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Fenris doesn’t do public displays of affection. Loving words or smiles in public settings, sure, sometimes, but he’s not the clingy or kissy type when there are strangers around.
Hawke knows this and is perfectly fine with it. Their friends know that they’re together—the teasing about it has been going on for almost four months now and doesn’t look likely to stop anytime soon—and no one else matters. Game nights at the Hanged Man are typically spent with Fenris relaxed and content next to him, sides brushing together once in a while, and Hawke feels like the luckiest man in the world.
Often these nights end with drinks warming their stomachs and happiness as comfortable a blanket around them as the actual blankets on Hawke’s bed that they usually end up in—the mansion is closer to the tavern, after all. Sometimes, though, Fenris gets a particular glint in his eye and slides his hand up Hawke’s thigh under the table, out of sight of everyone and feigning innocence as he teases Hawke to the point of basically hauling the man out the door and home in record speed, Fenris laughing all the way until the laughter is lost in countless kisses.
Neither of those things is what happens tonight.
What happens tonight is nowhere near subtle. There is no warning, no teasing, no frisky looks or touches, nothing to indicate anything beforehand. One minute they’re in the middle of a round of Wicked Grace, and the next Fenris gets up beside him and says, voice strong and commanding, ”Hawke, I need you to take me to your place, and I need you to fuck me. Now.”
Hawke gapes. Varric freezes. Aveline almost chokes on her drink. Merrill’s eyes widen. Anders is thankfully indisposed so he doesn’t get a chance to pass out. Even Isabela, who usually takes to sexual forays with gusto and isn’t easy to surprise, looks stupefied for a moment, before saying in her honeyed, teasing tone, ”My, my—and here I thought Hawke was the bold one.”
Varric is the next to recover from his shock, and around a chuckle, says, ”You can have a room upstairs if you’re in such a hurry, you know.”
”And you wouldn’t be pressed against the door, trying to get more details for your book?” Fenris scoffs, focused on picking up his sword. As Hawke gathers control of his limbs again from being frozen still in time, he follows Fenris’ lead and gets his staff. Lowtown is still Lowtown, Champion or... not.
Sweet Maker, did Fenris just really—
Varric interrupts Hawke’s lust-filled panic with, ”Hey, can’t fault a man for trying. Erotic novels are selling like bread these days.”
”Dream on,” Fenris grunts, halfway out the door already, and Hawke doesn’t know how to explain any of this to anyone so he doesn’t, just rushes out hot on Fenris’ heels without a word.
Hawke is eager to know what has spurred this proposition on—no, a demand, made in public, for Hawke to—oh Holy Andraste—but he’s too winded trying to keep up with Fenris’ light steps on the stairs to manage the question, and then they’re at Hawke’s mansion and up his room and Fenris starts divesting himself of his clothing right away, revealing planes of marked skin for Hawke’s viewing pleasure, and Hawke may be slow but he isn’t stupid, alright—he can take a hint.
Hawke gets his hands on that gorgeous body as it is unfolded before him, cradles Fenris’ beautiful face as it turns to him, and kisses his way into Fenris’ eager mouth until they’re both breathless from it. When they break for air, he sees Fenris’ eyes are nearly glazed over with desire, and as Hawke’s hands rove over his chest, back and backside, he’s even more vocal and handsy than usual, nearly ripping Hawke’s clothes off in his haste. Hawke regards himself a considerate lover and he’s certainly had no complaints from Fenris so far, but there is something different about these reactions, not to mention the unprecedented brazenness in the tavern. As the last of Hawke’s clothes come off and they find themselves horizontal, bodies sliding together on the bed and soothing the most pressing need for touch, the hectic mood Fenris has set eases and Hawke’s mind clears just enough to consider it.
Something has set Fenris off in the most delightful of ways, has him straining against Hawke and fully hard already, responding to his kisses with fierce abandon. Usually, Fenris gets like this in the middle of it, demanding and frenzied, and it never fails to make Hawke lose his mind a bit. This time, however, he tries to keep his wits about him, even as he conjures slick on his fingers and begins fulfilling Fenris’ request. Hopefully it will ease his fervor a bit and help Hawke get some answers.
