Chapter Text
It was pitch black out and Fenris was dozing on top of him, one long arm draped over his chest and nose pressing into his neck. They'd already had each other tonight, but Hawke already felt a lethargic desire stir anew. The elf made a low, pleased sound as Hawke stroked his cheek and jawline lazily. It made Hawke grin. He was appallingly smitten, and considering they'd only recently rekindled their relationship after a torturous three years apart, Hawke was a slave to his passion for Fenris. That was probably the worst possible choice of phrasing, he thought, but no less true. They simply couldn't keep their hands off each other. It was glorious.
Hawke heaved their tangle of long limbs around so he could reach the elf's pert, little arse. He gave it a cheeky squeeze, and felt lips twitch in a smirk against his skin in response. He did it again more firmly this time and was rewarded with a little wriggle. The fire was mostly embers by now, midnight having long passed, but it still crackled and popped occasionally. Wrapped up in each other like this, deep in the plush bedding they had little need for flames anyway. Hawke pressed his lips to Fenris's forehead. Out there, in Kirkwall with its conspiring Templars and warped blood mages, everything was bleak and confusing. In here, with a happily tumbled elf and laughter and kisses, everything was simple and beautiful.
"Fenris," Hawke said quietly.
"Mm."
"Do you remember earlier tonight when that big bugger cut my arm?"
"Mm."
"And then you cut his head off?"
"Oh, yes," he yawned, his voice a low rumble. "It was a very romantic dinner. Thank you, Hawke."
"You're very welcome, Fenris. I'll try to take you out to more places with decapitation on the menu in the future."
"Mm, please."
Hawke laughed and reluctantly moved his hand from Fenris's arse after one last quick fondle, moving upwards instead to scratch at the back of his neck. He watched his long, elf ears twitch in pleasure in response and fought the urge to kiss them.
"Well, actually, it made me think. It might be a good idea for me to learn some other combat skills. You know, some punching moves, some fancy stabbing, maybe? In case anything like that happens again."
Fenris laughed and cuddled closer with a sigh. His breath grew slow and heavy against his shoulder. Hawke frowned as it became apparent that Fenris wasn't going to answer.
"Fenris?"
"Hm?"
"I was thinking you could teach me?"
"Oh." He felt Fenris stiffen. "You mean, that wasn't a joke?"
"No!" He poked Fenris's arm, offended. "Why would it be? You don't think I can learn to fight? I'm muscular and tough and strong! I can absolutely stab someone with a big sword!"
Fenris smirked. "That's a little on-the-nose, don't you think?”
"Maker's Breath. I didn't mean, although that was quite - no, I'm deadly serious right now. I want to learn to defend myself in close range."
"I, uh. Well. I didn't say that you couldn't learn." He looked up at Hawke, lovely green eyes wide. He looked as though he choosing his next words carefully. His sharp, little teeth chewed on his lower lip. "It's just that you're more…well, you're not really...oh, very well. I'll try to teach you something then."
Hawke grinned. "You're the best."
Fenris kissed him.
"Mm. We'll see if you stand by that sentiment afterwards. Now let me sleep."
---
"I can't," he wailed.
"Hawke!" Fenris's exasperated shout would probably be heard the next few streets over. "Venhedis. This is ridiculous. You are gigantic! How can you possibly be this weak?"
Hawke flopped around, lying flat on his back in the dust of the training grounds. At least he'd managed to shuffle to the dark, cool shade of the trees. Yes, this would be a fitting place to die, he thought. The old broadsword usually reserved for training the teenage guard recruits lay long discarded beside him. Panting hard, he gave it a weary, but filthy look.
It was his own fault, he supposed. It had been a good idea in theory to learn how to use a blade. While he'd become a fairly competent mage over the years he still did best hurtling spells from a distance. Occasionally finding himself in alarmingly close range with a group of bandits, the demon du jour or aggressive restaurant aficionados had taught him that much at least. Flailing wildly with his staff, and shouting for someone to 'get him off me!' was hardly doing much for his fearsome reputation. Or his dignity, for that matter. However, he hadn't been at all prepared for just how difficult and painful this face-punching, sword fighting business was. Being a mage, now that he knew, was difficult. It required focus, intense discipline, practised isolation and keen meditation. Communing with elements and spirits beyond the mortal realm was difficult....sword fighting was, well it was what Carver had done. It was surely easy, he'd thought.
