Fenris watches everyone get ready for bed, doing so himself as well. Taking off some of his armor and gauntlets. He focuses on tending to his armor while that all do before putting it away carefully and approaching the bedroll. He always thought the one big one was strange, but he wasn't about to argue it, this was just another part of the group dynamic.
But he had a preferred spot, one everyone knew about because he would fight anyone who got in his way about it. He was always the closest to the exit, always on the edge, because he needed to be ready to jump into action, after all, he was the tank.
So he waits for them to start to settle before claiming his spot. As always, he moves to be on his side, facing away, taking up as little space as possible.
And like always, he half expects Hawke at his back...
And so Hawke was, once the others arranged themselves as they always did - Isabela on Hawke's left and Varric tucked comfortably between the two of them. Before crawling into bed, Hawke had set a barrier around their entire shelter, the gentle but potent magic glowing a dim, cool blue in the inky night.
"Everybody good?" Hawke's quiet rumble echoed through the tent, precipitating a couple of drowsy affirms. Satisfied with half the company's comfort, Hawke "magicked" the layers of blankets up over everyone, shifting over on his right side to instinctively cuddle against Fenris' slim back.
But he paused.
Only about an inch or so away, but he didn't sling an arm around the elf's waist and cradle him close as he'd done so often before. Not this time. Because Fenris had asked for time. And Hawke was determined to respect the boundaries, no matter how painful they might be.
There's something odd about feeling Hawke shift to be be right there, to feel his breath ruffling his hair, but for the man not to sling his arm around him. It makes his stomach curl uncomfortably. He knows whatever the reason is, it's his own fault, he's the one that keeps Hawke at a distance, especially lately.
Yet, the man persists in waiting like Fenris will come back to him one day. Like there is something there that can be salvaged. Maker, Fenris wants there to be, he loves this man with the desperation of a suffocating man.
But he doesn't deserve Hawke and he knows it. Painfully, achingly, he knows that he missed his chance and there's nothing for it.
He misses the days of their casual comradery.
There was nothing stopping him from just leaning back a little though, touching his back to Hawke's chest, just enough that with every breath they brush against each other. The man's warm suffusing his always cold body. It's permission if Hawke needs it, otherwise he will take this small contact for himself, greedy for anything he can have of the man.
If that was permission, then Hawke gladly took it. Swallowing a relieved sigh, he silently and slowly slipped a long arm over Fenris' waist, flattening his palm with spread fingers to rub very lightly over the pale marks, soothing their cold ache with gentle healing warmth.
Varric was already snoring against Hawke's back, so he took a bit more liberty, damning himself for being so needy, and he just as stealthily lowered his head to rest his nose right beneath Fenris' elegantly pointed ear, a barely-heard rumble echoing in his chest as his nostrils filled with the scent of the elf's shaggy hair.
He knew he was pushing his luck - Fenris had asked for time, Maker's fucking breath - but he simply couldn't help himself. Perhaps he could pretend it was an accident, but there was no way to disguise the small shiver that rippled all over when he shifted just so, just enough that his lips pressed against the smooth dusky skin at the slope of the elf's neck.
The constant ache of his markings always felt dulled under Hawkes touch. It surprised him the first time, since all others' touches were sharp and made them hurt more keenly. But it was like the lyrium in his skin wanted to sing for Hawke, to welcome instead of repel. A silly notion, he knows, but feeling that warm hand on him makes him relax in a way he hasn't in many nights.
Hawke... doesn't deserve for Fenris to keep reaching out only to push him away right after, to tug him along and make him hope when... When Fenris doesn't even deserve Hawke in the first place. Yet he wants him more than air, a want so visceral. Yet there was also fear. He never knew this kind of fear before Hawke either.
But when the man leans in enough to scent him so close to his ever sensitive ears makes his breath hitch quietly. Varric's snores might mask it from Isabela, but Hawke might hear, might notice. It makes him tremble for the way he wants this man. Not just carnally but wholly, his good and bad and idiocy all.
Clenching his fists, he doesn't pull away from the way it feels like Hawke might have kissed his neck, it's dangerous, but he leans back into it instead. Just a little as his skin goosebumps.
They were always so careful now. Tentative. Hesitant. It was bloody maddening. But Hawke was willing to endure it, if only for the brief moments like these, when he could get away with the little touches, the tiny bits of affection they were able to share when no one else was looking. When the weight of the past wasn't quite so heavy.
He deliberately licked his lips, stifling a moan to taste Fenris' skin on his tongue, and dared a very slight, very gentle nuzzle beneath the elf's ear, weight of his hand pressing a little firmer, just a fraction. This was torture, yeah, but the sweetest he'd ever endured.
