As You Are Mine, I Am Yours
Hawke's honed senses alerted him to a presence in the dimly lit room even before the empty side of his bed dipped under the elf's weight. Hawke had come to know the particular silence Fenris entered with well, and anyone else would have had a sharp dagger to their throat by now. But for Fenris Hawke always lay still and waited, until he heard armour and garb fall on the floor, until Fenris was beside him and those slender fingers reached out to touch him out of their own volition. Only then he opened his eyes, and turned to meet Fenris' gaze.
"I'm not staying," Fenris said gruffly, as always, but the green of his eyes was dark with longing and want, and his caress moved on Hawke's skin with a clear intent.
"I know," Hawke replied. But you came to me anyway, he thought silently, wondering if it showed on his face how happy that made him. If the slight softening of his lover's features was anything to go by the effect was more than evident, as was their affection for each other. The words they had used were few, but they contained all that needed to be conveyed. The rest would be in their touch, in their breath, in the heat of their skin and the beat of their heart.
Hawke slid his hand into silver-white hair, and Fenris leaned into it with pleasure, a soft moan escaping his lips. The lyrium on his skin flared briefly, illuminating the naked beauty of it. The light of it was cold compared to the warm glow of the fading embers in the fireplace, but exquisite in its fierceness, whether fuelled by anger or passion. Hawke wanted to trace every line of the markings, taste every inch of that fair skin, but to rush to do so would be unwise. Though Fenris always came to Hawke starving to be touched, he was still wary of fully giving into his desire. One day perhaps, when his past as a slave was far enough behind him and a brighter future awaited them both, Fenris would come to Hawke without the fear of feeling owned. But Hawke was in no hurry—for now it was enough that Fenris came in spite of it.
Fenris leaned down over Hawke until they were but a breath apart, his lips brushing over Hawke's, both hesitant and teasing. When he claimed Hawke's mouth if was with fervour, but there was also gentleness to his need that had slowly grown with each night they had spent together, as if the bitter resentment he felt for all that had happened to him receded a little further each time they met like this. Hawke responded to his kiss with a more languid passion, wishing to draw out each moment he could share with his elusive beloved, to ignite in him a slower fire that would let Hawke hold on to Fenris at least through the night if not until dawn. But once lit, Fenris' too long denied desire burned beyond Hawke's control, or his own. He was living fire in Hawke's arms, as beautiful as he was devastating, and consuming all of Hawke's attempts to be gentle with him.
All too soon their bodies were spent, the last echoes of their ragged cries of pleasure fading and their mingled sweat and release already cooling on their skin as they clung to each other, out of breath and out of strength. Fenris would stay next to him for a while longer, but Hawke knew his restlessness would soon overtake him, his need to affirm his freedom pushing him away. Yet he still had this moment, when Fenris lay beside him as if he intended to fall asleep there instead of leaving, and Hawke was content with it. Together or apart, he loved Fenris, and that was enough.
They eventually rose, to quench their post-coital thirst and hunger, to air the damp sheets, to stoke the fire in the bedroom until it roared to life and chased away the cold and the shadows, and to bathe. All the while they spoke of mundane things, exchanging smiles and brief touches as they did. Then they returned to bed, facing each other with Hawke lying naked under the covers on one side of the bed, Fenris over them on the other, dressed in the light garments he wore under his armour. Watching Hawke quietly he looked almost at ease, apart from a small frown that was the only sign of the conflicting thoughts in his head. Hawke knew a part of Fenris wished to stay as much as Hawke wanted him to, but he couldn't. Not tonight, not tomorrow, maybe not ever. But that was neither the limit of his love nor the measure of it.
Crossing the distance between them Hawke kissed Fenris softly on the lips. The reply was gentle, and turned into a subtle smile when Hawke pulled back. He laid his head on the pillows, stowing the memory of that smile and those green eyes glowing warm in the firelight into his heart before finally closing his eyes and seeking sleep.
Hawke did not wake when Fenris left, his disappearance once again giving a truer indication of his talents than his arrival. But when the first light of the sun entered the bedroom through the tall windows, Hawke stirred from his slumber, hand instinctively reaching to touch the empty space next to him. Feeling a residue of lingering warmth under his fingers, Hawke smiled, happy to the brim of his heart.
~~~ End ~~~