In hindsight that had been a pretty stupid way of thinking. He regretted it deeply. Several frustrating hours of trying to fight with a blade had resulted in nothing more than a world of bruising and one very irritated elf. He hadn't expected himself to be doing forty backflips with knives by the end of the session, but one successful parry would have been nice. Heck, being able to hold a sword properly without Fenris growling at him would have been an ego boost by this point. He ached in places he didn't even know the human body could ache in. He silently thanked the Maker for his magical skills for the first time in his life. For if he didn't have them, he would most certainly be dead as he was apparently useless at everything else.
At least the courtyard was empty, he thought. The blazing midday sun bore down on Kirkwall today and most people had cleverly taken refuge from it indoors. There was nobody around to witness this particular humiliation, small mercies and all that, he told himself.
"Fenris," he puffed. "Help me. I'm dying."
Fenris swore again in Tevene. He was really not a patient tutor, Hawke lamented.
"Maker save me from this fool," the elf sighed. "It serves you right for not stretching properly, like I said."
"I did!"
"Liar. You watched me stretch."
Hawke groaned. "You can hardly blame me for that. Ridiculous, bendy, succubus."
"Hawke."
"Have pity, Fenris. The sword is heavy and probably double my height...and my weight. Maybe I should try the little ones instead."
"Daggers, Hawke?"
"Yes, yes. Those."
"You very nearly cut off your leg with a very simple, very light, very short broadsword. If you think I'm giving you two long, razor sharp blades designed for lightning fast attacks, you must have lost your mind."
"Oh."
"Indeed, oh." Fenris sat down beside him with a sigh. Hawke's breath started to even out and the elf fanned him with his hand playfully, an affectionate little smile dancing over his lips. "I'm rather fond of your legs after all,” he continued and wiped away the not immodest amount of sweat on Hawke's brow. He smoothed his damp, dark hair back and Hawke made a happy noise in answer, closing his eyes.
"And the rest of you,” Fenris mumbled, a little shyly.
"I nearly cut your leg off too."
"Yes, I am aware.”
"You're going to have to carry me home."
"Hm. What am I going to do with you, Hawke," Fenris said, like a tired mother chastising a child with scraped knees. To be fair, his knees were very likely scraped too.
Hawke groaned again, his entire body throbbed. What a stupid weapon, he thought. How Fenris lopped about all day with those massive things on his back, he had no idea. Fenris was much leaner than him to boot. It was hardly fair, nevermind logical. Hawke cracked open an eye to see Fenris glancing around the training grounds courtyard.
“Some mages put blades on the bottom of their staffs,” he suggested.
“You're not doing that,” Fenris replied flatly. “I think it's time you realised your, er, limitations, Hawke. You will never be a swordsman, of any type. I'm genuinely surprised you haven't cut your arms off buttering bread.”
Hawke laughed and pouted. "That's not funny. I'm feeling terribly unmanly right now."
"Is that so," Fenris said with a huff of laughter. His big eyes narrowed in mischief and Hawke cocked an eyebrow at him, wondering what new torture the elf had in mind now.
Suddenly a swift, chilled breeze swept over the grounds, causing Hawke to sigh in blessed relief. Distracted as he was by it, he was taken aback when Fenris climbed into his lap, thighs straddling him snugly. Unhesitatingly he ran his long fingers under the hem of Hawke's light cotton shirt and played with the light trail of hair on his softer part of his belly that led to his crotch. Hawke grunted and swallowed a lump in his throat. Slowly, and deliberately like a lion approaching it's prey, Fenris leaned bodily over him. He took Hawke's pliable hands in his and pinned them above his head. His delicious mouth stopped near his ear, the wet heat of it sending a full body shiver though Hawke.
"Well, I'll have to see what I can do about that," Fenris said lowly. He took Hawke's earlobe between his teeth and nibbled at the sweet little spot just behind it. Hawke gasped. “Why don't you take me, right here in the dirt?” He rolled his hips into Hawke's languidly.
Maker, he was a bloody tease. Fenris had absolutely no intention to do anything of the sort while they were in a public space like this and they both knew it. Neither of them were particularly into that kind of thing. But Fenris would enjoy getting Hawke all wound up. Then he'd smugly smirk and chuckle the whole way home while Hawke would be forced to repeatedly will his erection away until they got back behind closed doors.
Almost as quickly as he had resigned himself to it (it's not like he was actually capable of resisting), a sudden inspiration struck Hawke wickedly. Strange as it seemed to him, the urge for a little harmless revenge overturned his libido sharply.