And Hawke wasn't at all ignorant of Fenris' subtle reciprocation. He heard the soft intakes of breath, felt the slightest twitch of lean muscle beneath cool skin; he knew Fenris wanted just as badly as he did. But until something changed between them, this was all they had. It wasn't nearly enough, but Hawke wasn't willing to give up anything while waiting for everything.
Every sound, every movement - not just now but always - would give or take away Fenris' hope. Even if he didn't deserve Hawke, wasn't worthy of the man, he... Maker above, he craved him heart, mind, and body. Even his tortured mage soul. If he needed to follow Hawke into the fade, into the void, he would.
Without hesitation. Even if the man wasn't his, because he will always be Hawke's.
His breath hitches again at the lick, his ears twitching lightly. But it's the nuzzle to his ear that has his cheeks warming and biting his lip to keep from making any noise. They were so sensitive and without markings, so it made every touch to them pure pleasure. Surely Hawke knew what he was doing to Fenris.
So badly, he wants to shift his hips back, to tease the man in turn, but that might be a step too far. Instead he moves his hand to rest on top if Hawkes, to fit his fingers between the other man's. Always such a warmth to his chilled body.
Both Varric and Isabela were asleep by now; Hawke was quite familiar with all of his companions' habits, and it was so very tempting to whisper to Fenris, Turn over, but Hawke bit his lip on the words. Because, again, that was unfair. Fenris had asked for time - and didn't he remind himself of that once an hour? - and damned if Hawke didn't want to give it to him, but it was just...hard.
--and that wasn't the only rigid thing in the tent, either. Which was why the mage was purposefully keeping a good amount of space between their lower bodies.
Though when Fenris settled his lean hand over his, Hawke paused only a fraction, then twined his fingers with the elf's just before deliberately placing a few more kisses beneath that lovely ear. He was more than willing to give what affection he could, as long as Fenris would accept it.
This wasn't fair. To either of them. Fenris was leading them both on by not stopping this, but he so desperately wants the man. To turn over and kiss him properly, to take their cocks in hand and bring them off quick and quiet. Maker help him, he so wants to do just that and chase pleasure with the man he loves.
So why is Hawke indulging him? It's not that he doesn't know Hawke still holds a candle for him, but it's that he shouldn't. The mage should have long snuffed it out and found someone else. Someone that deserves him.
But as they twine fingers and Hawke peppers him with kisses he hasn't earned, Fenris knows now he needs to make a decision. In the faintest whisper, he says, "I cannot promise what you might wish of me, but I... will not deny you either."
He can promise Hawke so much, his entire being, his soul, his body and heart... he just does not believe it worthy enough of the man.
Oh, Maker’s sweet fucking breath… Hawke couldn’t have swallowed the guttural moan that followed those words any more than he could have stopped the moon from rising. His fingers involuntarily tightened around Fenris’s hand, squeezing with the sudden flood of sheer desire that rushed through his veins, igniting his very blood.
This time, there was no hesitation or subterfuge; Hawke buried his nose beneath the elf’s beautiful ear and inhaled a deep, shuddering breath. He instinctively closed the gap between their bodies, slotting his aching groin snugly and tightly against Fenris’s backside, letting him feel just how badly he wanted, just how damn much he needed.
“Turn over.” It was a gravelly whispered plea, an invitation to take what was so freely offered, a supplication to alleviate at least a fraction of this burning desire that blazed so brightly between them. “Please, Fen…”
Hawke gave in to the undeniable urge of gracing that lovely ear with more kisses, soft brushes of worshipping lips that moved over smooth skin in reverent homage. “…I wanna kiss you, Fenris…so badly…it’s been driving me crazy…”
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But he had a preferred spot, one everyone knew about because he would fight anyone who got in his way about it. He was always the closest to the exit, always on the edge, because he needed to be ready to jump into action, after all, he was the tank.
So he waits for them to start to settle before claiming his spot. As always, he moves to be on his side, facing away, taking up as little space as possible.
And like always, he half expects Hawke at his back...
no subject
"Everybody good?" Hawke's quiet rumble echoed through the tent, precipitating a couple of drowsy affirms. Satisfied with half the company's comfort, Hawke "magicked" the layers of blankets up over everyone, shifting over on his right side to instinctively cuddle against Fenris' slim back.
But he paused.
Only about an inch or so away, but he didn't sling an arm around the elf's waist and cradle him close as he'd done so often before. Not this time. Because Fenris had asked for time. And Hawke was determined to respect the boundaries, no matter how painful they might be.
no subject
Yet, the man persists in waiting like Fenris will come back to him one day. Like there is something there that can be salvaged. Maker, Fenris wants there to be, he loves this man with the desperation of a suffocating man.