Fenris moves restlessly against his fingers right away, pressing him on and further, and Hawke doesn’t idle. When he’s two fingers deep and Fenris is more relaxed under him, making those little noises he does, somewhere between grunts and sighs, Hawke finally moves in for the kill. ”Let it be known I don’t often look gift horses in the mouth, but…” he begins, waiting for Fenris to zone in on his voice and open his eyes. ”Would you like to tell me what that was about, earlier?”
Fenris apparently still has his senses together because his eyes get a wild look to them, and a flush starts blooming on his cheeks. ”No, I want you to take me, right now,” he grits out, which Hawke notes isn’t exactly a denial that this is about something in particular.
”Fenris…” He couples his admonishing tone with a bite on Fenris’ right nipple, laving it as Fenris gasps and squirms under him, the crimson in his skin spreading to his upper chest. Easing a third finger into him, Hawke can feel how tense Fenris’ body has gotten from embarrassment and tightly coiled arousal. His cock is dripping already, and Hawke’s own desire flares at the sight, threatening to ruin his concentration, so he focuses on Fenris’ face, and the flush there. ”Fenris, please.”
”I—Just… Out there, in the tavern…” Fenris finally starts. ”I could see the way people looked at you and—” He cuts off in a moan as Hawke curls his fingers inside him and doesn’t continue, leaving Hawke to fill in the blanks.
”You were jealous?” Hawke asks, halting his movements and looking up to see Fenris’ face as he answers. The irony of Fenris exhibiting jealousy would of course be that Hawke hasn’t even glanced at anyone else like that in years, but he knows feelings are rarely rational.
”No, n-not—” Fenris starts, groaning in frustration as Hawke withdraws his fingers and doesn’t do anything else. His eyes are open, but he keeps avoiding eye contact. ”Can’t we let this be?”
”Oh, no,” Hawke replies in a devilish tone. ”We are not fucking until I get to the bottom of whatever it is that’s making you flush like that.”
Fenris looks undecided and like he doubts Hawke’s conviction, which—fine, he has a point. When it comes to resisting one’s desire, Hawke has been known to draw the shorter straw, a mere look from Fenris enough to get him going sometimes. A lot of times.
But this time he intends to see this though. To show Fenris that, he positions himself between Fenris’ open thighs, takes hold of his own prick, and moves so that it grazes Fenris’ entrance but no further, sliding against and past his hole and then repeating the motion. Fenris’ hips undulate with the movement, the muscles of his thighs clenching around Hawke’s form, and he makes another frustrated noise as Hawke lets out a dark chuckle. He delights in giving Fenris exactly what he wants and when he wants it, but there is joy in teasing, too. Fenris could surely break this game with only a few serious words or by pushing Hawke to the mattress if he so wished, but he doesn’t, and that tells Hawke everything he needs to know.
Hawke moves to give one of Fenris’ reddened ears a bite, enjoying the resulting jerk of his body against his and the groan Fenris lets out like clockwork, each time he does this. ”I’m waiting, Fenris,” he murmurs in his ear, in case his lover has forgotten, using his huskiest tone, the one that he’s noticed making Fenris’ shiver on occasion. It does this time, too, and Hawke knows he’s got him.
”Damn you—fine!” Fenris bursts out, indignation and embarrassment writ on his face. ”I—I saw the looks, and I had the thought of… showing them what—what the truth... was.”
With the way Fenris’ discomfort is linked with arousal, the implications of his words quickly become clear. ”From how red you’ve gotten I’d wager you’re not just talking about making loving faces and hand-holding, right?” he asks, knowing Fenris’ reaction will confirm it, and he’s right.
If Fenris had been embarrassed before, he now looks absolutely mortified, but despite it, his hardness doesn’t waver, only pools more droplets of fluid onto his stomach. Seeing it, coupled with the mental images suddenly flooding Hawke’s mind…
”Oh, fuck,” he curses, giving the base of his cock a squeeze to not burst right then and there, almost lightheaded with desire. ”Fuck, that’s hot,” he reiterates, and Fenris’ gaze snaps up to him, surprise cutting through the haze of lust and nerves. ”In the tavern, in front of everyone? You imagined us having each other in front of them, while they watched?”