“Here? Oh, Fenris,” he sighed, perhaps a little melodramatically.
A brief flutter of confusion patterned the elf's face for a moment before he leaned down to kiss the mage deeply. He probably thought Hawke was playing chicken with him. Hawke sat them up, sliding his hand up and around Fenris's very shapely thighs to cup his arse in both hands. They didn't call him 'ass-man Hawke' for nothing, after all. Well, in retrospect this probably wasn't the reason either and come to think of it, he wasn't entirely sure they weren't calling him ass- hole Hawke either, but that was neither here nor there.
Fenris jerked in his lap as Hawke happily fondled away. He managed to sneak a hand down the back of his leggings to pet at the top of his backside. Tempted as he was to slide his hand down even further, he knew he was already pushing it. Nevertheless, Fenris leaned down for another kiss from the mage, moaning a little into his mouth, his hips tilting forwards. He was a very squirmy lover, his mouth and hands never in one place for too long. Even while kissing it was difficult to manoeuvre him into the position Hawke needed for his little plan.
When he managed it finally, he was almost reluctant to part from their kissing. But, with his strength refuelled by his desire to get back at Fenris, he quickly flipped them over so the elf landed soundly on his back in the dust. He looked bewildered by this unexpected development until Hawke's lips descended on his neck.
"Hawke! Uh, slow down. We're not actually doing this here, you realise."
Hawke gave himself a moment to savour the fact that the normally so astute Fenris had no idea what was coming to him. Without wasting another moment, he drew a deep breath and blew the wettest, hardest raspberry into the elf's neck. Fenris called out immediately, bucking violently before shocked, helpless laughter erupted from him.
“Haw-,” he tried, but Hawke was relentless, his hands finding sensitive spots near his waist and tickling manically. Fenris's obvious outrage evaporated into cries of laughter once again. He writhed and twitched fruitlessly under him while Hawke delighted in the sound of Fenris laughing with such abandon.
Fenris spat a couple of phrases (no doubt unflattering) in Tevene while Hawke took advantage of his breathlessness to descend further and lift the shirt covering his stomach. Quicker than Fenris could anticipate he blew raspberries there too. Hawke had never heard Fenris laugh like this. The completely uninhibited, wonderfully childish cackles and yells coming from his belly were a delight to him.
Eventually he had to stop for breath himself. Not to mention he was genuinely concerned Fenris might pass out from a lack of air. He pulled back to admire his lovely, flushed face, his bedraggled, white hair full dust and grass. He looked thoroughly debauched actually, as he panted for air. Hawke kissed his cheek and mouth wetly before he was squatted away weakly by his big, rough hands.
“You horrible - you demon, you mage,” Fenris wheezed. Hawke threw his head back, a booming laugh escaping him. “Vishante kaffas, I hate you.”
Hawke leaned in to give him another kiss and Fenris twisted his head this way and that to avoid it, grinning.
“Lies,” Hawke said.
“One thing is for sure, you won't be stabbing anyone with your big sword again anytime soon.”
“That's okay. You can stab me with yours.” He waggled his eyebrows and Fenris groaned with a smirk.
---
The next day he was summoned to Aveline's office, Fenris in tow. She stared him down the second he walked through the door. He'd known Aveline almost a decade now. She was like a sister to him, yet she never failed to make him feel like a very naughty puppy with that stern glare of hers. It said, 'Bad puppy! Did you poop in the house again?'. And Hawke knew he'd always pooped in the house where Aveline was concerned.
“Hawke. I need to talk to you. It's quite serious,” she said.
“Oh, Aveline. It would never work out between us, we've been through this.” Hawke figured if he was already in the doghouse, he might as well go all out. Aveline ignored him.
“I've been told that you and Fenris had sex in the middle of the training grounds for my guard. Is that true?”
“Yes, that is one hundred percent accurate.”
“Hawke," Fenris hissed before sighing. “Rest assured, Aveline. The claims are false. It would be nigh impossible to be attracted to Hawke when he's training. Somehow, it's difficult to remember he's a grown man when he's dropping his weapon on his foot every five minutes and crying about it, like some huge, muscular five year old.”
Aveline laughed. She looked relieved. “Well, he's not wrong, Hawke.”
“With friends like these,” sighed Hawke. “Don't worry. It's not true, and I won't be going into the training grounds again anytime soon.”
“Good,” said Fenris and Aveline in unison.