But he doesn't deserve Hawke and he knows it. Painfully, achingly, he knows that he missed his chance and there's nothing for it.
He misses the days of their casual comradery.
There was nothing stopping him from just leaning back a little though, touching his back to Hawke's chest, just enough that with every breath they brush against each other. The man's warm suffusing his always cold body. It's permission if Hawke needs it, otherwise he will take this small contact for himself, greedy for anything he can have of the man.
no subject
Varric was already snoring against Hawke's back, so he took a bit more liberty, damning himself for being so needy, and he just as stealthily lowered his head to rest his nose right beneath Fenris' elegantly pointed ear, a barely-heard rumble echoing in his chest as his nostrils filled with the scent of the elf's shaggy hair.
He knew he was pushing his luck - Fenris had asked for time, Maker's fucking breath - but he simply couldn't help himself. Perhaps he could pretend it was an accident, but there was no way to disguise the small shiver that rippled all over when he shifted just so, just enough that his lips pressed against the smooth dusky skin at the slope of the elf's neck.
Torture didn't even come close.
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Hawke... doesn't deserve for Fenris to keep reaching out only to push him away right after, to tug him along and make him hope when... When Fenris doesn't even deserve Hawke in the first place. Yet he wants him more than air, a want so visceral. Yet there was also fear. He never knew this kind of fear before Hawke either.
But when the man leans in enough to scent him so close to his ever sensitive ears makes his breath hitch quietly. Varric's snores might mask it from Isabela, but Hawke might hear, might notice. It makes him tremble for the way he wants this man. Not just carnally but wholly, his good and bad and idiocy all.
Clenching his fists, he doesn't pull away from the way it feels like Hawke might have kissed his neck, it's dangerous, but he leans back into it instead. Just a little as his skin goosebumps.
no subject
He deliberately licked his lips, stifling a moan to taste Fenris' skin on his tongue, and dared a very slight, very gentle nuzzle beneath the elf's ear, weight of his hand pressing a little firmer, just a fraction. This was torture, yeah, but the sweetest he'd ever endured.
And Hawke wasn't at all ignorant of Fenris' subtle reciprocation. He heard the soft intakes of breath, felt the slightest twitch of lean muscle beneath cool skin; he knew Fenris wanted just as badly as he did. But until something changed between them, this was all they had. It wasn't nearly enough, but Hawke wasn't willing to give up anything while waiting for everything.
no subject
Without hesitation. Even if the man wasn't his, because he will always be Hawke's.
His breath hitches again at the lick, his ears twitching lightly. But it's the nuzzle to his ear that has his cheeks warming and biting his lip to keep from making any noise. They were so sensitive and without markings, so it made every touch to them pure pleasure. Surely Hawke knew what he was doing to Fenris.
So badly, he wants to shift his hips back, to tease the man in turn, but that might be a step too far. Instead he moves his hand to rest on top if Hawkes, to fit his fingers between the other man's. Always such a warmth to his chilled body.
no subject
--and that wasn't the only rigid thing in the tent, either. Which was why the mage was purposefully keeping a good amount of space between their lower bodies.
Though when Fenris settled his lean hand over his, Hawke paused only a fraction, then twined his fingers with the elf's just before deliberately placing a few more kisses beneath that lovely ear. He was more than willing to give what affection he could, as long as Fenris would accept it.
no subject
So why is Hawke indulging him? It's not that he doesn't know Hawke still holds a candle for him, but it's that he shouldn't. The mage should have long snuffed it out and found someone else. Someone that deserves him.
But as they twine fingers and Hawke peppers him with kisses he hasn't earned, Fenris knows now he needs to make a decision. In the faintest whisper, he says, "I cannot promise what you might wish of me, but I... will not deny you either."
He can promise Hawke so much, his entire being, his soul, his body and heart... he just does not believe it worthy enough of the man.
no subject
This time, there was no hesitation or subterfuge; Hawke buried his nose beneath the elf’s beautiful ear and inhaled a deep, shuddering breath. He instinctively closed the gap between their bodies, slotting his aching groin snugly and tightly against Fenris’s backside, letting him feel just how badly he wanted, just how damn much he needed.
“Turn over.” It was a gravelly whispered plea, an invitation to take what was so freely offered, a supplication to alleviate at least a fraction of this burning desire that blazed so brightly between them. “Please, Fen…”
Hawke gave in to the undeniable urge of gracing that lovely ear with more kisses, soft brushes of worshipping lips that moved over smooth skin in reverent homage. “…I wanna kiss you, Fenris…so badly…it’s been driving me crazy…”