The words make him feel filthy just for thinking them, lust shooting up like hot lava in his veins, and the way Fenris starts immediately stammering out needless justifications tells him that’s exactly what he had imagined. ”I didn’t mean anything by it. I could never—It was just a—”
”A fantasy, I know,” Hawke cuts him off to soothe unnecessary shame. ”I have those too. I’ve shared some of them with you, remember?” he reminds Fenris, recalling a particular time he had revealed to him his desire of being railed while restrained and how amazing the sex had been with Fenris’ full strength pinning him into the carpet under them. From the way their night has been going so far, he can envision something equally pleasurable unfolding here.
Fenris shakes his head, arguing, ”Yes, but yours are sensible, and not—”
”Have you considered I may have had the same thought as you?” Hawke counters before Fenris can get any further with that one. Maker preserve him if he’s somehow given Fenris the impression that his fantasies are anywhere near sensible with how absolutely incorrigible he is with Fenris. ”Not tonight, perhaps, but things like that have crossed my mind several times before.”
Fenris’ eyes widen. ”You—” he gasps out, like he’s only now truly considering the possibility of Hawke having a positive response to his fantasies or having similar ones, even with Hawke cursing like a sailor and fighting not to come on him just now at how absolutely, insanely, mind-numbingly arousing he finds all of this.
Once Hawke sees the realization hit and the last of the embarrassment lift from Fenris’ face, Hawke moves to kiss him, Fenris’ relief and hunger palpable with the way he melts into it and pulls Hawke closer.
”How was it in your head? How did we do it?” Hawke prompts, returning them from their discussion of fantasies to this particular one itself, and given how eager Fenris has been to get Hawke inside him, he can already guess what the answer to his question will be.
Hawke lifts Fenris’ legs and starts rubbing off against him once more, the conjured slick and gathered drops of spend making it more of a slide. Fenris moans at the feel of Hawke’s cock at his entrance again, or the thoughts Hawke is inviting forth, or both—it hardly matters. ”You… You were taking me, and—”
The sentence is cut off on a sharp gasp as Hawke enters him in one smooth move. With the time he has taken with his words and fingers, Fenris is more than ready, and right as he’s bottomed out, he withdraws and thrusts deep. "Like this?"
”Oh, yes, yes—” Fenris moans, clutching at the sheets as Hawke builds up a steady rhythm, done with teasing.
But even as Fenris relaxes into the pleasure, Hawke isn’t done entertaining the fantasy, not even close. ”Where?” he asks, and it takes a second for Fenris to focus on the question. ”Where did I have you?”
Fenris’ inhibitions are finally gone, clearly, because without hesitation, he answers, moaning all the while, ”On the table, on my back, like—like this—oh, fuck...”
”Spread out, worshiped with my eyes and hands and cock?” he asks, and watches Fenris react to his words, feels as his body quivers, and how could Hawke ever not worship him? Fenris is the altar Hawke will gladly kneel at, and splayed out and taut and flushed like this, he looks divine.
”You would—” Fenris adds to Hawke’s fevered words while biting back a groan, ”You would make me arrive twice, before allowing yourself to.”
The memory of fucking Fenris over the brink a second time when he was still trembling from the first, makes Hawke lose control of his movements then, resulting in a sharp thrust that has Fenris throwing his head back and crying out. ”Maker—like last week.”
”Yes,” Fenris agrees with desperation, and Hawke has to kiss him or he’ll die. Fenris kisses him back, open-mouthed and uncoordinated but satisfying the need to connect even further. Fenris pulls him down against him, wraps his arms and legs around his frame as they move together, and Hawke goes eagerly.
”I haven’t been able to get that from my mind, Fenris. You were so incredible, I—“
”I know you haven’t,” Fenris says, sounding blissful and dazed, and he’s apparently caught onto this fantasy thing, because he adds, ”And you would want to do it again, show everyone—”
”Show everyone how good I could make them feel—show them what they cannot have,” Hawke pants, increasing the pace as his self-control starts to slip.
Fenris moans even louder at that, and from the way he moves to grasp and stroke himself, Hawke knows he’s close. ”Y-yes.”
Hawke doesn’t have enough self-control or stamina left to make Fenris find release twice before erupting himself, but he sure can make this one time phenomenal. With the last of his strength, he gets up, aims his thrusts upward and just right, and lays out the final piece of the fantasy, the undercurrent of the whole thing.
”Because I’m yours, Fenris, yours to take and yours to have whenever you want,” he says, and then Fenris is coming with a sharp cry. The sight pulls Hawke over as well, toward hazy bliss as Fenris’ body jerks around him and his toes curl against Hawke’s frame with the aftershocks that produce more moans from them both.
