied, and kissed his lips again.
Hawke's hands were still at his sides, lips parting to speak. "... Can I touch you?" he asked, breath hot against Fenris's mouth.
"You don't need to ask," Fenris said.
"I hurt you last time."
"That was not the same type of pain," Fenris replied, and reached down for Hawke's hands to place them on his hips. "And it was not because of you."
"If you're sure..."
"I am." Fenris pressed into the kiss, looping his hands against Hawke's lower back. "I trust you," he said softly, and swallowed back the pang of nerves that came with the statement. It was not untrue. He did.
"Tell me if you need anything," Hawke said. "At all. Okay?"
"I have been too long without your touch," Fenris said. "Do not deprive me of it now."
"Whatever you desire," Hawke said, with a little bit of a laugh. He pressed his lips against the corner of his mouth, and then his jaw, and then against the lyrium on his neck.
Fenris tipped his head, and closed his eyes. He pretended that he was not smiling, and that he did not need Hawke in his arms, but he did, and he loved it. And he loved him.
He tightened his grip around him, and relished when Hawke did the same.