It takes a while for Hawke to regain his senses after that, and Fenris doesn’t seem any less fucked out. Making Fenris wait while he dug for the truth had brought them both close to the brink already, and the anticipation along with embarrassment seem to have worn out even Fenris in just one round, for the first time in a while. Go figure.
Once Hawke’s body obeys him again, he settles beside Fenris on the bed and rests his head on the man’s chest, Fenris’ fingers coming to stroke his hair idly.
When he feels like he can finally string more than two thoughts together, the haze of lust and bliss shifting to contentment, he takes a moment to consider the events of the evening with a bit more analytical frame of mind. It seems he and Fenris are not done learning each other yet, nowhere near it—not that Hawke minds, at all. More fun this way.
Just what he has learned, however, is still in question to some extent. ”Fenris?”
”Mmm?” Fenris hums around a yawn.
”I totally get if this was just a random thought you had and it led to really amazing sex, and in that case nothing more needs to be said, but…” Hawke starts, gazing up at Fenris. ”Are you certain there isn't anything specific behind this fantasy?”
Fenris’ reply is immediate—too immediate. ”Of course there isn't.”
They know each other too well by now for that to pass. Hawke raises a pointed brow, and Fenris sighs with a roll of his eyes.
”Fine, maybe there is,” he says, a far-away look in his eye and his fingers still making circles in Hawke’s hair as he explains himself. ”I watched people give you looks for three years, always… anxious that one of them was going to be the one you returned, and acted on,” he says, adding with an irritated wave of his hand, ”A problem which was all of my own making—you need not remind me.”
”I wasn’t going to, I just…” Hawke reassures him, relieved this isn’t anything truly serious or bothersome. ”You do know I feared the exact same thing?” Hawke asks, and obviously Fenris doesn’t, or at least hasn’t thought about it, because his face goes slack in surprise, vulnerability sneaking into his expression.
”I did,” he reiterates, giving Fenris a gentle smile. It’s easier to talk about those three years now than it was in the beginning, and they’ve even taken to cracking jokes about it at times. He doesn’t jest now, but his tone remains light as he recounts, ”You were wearing my favors and that gave me hope, but everyone has their weak moments, moments of doubt. Sometimes I thought, what if it only meant friendship? What if you were expecting me to move on, burdened by the fact I wasn’t? What if my lovesick self had interpreted everything wrong?”
Fenris is shaking his head. ”You didn’t.”
”No, I didn’t.” Hawke smiles wider, taking Fenris’ hand in his and kissing it to soothe the longing in Fenris’ voice, ease the crease between his brows. ”But you can imagine how I felt. Believe me when I say, we’re the same in this. I’ve felt the exact same possessiveness you felt tonight, and it’s a comfort seeing it on you.” He considers tonight’s events and adds with some more levity, ”Day-dreaming of indecent exposure isn’t too far off that, I suppose.”
The mention has Fenris covering his eyes with his other hand in lingering embarrassment, but he ends up letting out raspy chuckles anyway, and Hawke bursts out laughing in return.
Once they sober up Hawke reiterates, ”Like I said, fantasies can be quite far from what we actually want. I’m aware you don’t like even the more innocent public displays, and I’m totally fine with it.”
At this Fenris hesitates, and a faint flush gathers back on his cheeks as he says, ”I… could be persuaded, to allow small ones, sometimes.”
Hawke does a double take. ”Oh, really?”
”Don’t get any wild ideas, but perhaps,” Fenris says. ”If only to get people to take the hint.”
”Mmhm,” Hawke hums, trying to keep a straight face, but a chuckle leaks through as he says, ”Maker forbid you hold my hand after announcing to our friends and probably half the tavern you were going to take me home.”
It appears that only at Hawke’s reminder Fenris’ deeds fully register on him, because his face and ears go completely red again, and then he’s grabbing a pillow and pressing it on his face to muffle his groans of mortified misery.
Luckily, it only takes some more words of encouragement for Fenris to own his actions, once Hawke is finally done laughing about it and being swatted with the aforementioned pillow.
Fenris also actually starts initiating hand-holding and other open displays of affection after that, and as he does, Hawke soon realizes he should’ve counted his days of easy socializing, because from then on, he knows no more peace at all.
Not that he minds. Quite the opposite.